THE MISERY OF THE RICH.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XII, Issue 229, 27 September 1877, Page 4

THE MISERY OF THE RICH.

[New York World.-] "Yoar newspapers make a great fass," said oae of the wealthiest me a in New York to a World reporter, *' about the sufferings of the poor man I

during the hard times, but I don't see that any of them notice particularly the diabolical distress of the rich man." The reporter wasn't aware that the rich man suffered at all. " Tbnt," said he of the wealth, •« ia because you don't know anything about it. Why, sir, I undergo more absolute torture in an hour, than any poor wretch in this city. If I hadn't a cent, in the world, I'd have some sympathy, some rest, some assistance. As it is, I'm hounded to death. I'm despis3d, beset, annoyed, condemned, backbitten, waylaid. The pspers write editorials about me. If I ejb to church, I am told that a camel can get through the eye of a needle slicker than I can get into heaven. If I don't dress my family in an extravagant manner I hear that lam an old skinflint— lf I do, lam told that all I think of my money is to make a vulgar show with it. I suppose that I worked as hard as any man for more than twotbirds of my life to accumulate a fortune, but I believe that most people think I ought to give it away, and commence over agaio. In a winter like this, you've no idea of the hardships of the rich. If I help all the people who apply to me, I might as well go to the poorhouse, and yet all of them expect it, and most of them, I daresay, are worthy. li's out of the question. So they curse me, I suppose. All the benevolent societies, charities, public institutions, and church organizations, have their agents out. I am watted upon by committees, runners, clergmen, secretaries. They send me a halfbushel of letters a day. They drop upou me ia most unexpected places. They get into my private office. They wait in my library before I am up. They sit on my front steps. They follow me into the horse-cars. What ia a man to do ? If I let them have their own way my name will be paraded as if I wanted to advertise my charities. If I don't, the Press will want to know what he has ever done for New York. The other day a reporter came to see me about my will. He said the public would like to be informed as to the proposed disposition of my property at my decease. I suppose if I were to get a cold in my 1 head, there would be a brigade of them | quartered under my windows. I begin to think a rich man is a disgrace to the community — that somehow I have committed a crime. I don't lika to look a man squarely in the face, for fear hatred of me will show itself, or be will stop and ask xns to lend him a thousand dollars to get hia starving family something to eat. 1 tell you, sir, this winter is awful hard on a rich man. He doesn't even eat his dinner in peace. How can he, when there are 40,000 dinnerlesa ? His money begius to be a reproach to him, and he feels as if he'd lika to give the whole of it away in one lump, and try the luxury of being poor for awhile. But you needn't say anything about that, or I'll have a fresh battalion here to-morrow, and half the idlers in town will be writing me letters. In fact, I wouldn't say anything about if I were you, but it's a fact that the rich suffers in a hard winter a good deal more thau the poor man. You tuke my word for it. And the poor don't pity him a bit."