The Malady of Millionaires.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 7080, 28 February 1893, Page 2

The Malady of Millionaires.

(i Saturday Review.)

There is reason to think that great wealth begets a mental disease akin to those forms of paralysis which affect a portion of (he brain, while the general intelligence remains sound. It is not to be denied that the very rich, as a class, show as much sense as other people. Those who make their own fortunes may well have narrowed their minds in the process. Ih®y probably fell into a groove, and we must not look to them for sympathy with new thoughts or projects But the majority—in Europe, at least—inherited wealth, and they passed through the same training commonly, imbibed the same ideas as the rest of us. We knew some of them at school or at the University, where they were much like other youths—equally interested in the “ questions” which took their fancy. They may even have promised in all sincerity to aid in solving a problem of some kind when they came into their own • and looked forward to the work with pleasure. If the promise be forgotten when that time arrives, no reasonable person will condemn them. To find oneself in the paternal seat, surveying lands, all one’s own, as far as the eye can see,or reckoning up the money-bags, is not less exciting, probably, when that day has heen anticipated from childhood. Bat ia a short time the situation becomes familiar, and then , that reasonable person, if inexperienced, looks for fulfilment of the promise. But rarely indeed is be gratified. The mental disease has found a lodgment. His rich friend may still take interest in the question, whatever it be. But somehow his mind can no longer grasp the obvious fact that ho himself might settle it, once for all, by applying no great proportion of the money which lies idle at bis bank.

It is clear, also, that (his malady grows more common, and intensifies. When the rich were by no means so many or so wealthy as now, they founded all sorts of charitable institutions schools, colleges, chantries, hospitals. At present they subscribe just like anybody else, and their contribution often enough is not more liberal that that of men whose capital is not greater than their income. In the building of churches alone do a few of them make a show Of rivalling their forefatuers’ munificence. But those subscriptions acknowledge the obligation. A millionaire who flatly refused to do anything for his fellow creatures could be charged with inconsistency at least. But bo who gives a ■ hundred guineas or so, when piling up hundreds of thousands for probate, admits, in fact, that ought to do what ho can. But if he chose, he what could he not do P Our hospitals, for instance, make despairing appeals year by year. Their emissaries beg in the streets. They work through the Directory, and write to each householder. Their boxes stand in every public place. Of late they have addressed working men. But all the while there are hundreds of capitalists—not less kindhearted nor less intelligent than the other people—who could set the largest of them on its legs for good and never feel the sacrifice, thousands who could do the like without reducing an item of expenditure. ! The action would be pleasant, one might think, and oetainly it would win honour. Why do none of them perform it ? Because, we apprehend, their perceptien is dulled by the strange malady which attends great wealth.