m
the winning bet (incidentally "ringing up" more tickets than were sold
on the winning horse), while the bookmaker, for special inducement,
would scratch any horse in the race. The jockey also, for a
consideration, would slacken speed to allow a prearranged winner to walk
in, while the judges on the stand turned their backs.

It was just a swindling trust. And yet, these race tracks on a fine
afternoon were crowded with intelligent men of good standing in the
community, and frequently the parasols of the ladies gave colour and
brilliancy to the scene. Our most beautiful watering places were all but
destroyed by the race tracks. To stop all this was like turning back the
ocean tides, so regular became the habit of gambling, of betting, of
being legally swindled in America. No one was interested in the evils of
life. We were on the frontier of a greater America, a greater waste of
money, a greater paradise of pleasure.

Some notice was taken of General Grant's malady, mysteriously pronounced
incurable. The bulletins informed us that his life might last a week, a
day, an hour--and still the famous old warrior kept getting better. One
moment Grant was dying, the next he was dining heartily at his own
dinner table. This was one of the mysteries of the period. Personally, I
believe the prayers of the Church kept him alive.

In April, 1885, the huge pedestal for the wonderful statue of Liberty,
presented to us by the citizens of France, was started. That which
Congress had ignored, and the philanthropists of America had neglected,
the masses were doing by their modest subscription--a dollar from the
men, ten cents from the children. All Europe wrapped in war cloud made
the magnificence and splendour of our enlightened liberty greater than
ever. It was time that the gates of the sea, the front door of America,
should be made more attractive. Castle Garden was a gloomy corridor
through which to arrive. I urged that the harbour fortresses should be
terraced with flowers, fitting the approach to the forehead of this
continent that Bartholdi was to illumine with his Coronet of Flame.

The Bartholdi statue, as we read and heard, and talked about it, became
an inspired impulse to fine art in America. In the right hand of the
statue was to be a torch; in the left hand, a scroll representing the
law. What a fine conception of true liberty! It was my hope then that
fifty years after the statue had been placed on its pedestal the for