And so Mr. Ives continued to shed information upon the inquiring mind in a courteous and opaque manner that must have endeared him to all.
Mr. Ives has in no transaction shown himself so thoroughly shrewd as he did when he swapped a doubtful reputation for a large sum of money. The only wonder is that there were so many men who wanted to invest in that kind of goods. He did a shrewd thing, but he will not be able to profit by it.
Success, however, should only be measured by the content it brings with it. While Henry S. Ives was lighting his mighty financial battles and winning for himself the title of the Young Napoleon of Wall street, dwelling in a little palace lined with ivory and gold, but cursed by the consuming desire to be rich, and forgetful, like Mr. Gould, how full of calm and soothing content is the following simple letter, written by a man who undertook last year to inaugurate a Shakesperian revival in southern Ohio:
Cincinnati, O., Aug. 3, 1886.
Mr. Henry S. Ives, New York, N. Y.
Dear Sir: I have just arrived in this city after a long and debilitating but rather enjoyable trip over your line, and I now take pen in hand to thank you for the use of your roadbed from Indianapolis to this place. It is a good road, and I was surprised to find it well ballasted and furnished with cool retreats and shady culverts every few miles wherein a man could rest.
It is a good route for the poor but pampered tragedian to take, and water-melons grow close to the fence. I have traveled over many other roads since the new and pernicious law, but nowhere have I found watermelons more succulent or less coy and secretive than on your justly celebrated line. I also notice with pleasure that green corn is still susceptible, and wild paw paws are growing in the summer sun.
I thought I saw you go by in your special car just north of the first trestle outside of town, but you went by so fast that I could not tell definitely till too late. Please excuse me for not speaking to you as you passed by. Success on the stage has not taught me to forget or ignore my friends whenever I am thrown in contact with them.
People write me that New York State is rapidly settling up, and that property is advancing rapidly in every direction. Is this so? Advancing rapidly in every direction is, I suppose, one of the most difficult feats known to calisthenics. I have tried it myself, years ago, but now I do not practice it, having quit drinking altogether.
I hope you will let me know any time that I can be of use to you, either in mowing weeds or gathering nuts that have ripened and fallen off your track. I enjoy, especially in the autumn when the hectic of the dying year has flooded the forests with its multiplied glories, and the cricket sings his sleepy song to the tired heart, and the locust lifts its lawn-mower voice in the boughs of the poplar, to go nutting along a prolific railroad track.