A short time ago, a handsome, well-dressed Englishman, well up in all matters pertaining to society, went with me to my tailor to see me try on a dress coat. I was struck with his criticisms. Standing before a glass, he said, “You must never be able to see the tails of your dress coat; if you do, discard the coat.” Again, he advised one’s always wearing a hat that was the fashion, losing sight of the becoming, but always following the fashion. “At a glance,” he said, “I can tell a man from the provinces, simply by his hat.” If you are stout, never wear a white waistcoat, or a conspicuous watch-chain. Never call attention by them to what you should try to conceal. In going to the opera, if you go to an opera box with ladies, you should wear white or light French gray gloves. Otherwise, gloves are not worn. A boutonnière of white hyacinths or white pinks on dress coats is much worn, both to balls and the opera. My English friend was very much struck with the fact that American women all sat on the left side of the carriage, the opposite side from what they do in England. “Ladies,” he said, “should always sit behind their coachman, but the desire to see and be seen prompts them here to take the other side. In this city some half a dozen ladies show their knowledge of conventionalities and take the proper seat.”
I think the great secret of life is to be contented with the position to which it has pleased God to call you. Living myself in a modest, though comfortable little house in Twenty-first Street in this city, a Wall Street banker honored me with a visit, and exclaimed against my surroundings.
“What!” said he, “are you contented to live in this modest little house? Why, man, this will never do! The first thing you must have is a fine house. I will see that you get it. All that you have to do is to let me buy ten thousand shares of stock for you at the opening of the Board; by three I can sell it, and I will then send you a check for the profit of the transaction, which will not be less than ten thousand dollars! Do it for you? Of course I will, with pleasure. You will run no risk; if there is a loss I will bear it.”
I thanked my friend, assured him I was wholly and absolutely contented, and must respectfully decline his offer. A similar offer was made to me by my old friend, Commodore Vanderbilt, in his house in Washington Place. I was a great admirer of this grand old man, and he was very fond of me. He had taken me over his stables, and was then showing me his parlors and statuary, and kept all the time calling me “his boy.” I turned to him and said, “Commodore, you will be as great a railroad king, as you were once an ocean king, and as you call me your boy, why don’t you make my fortune?” He thought a moment, and then said, slapping me on the back, “Mc, sell everything you have and put it in Harlem stock; it is now twenty-four; you will make more money than you will know how to take care of.” If I had followed his advice, I would now have been indeed a millionaire.
One word more here about the Commodore. He then turned to me and said, “Mc, look at that bust,”—a bust of himself, by Powers. “What do you think Powers said of that head?”
“What did he say?” I replied.
“He said, ‘It is a finer head than Webster’s!’”