court for discussion. The whole world was anxious then to know if the
Vanderbilt will could be broken. After battling half a century with
diseases enough to kill ten men, Mr. Vanderbilt died, an octogenarian,
leaving over $100,000,000--$95,000,000 to his eldest son--$5,000,000 to
his wife, and the remainder to his other children and relations, with
here and there a slight recognition of some humane or religious
institution. I said then that the will could not be broken, because
$95,000,000 in this country seemed too mighty for $5,000,000. It was a
strange will, and if Mr. Vanderbilt had been his own executor of it,
without lawyers' interference, I believe it would have been different.
It suggests a comparison with George Peabody, who executed the
distribution of his property without legal talent. Peabody gave $250,000
for a library in his own town in Massachusetts, and in his will left
$10,000 to the Baltimore Institute, $20,000 to the poor of London,
$10,000 to Harvard, $150,000 to Yale, $50,000 to Salem, Massachusetts,
and $3,000,000 to the education of the people of the South in this
country. No wonder he refused a baronetcy which the Queen of England
offered him, he was a king--the king of human benefaction. That
Vanderbilt will was the seven days wonder of its time.

It made way only for the President's message issued the first week in
December, 1877. It was, in fact, Mr. Hayes's repudiation of a dishonest
measure prepared by members of Congress to pay off our national debt in
silver instead of in gold as had been promised.

The newspapers received the President's message with indifferent
opinion. "It is disappointing," said one. "As a piece of composition it
is terse and well written," said another. "The President used a good
many big words to say very little," said another. "President Hayes will
secure a respectful hearing by the ability and character of this