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FTER retiring from active business my husband 

yielded to the earnest solicitations of friends, both — 
here and. in Great Britain, and began to jot down from 
time to time recollections of his early days. He soon 
found, however, that instead of the leisure he expected, 
his life was more occupied with affairs than ever before, 
and the writing of these memoirs was reserved for his 
play-time in Scotland. For a few weeks each summer we 
retired to our little bungalow on the moors at Aultnagar 
to enjoy the simple life, and it was there that Mr. 
Carnegie did most of his writing. He delighted in going 
back to those early times, and as he wrote he lived them 
all over again. He was thus engaged in July, 1914, when 
the war clouds began to gather, and when the fateful 
news of the 4th of August reached us, we immediately 
left our retreat in the hills and returned to Skibo to be 
more in touch with the situation. 

These memoirs ended at that time. Henceforth he was 
never able to interest himself in private affairs. Many 
times he made the attempt to continue writing, but 
found it useless. Until then he had lived the life of a 
man in middle life — and a young one at that — golfing, 
fishing, swimming each day, sometimes doing all three 
in one day. Optimist as he always was and tried to be, 
even in the face of the failure of his hopes, the world 
disaster was too much. His heart was broken. A severe 
attack of influenza followed by two serious attacks of 
pneumonia precipitated old age upon him. 

It was said of a contemporary who passed away a few 
months before Mr. Carnegie that “he never could have 


borne the burden of old age.’’ Perhaps the most inspiring 
part of Mr. Carnegie’s life, to those who were privileged 
to know it intimately, was the way he bore his “‘ burden 
of old age.” Always patient, considerate, cheerful, grate- 
ful for any little pleasure or service, never thinking of 
himself, but always of the dawning of the better day, 
his spirit ever shone brighter and brighter until “he 
was not, for God took him.” 

Written with his own hand on the fly-leaf of his 
manuscript are these words: “‘It is probable that mate- 
rial for a small volume might be collected from these 
memoirs which the public would care to read, and that a 
private and larger volume might please my relatives and 
friends. Much I have written from time to time may, I 
think, wisely be omitted. Whoever arranges these notes 
should be careful not to burden the public with too 
much. A man with a heart as well as a head should be ~ 

Who, then, could so well fill this description as our 
friend Professor John C. Van Dyke? When the manu- 
script was shown to him, he remarked, without hav- 
ing read Mr. Carnegie’s notation, “It would be a labor 
of love to prepare this for publication.”’ Here, then, the 
choice was mutual, and the manner in which he has per- 
formed this “labor ’’ proves the wisdom of the choice — 
a choice made and carried out in the name of a rare 
and beautiful friendship. 


New York 
April 16, 1920 


HE story of a man’s life, especially when it is told 

by the man himself, should not be interrupted by 
the hecklings of an editor. He should be allowed to tell 
the tale in his own way, and enthusiasm, even extrava- 
gance in recitation should be received as a part of the 
story. The quality of the man may underlie exuberance 
of spirit, as truth may be found in apparent exaggera- 
tion. Therefore, in preparing these chapters for publica- 
tion the editor has done little more than arrange the 
material chronologically and sequentially so that the 
narrative might run on unbrokenly to the end. Some 
footnotes by way of explanation, some illustrations that 
offer sight-help to the text, have been added; but the 
narrative is the thing. 

This is neither the time nor the place to character- 
ize or eulogize the maker of “this strange eventful 
history,’ but perhaps it is worth while to recognize that 
the history really was eventful. And strange. Nothing 
stranger ever came out of the Arabian Nights than the 
story of this poor Scotch boy who came to America and 
step by step, through many trials and triumphs, became 
the great steel master, built up a colossal industry, 
amassed an enormous fortune, and then deliberately and 
systematically gave away the whole of it for the enlight- 
enment and betterment of mankind. Not only that. He 
established a gospel of wealth that can be neither ig- 
nored nor forgotten, and set a pace in distribution that 
succeeding millionaires have followed as a precedent. 
In the course of his career he became a nation-builder, 
a leader in thought, a writer, a speaker, the friend of 


workmen, schoolmen, and statesmen, the associate of 
both the lowly and the lofty. But these were merely 
interesting happenings in his life as compared with his 
great inspirations — his distribution of wealth, his pas- 
sion for world peace, and his love for mankind. 

Perhaps we are too near this history to see 1t in proper 
proportions, but in the time to come it should gain in 
perspective and in interest. The generations hereafter 
may realize the wonder of it more fully than we of to- 
day. Happily it is preserved to us, and that, too, in Mr. 
Carnegie’s own words and in his own buoyant style. It 
is a very memorable record — a record perhaps the like 
of which we shall not look upon again. 


New York 
August, 1920 





. THE IRon Works 



Crvit War PERIOD 




Partners, Books, AND TRAVEL 


British Pouitican LEADERS 




Hay anp McKInLEy 







ANDREW CARNEGIE Photogravure frontispiece 


Mr. Carnecir’s MotuErR 


Davip McCarco 
Rosert Pitcairn 
Henry Purprs 
Tuomas A. Scorr 
JOHN PirrPont Morcan 
Cuarues M. ScuwaB 
Mr. CARNEGIE AND Viscount BryYcE 
Matraew ARNOLD 






Viscount Mor.uEy or BLACKBURN 
Mr. CarNnEGin AND Viscount Mor.LEY 









F the story of any man’s life, truly told, must be 

interesting, as some sage avers, those of my relatives 
and immediate friends who have insisted upon having 
an account of mine may not be unduly disappointed 
with this result. I may console myself with the assurance 
that such a story must interest at least a certain number 
of people who have known me, and that knowledge will 
encourage me to proceed. 

A book of this kind, written years ago by my friend, 
Judge Mellon, of Pittsburgh, gave me so much pleasure 
that I am inclined to agree with the wise one whose opin- 
ion I have given above; for, certainly, the story which 
the Judge told has proved a source of infinite satis- 
faction to his friends, and must continue to influence 
succeeding generations of his family to live life well. And 
not only this; to some beyond his immediate circle it 
holds rank with their favorite authors. The book con- 
tains one essential feature of value — it reveals the man. 
It was written without any intention of attracting 
public notice, being designed only for his family. In like 
manner [I intend to tell my story, not as one posturing 
before the public, but as in the midst of my own people 
and friends, tried and true, to whom I can speak with 


the utmost freedom, feeling that even trifling incidents 
may not be wholly destitute of interest for them. 

To begin, then, I was born in Dunfermline, in the 
attic of the small one-story house, corner of Moodie 
Street and Priory Lane, on the 25th of November, 1835, 
and, as the saying is, “‘of poor but honest parents, of 
good kith and kin.’”’ Dunfermline had long been noted 
as the center of the damask trade in Scotland.! My 
father, William Carnegie, was a damask weaver, the son 
of Andrew Carnegie after whom I was named. ~ 

My Grandfather Carnegie was well known throughout 
the district for his wit and humor, his genial nature and 
irrepressible spirits. He was head of the lively ones of 
his day, and known far and near as the chief of their 
joyous club — “Patiemuir College.’”? Upon my return 
to Dunfermline, after an absence of fourteen years, I 
remember being approached by an old man who had 
been told that I was the grandson of the “ Professor,” 
my grandfather’s title among his cronies. He was the 
very picture of palsied eld; 

**His nose and chin they threatened ither.” 

As he tottered across the room toward me and laid 
his trembling hand upon my head he said: “And ye are 
the grandson o’ Andra Carnegie! Eh, mon, I ha’e seen. 
the day when your grandfaither and [ could ha’e hal- 
looed ony reasonable man oot o’ his jidgment.”’ 
Several other old people of Dunfermline told me sto- 
ries of my grandfather. Here is one of them: | 
One Hogmanay night? an old wifey, quite a character 

1 The Eighteenth-Century Carnegies lived at the picturesque hamlet 
of Patiemuir, two miles south of Dunfermline. The growing importance of 
the linen industry in Dunfermline finally led the Carnegies to move to 
that town. 

* The 31st of December. 




in the village, being surprised by a disguised face sud- 
denly thrust in at the window, looked up and after a 
moment’s pause exclaimed, “Oh, it’s jist that daft 
callant Andra Carnegie.”’ She was right; my grandfather 
at seventy-five was out frightening his old lady lain 
disguised like other frolicking youngsters. 

I think my optimistic nature, my ability to shed 
trouble and to laugh through life, making “all my ducks 
swans,’ as friends say I do, must have been inherited 
from this delightful old masquerading grandfather 
whose name I am proud to bear.! A sunny disposition 
is worth more than fortune. Young people should know 
that it can be cultivated; that the mind like the body 
can be moved from the shade into sunshine. Let us 
move it then. Laugh trouble away if possible, and one 
usually can if he be anything of a philosopher, provided 
that self-reproach comes not from his own wrongdoing. 
That always remains. There is no washing out of these 
“‘damnéd spots.” The judge within sits in the supreme 
court and can never be cheated. Hence the grand rule 
of life which Burns gives: 

“Thine own reproach alone do fear.” 

This motto adopted early in life has been more to 
me than all the sermons I ever heard, and I have heard 
not a few, although I may admit resemblance to my old 
friend Baillie Walker in my mature years. He was asked 
by his doctor about his sleep and replied that it was far 

1 “There is no sign that Andrew, though he prospered in his wooing, 
was specially successful in acquisition of worldly gear. Otherwise, how- 
ever, he became an outstanding character not only in the village, but in the 
adjoining city and district. A ‘brainy’ man who read and thought for him- 
self he became associated with the radical weavers of Dunfermline, who in 
Patiemuir formed a meeting-place which they named a college (Andrew 
was the ‘Professor’ of it).” (Andrew Carnegie: His Dunfermline Tres and 
Benefactions, by J, B. Mackie, F. J. I.) 


from satisfactory, he was very wakeful, adding with a 
twinkle in his eye: “But I get a bit fine doze i’ the kirk 
noo and then.”’ 

On my mother’s side the grandfather was even more 
marked, for my grandfather Thomas Morrison was a 
friend of William Cobbett, a contributor to his “ Reg- 
ister,’ and in constant correspondence with him. Even 
as 1 write, in Dunfermline old men who knew Grand- 
father Morrison speak of him as one of the finest orators 
and ablest men they have known. He was publisher 
of ‘“‘The Precursor,’ a small edition it might be said of 
Cobbett’s “Register,” and thought to have been the 
first radical paper in Scotland. I have read some of his 
writings, and in view of the importance now given to 
technical education, I think the most remarkable of 
them is a pamphlet which he published seventy-odd 
years ago entitled “Head-ication versus Hand-ication.”’ 
It insists upon the importance of the latter in a manner 
that would reflect credit upon the strongest advocate 
of technical education to-day. It ends with these words, 
“T thank God that in my youth I learned to make and 
mend shoes.’ Cobbett published it in the “Register” 
in 1833, remarking editorially, ““One of the most valu- 
able communications ever published in the ‘Register’ 
upon the subject, is that of our esteemed friend and 
correspondent in Scotland, Thomas Morrison, which 
appears in this issue.’’ So it seems I come by my scrib- 
bling propensities by inheritance — from both sides, 
for the Carnegies were also readers and thinkers. 

My Grandfather Morrison was a born orator, a keen 
politician, and the head of the advanced wing of the 
radical party in the district — a position which his son, 
my Uncle Bailie Morrison, occupied as his successor. 
More than one well-known Scotsman in America has 


called upon me, to shake hands with “the grandson of 
Thomas Morrison.’ Mr. Farmer, president of the Cleve- 
land and Pittsburgh Railroad Company, once said to 
me, “I owe all that I have of learning and culture to 
the influence of your grandfather’; and Ebenezer 
Henderson, author of the remarkable history of Dun- 
fermline, stated that he largely owed his advancement 
in life to the fortunate fact that while a boy he entered 
my grandfather’s service. 

I have not passed so far through life without receiv- 
ing some compliments, but I think nothing of a com- 
plimentary character has ever pleased me so much as 
this from a writer in a Glasgow newspaper, who had 
been a listener to a speech on Home Rule in America 
which I delivered in Saint Andrew’s Hall. The corre- 
spondent wrote that much was then being said in Scot- 
land with regard to myself and family and especially 
my grandfather Thomas Morrison, and he went on to 
say, “Judge my surprise when I found in the grandson 
on the platform, in manner, gesture and appearance, a 
perfect facsimile of the Thomas Morrison of old.” 

My surprising likeness to my grandfather, whom I 
do not remember to have ever seen, cannot be doubted, 
because I remember well upon my first return to Dun- 
fermline in my twenty-seventh year, while sitting upon 
a sofa with my Uncle Bailie Morrison, that his big 
black eyes filled with tears. He could not speak and 
rushed out of the room overcome. Returning after a 
time he explained that something in me now and then 
flashed before him his father, who would instantly 
vanish but come back at intervals. Some gesture it was, 
but what precisely he could not make out. My mother 
continually noticed in me some of my grandfather’s 
peculiarities. The doctrine of inherited tendencies is 


proved every day and hour, but how subtle is the law 
which transmits gesture, something as it were beyond 
the material body. I was deeply impressed. 

My Grandfather Morrison married Miss Hodge, of 
Edinburgh, a lady in education, manners, and position, 
who died while the family was still young. At this time 
he was in good circumstances, a leather merchant con- 
ducting the tanning business in Dunfermline; but the 
peace after the Battle of Waterloo involved him in ruin, 
as it did thousands; so that while my Uncle Bailie, the 
eldest son, had been brought up in what might be termed 
luxury, for he had a pony to ride, the younger members 
of the family encountered other and harder days. 

The second daughter, Margaret, was my mother, 
about whom I cannot trust myself to speak at length. 
She inherited from her mother the dignity, refinement, 
and air of the cultivated lady. Perhaps some day I may 
be able to tell the world something of this heroine, but 
I doubt it. I feel her to be sacred to myself and not for’ 
others to know. None could ever really know her — I 
alone did that. After my father’s early death she was 
all my own. The dedication of my first book! tells the 
story. It was: “To my favorite Heroine My Mother.” 

Fortunate in my ancestors I was supremely so in my 
birthplace. Where one is born is very important, for 
different surroundings and traditions appeal to and 
stimulate different latent tendencies in the child. Ruskin 
truly observes that every bright boy in Edinburgh is 
influenced by the sight of the Castle. So is the child of 
Dunfermline, by its noble Abbey, the Westminster of 
Scotland, founded early in the eleventh century (1070) 
by Malcolm Canmore and his Queen Margaret, Scot- 
land’s patron saint. The ruins of the great monastery 

1 An American Four-in-Hand in Great Britain. New York, 1888. 



and of the Palace where kings were born still stand, 
and there, too, is Pittencrieff Glen, embracing Queen 
Margaret’s shrine and the ruins of King Malcolm’s 
Tower, with which the old ballad of “Sir Patrick Spens”’ 
“The King sits in Dunfermline fower,! 
Drinking the bluid red wine.”’ 7 

The tomb of The Bruce is in the center of the Abbey, 
Saint Margaret’s tomb is near, and many of the “‘royal 
folk”’ lie sleeping close around. Fortunate, indeed, the 
child who first sees the light in that romantic town, 
which occupies high ground three miles north of the 
Firth of Forth, overlooking the sea, with Edinburgh in 
sight to the south, and to the north the peaks of the 
Ochils clearly in view. All is still redolent of the mighty 
past when Dunfermline was both nationally and reli- 
giously the capital of Scotland. 

The child privileged to develop amid such surround- 
ings absorbs poetry and romance with the air he 
breathes, assimilates history and tradition as he gazes 
around. These become to him his real world in child- 
hood — the ideal is the ever-present real. The actual has 
yet to come when, later in life, he is launched into the 
workaday world of stern reality. Even then, and till 
his last day, the early impressions remain, sometimes 
for short seasons disappearing perchance, but only ap- 
parently driven away or suppressed. They are always 
rising and coming again to the front to exert their in- 
fluence, to elevate his thought and color his life. No 
bright child of Dunfermline can escape the influence of 
the Abbey, Palace, and Glen. These touch him and set 
fire to the latent spark within, making him something 

1 The Percy Reliques and The Oxford Book of Ballads give “‘town”’ in- 
stead of “tower”; but Mr. Carnegie insisted that it should be “tower.” 


different and beyond what, less happily born, he would 
have become. Under these inspiring conditions my 
parents had also been born, and hence came, I doubt 
not, the potency of the romantic and poetic strain which 
pervaded both. 

As my father succeeded in the weaving business we 
removed from Moodie Street to a much more commo- 
dious house in Reid’s Park. My father’s four or five 
looms occupied the lower story; we resided in the upper, 
which was reached, after a fashion common in the older 
Scottish houses, by outside stairs from the pavement. 
It is here that my earliest recollections begin, and, 
strangely enough, the first trace of memory takes me 
_ back to a day when I saw a small map of America. It 
was upon rollers and about two feet square. Upon this 
my father, mother, Uncle William, and Aunt Aitken 
were looking for Pittsburgh and pointing out Lake Erie 
and Niagara. Soon after my uncle and Aunt Aitken 
sailed for the land of promise. 

At this time I remember my cousin-brother, George 
Lauder (“ Dod’’), and myself were deeply impressed 
with the great danger overhanging us because a law- 
less flag was secreted in the garret. It had been painted 
to be carried, and I believe was carried by my father, 
or uncle, or some other good radical of our family, in a 
procession during the Corn Law agitation. There had 
been riots in the town and a troop of cavalry was 
quartered in the Guildhall. My grandfathers and uncles 
on both sides, and my father, had been foremost in 
addressing meetings, and the whole family circle was 
in a ferment. 

I remember as if it were yesterday being awakened 
during the night by a tap at the back window by men 
who had come to inform my parents that my uncle, 


Bailie Morrison, had been thrown into jail because 
he had dared to hold a meeting which had been for- 
bidden. The sheriff with the aid of the soldiers had 
arrested him a few miles from the town where the 
meeting had been held, and brought him into the town 
during the night, followed by an immense throng of 

Serious trouble was feared, for the populace threat- 
ened to rescue him, and, as we learned afterwards, he 
had been induced by the provost of the town to step 
forward to a window overlooking the High Street and 
beg the people to retire. This he did, saying: “If there 
be a friend of the good cause here to-night, let him fold 
his arms.’ They did so. And then, after a pause, he 
said, ““Now depart in peace!’”’? My uncle, like all our 
family, was a moral-force man and strong for obedience 
to law, but radical to the core and an intense admirer of 
the American Republic. 

One may imagine when all this was going on in public 
how bitter were the words that passed from one to the 
other in private. The denunciations of monarchical and 
aristocratic government, of privilege in all its forms, the 

1 At the opening of the Lauder Technical School in October, 1880, nearly 
half a century after the disquieting scenes of 1842, Mr. Carnegie thus 
recalled the shock which was given to his boy mind: “‘One of my earliest 
recollections is that of being wakened in the darkness to be told that my 
Uncle Morrison was in jail. Well, it is one of the proudest boasts I can 
make to-day to be able to say that I had an uncle who was in jail. But, 
ladies and gentlemen, my uncle went to jail to vindicate the rights of 
public assembly.” (Mackie.) 

2 “The Crown agents wisely let the proceedings lapse. . . . Mr. Morrison 
was given a gratifying assurance of the appreciation of his fellow citizens 
by his election to the Council and his elevation to the Magisterial Bench, 
followed shortly after by his appointment to the office of Burgh Chamber- 
lain. The patriotic reformer whom the criminal authorities endeavored to 
convict as a law-breaker became by the choice of his fellow citizens a 

Magistrate, and was further given a certificate for trustworthiness and 
integrity.” (Mackie.) 


grandeur of the republican system, the superiority of 
America, a land peopled by our own race, a home for 
freemen in which every citizen’s privilege was every 
man’s right — these were the exciting themes upon 
which I was nurtured. As a child I could have slain king, 
duke, or lord, and considered their deaths a service to 
the state and hence an heroic act. 

Such is the influence of childhood’s earliest associa- 
tions that it was long before I could trust myself to 
speak respectfully of any privileged class or person who 
had not distinguished himself in some good way and 
therefore earned the right to public respect. There was 
still the sneer behind for mere pedigree — “he is noth- 
ing, has done nothing, only an accident, a fraud strutting 
in borrowed plumes; all he has to his account is the 
accident of birth; the most fruitful part of his family, 
as with the potato, lies underground.” I wondered that 
intelligent men could live where another human being 
was born to a privilege which was not also their birth- 
right. I was never tired of quoting the only words which 
gave proper vent to my indignation: 

“There was a Brutus once that would have brooked 
Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
As easily as a king.” 
But then kings were kings, not mere shadows. All this 
was inherited, of course. I only echoed what I heard 
at home. 

Dunfermline has long been renowned as perhaps the 
most radical town in the Kingdom, although I know 
Paisley has claims. This is all the more creditable to 
the cause of radicalism because in the days of which I 
speak the population of Dunfermline was in large part 
composed of men who were small manufacturers, each 
owning his own loom or looms. They were not tied 


down to regular hours, their labors being piece work. 
They got webs from the larger manufacturers and the 
weaving was done at home. 

These were times of intense political excitement, and 
there was frequently seen throughout the entire town, 
for a short time after the midday meal, small groups 
of men with their aprons girt about them discussing 
affairs of state. The names of Hume, Cobden, and Bright 
were upon every one’s tongue. I was often attracted, 
small as I was, to these circles and was an earnest lis- 
tener to the conversation, which was wholly one-sided. 
The generally accepted conclusion was that there must 
be a change. Clubs were formed among the townsfolk, 
and the London newspapers were subscribed for. The 
leading editorials were read every evening to the people, 
_ strangely enough, from one of the pulpits of the town. 
My uncle, Bailie Morrison, was often the reader, and, 
as the articles were commented upon by him and others 
after being read, the meetings were quite exciting. 

These political meetings were of frequent occurrence, 
and, as might be expected, I was as deeply interested 
as any of the family and attended many. One of my 
uncles or my father was generally to be heard. I re- 
member one evening my father addressed a large out- 
door meeting in the Pends. I had wedged my way in 
under the legs of the hearers, and at one cheer louder 
than all the rest I could not restrain my enthusiasm. 
Looking up to the man under whose legs I had found 
protection I informed him that was my father speaking. 
He lifted me on his shoulder and kept me there. 

To another meeting I was taken by my father to 
hear John Bright, who spoke in favor of J. B. Smith as 
the Liberal candidate for the Stirling Burghs. I made the 
criticism at home that Mr. Bright did not speak cor- 


rectly, as he said “‘men”’ when he meant “maan.” He 
did not give the broad a we were accustomed to in 
Seotland. It is not to be wondered at that, nursed amid 
such surroundings, I developed into a violent young 
Republican whose motto was “death to privilege.” 
At that time I did not know what privilege meant, but 
my father did. | 

One of my Uncle Lauder’s best stories was about this 
same J. B. Smith, the friend of John Bright, who was 
standing for Parliament in Dunfermline. Uncle was a 
member of his Committee and all went well until it 
was proclaimed that Smith was a “Unitawrian.” The 
district was placarded with the enquiry: Would you 
vote for a “Unitawrian’’? It was serious. The Chair- 
man of Smith’s Committee in the village of Cairney 
Hill, a blacksmith, was reported as having declared 
he never would. Uncle drove over to remonstrate with 
him. They met in the village tavern over a gill: 

“Man, I canna vote for a Unitawrian,’’ said the 

“But,” said my uncle, “Maitland [the opposing can- 
didate] is a Trinitawrian.”’ 

‘Damn; that’s waur,”’ was the response. 

And the blacksmith voted right. Smith won by a 
small majority. 

The change from hand-loom to steam-loom weaving 
was disastrous to our family. My father did not recog- 
nize the impending revolution, and was_ struggling 
under the old system. His looms sank greatly in value, 
and it became necessary for that power which never 
failed in any emergency — my mother — to step for- 
ward and endeavor to repair the family fortune. She 
opened a small shop in Moodie Street and contributed 
to the revenues which, though slender, nevertheless at 


that time sufficed to keep us in comfort and “respect- 

I remember that shortly after this I began to learn 
what poverty meant. Dreadful days came when my 
father took the last of his webs to the great manufac- 
turer, and I saw my mother anxiously awaiting his re- 
turn to know whether a new web was to be obtained or 
that a period of idleness was upon us. It was burnt into 
my heart then that my father, though neither “abject, 
mean, nor vile,”’ as Burns has it, had nevertheless to 

‘Beg a brother of the earth 
To give him leave to toil.” 

And then and there came the resolve that I would cure 
that when I got to be a man. We were not, however, 
reduced to anything like poverty compared with many 
of our neighbors. I do not know to what lengths of pri- 
vation my mother would not have gone that she might 
see her two boys wearing large white collars, and trimly 

In an incautious moment my parents had promised 
that I should never be sent to school until I asked leave 
to go. This promise I afterward learned began to give 
_ them considerable uneasiness because as I grew up I 
showed no disposition to ask. The schoolmaster, Mr. 
Robert Martin, was applied to and induced to take some 
notice of me. He took me upon an excursion one day 
with some of my companions who attended school, and 
great relief was experienced by my parents when one 
day soon afterward I came and asked for permission to 
go to Mr. Martin’s school.! I need not say the permis- 
sion was duly granted. I had then entered upon my 
eighth year, which subsequent experience leads me to 

1 Tt was known as Rolland School. 


say is quite early enough for any child to begin attend- 
ing school. 

The school was a perfect delight to me, and if any- 
thing occurred which prevented my attendance I was 
unhappy. This happened every now and then because 
my morning duty was to bring water from the well at 
the head of Moodie Street. The supply was scanty and 
irregular. Sometimes it was not allowed to run until 
late in the morning and a score of old wives were sitting 
around, the turn of each having been previously secured 
through the night by placing a worthless can in the line. 
This, as might be expected, led to numerous conten- 
tions in which I would not be put down even by these 
venerable old dames. I earned the reputation of being 
““an awiu’ laddie.”’ In this way I probably developed 
the strain of argumentativeness, or perhaps combative- 
ness, which has always remained with me. 

In the performance of these duties I was often late 
for school, but the master, knowing the cause, forgave 
the lapses. In the same connection I may mention that 
I had often the shop errands to run after school, so that 
in looking back upon my life I have the satisfaction of 
feeling that I became useful to my parents even at the 
early age of ten. Soon after that the accounts of the 
various people who dealt with the shop were entrusted 
to my keeping so that I became acquainted, in a small 
way, with business affairs even in childhood. 

One cause of misery there was, however, in my school 
experience. The boys nicknamed me “Martin’s pet,” 
and sometimes called out that dreadful epithet to me 
as I passed along the street. I did not know all that it 
meant, but it seemed to me a term of the utmost oppro- 
brium, and I know that it kept me from responding as 
freely as I should otherwise have done to that excellent 


teacher, my only schoolmaster, to whom I owe a debt 
of gratitude which I regret I never had opportunity to 
do more than acknowledge before he died. 

I may mention here a man whose influence over me 
cannot be overestimated, my Uncle Lauder, George 
Lauder’s father.’ My father was necessarily constantly 
at work in the loom shop and had little leisure to bestow 
upon me through the day. My uncle being a shopkeeper 
in the High Street was not thus tied down. Note the 
location, for this was among the shopkeeping aristoc- 
racy, and high and varied degrees of aristocracy there 
were even among shopkeepers in Dunfermline. Deeply 
affected by my Aunt Seaton’s death, which occurred 
about the beginning of my school life, he found his chief 
solace in the companionship of his only son, George, 
and myself. He possessed an extraordinary gift of deal- 
ing with children and taught us many things. Among 
others I remember how he taught us British history by 
imagining each of the monarchs in a certain place upon 
the walls of the room performing the act for which he 
was well known. Thus for me King John sits to this day 
above the mantelpiece signing the Magna Charta, and 
Queen Victoria is on the back of the door with her 
children on her knee. 

It may be taken for granted that the omission which, 
years after, I found in the Chapter House at Westminster 
Abbey was fully supplied in our list of monarchs. A slab 
in a small chapel at Westminster says that, the body of 
Oliver Cromwell was removed from there. In the list 
of the monarchs which I learned at my uncle’s knee the 
grand republican monarch appeared writing his message 
to the Pope of Rome, informing His Holiness that aE 

1 The Lauder Technical College given by Mr. Carnegie to Dunfermline 
was named in honor of this uncle, George Lauder. 


he did not cease persecuting the Protestants the thunder 
of Great Britain’s cannon would be heard in the Vati- 
can.’ It is needless to say that the estimate we formed 
of Cromwell was that he was worth them “a’ thegither.”’ 

It was from my uncle I learned all that I know of the 
early history of Scotland — of Wallace and Bruce and 
Burns, of Blind Harry’s history, of Scott, Ramsey, 
Tannahill, Hogg, and Fergusson. I can truly say in the 
words of Burns that there was then and there created in 
me a vein of Scottish prejudice (or patriotism) which 
will cease to exist only with life. Wallace, of course, was 
our hero. Everything heroic centered in him. Sad was 
the day when a wicked big boy at school told me that 
England was far larger than Scotland. I went to the 
uncle, who had the remedy. 

“Not at all, Naig; if Scotland were rolled out flat as 
England, Scotland would be the larger, but would you 
have the Highlands rolled down?”’ 

Oh, never! There was balm in Gilead for the wounded 
young patriot. Later the greater population of England 
was forced upon me, and again to the uncle I went. 

“Yes, Naig, seven to one, but there were more than 
that odds against us at Bannockburn.”’ And again there 
was joy in my heart — joy that there were more English 
men there since the glory was the greater. 

This is something of a commentary upon the truth 
that war breeds war, that every battle sows the seeds 
of future battles, and that thus nations become tradi- 
tional enemies. The experience of American boys is that 
of the Scotch. They grow up to read of Washington and 
Valley Forge, of Hessians hired to kill Americans, and 
they come to hate the very name of Englishman. Such 
was my experience with my American nephews. Scot- 
land was all right, but England that had fought Scot- 


land was the wicked partner. Not till they became men 
was the prejudice eradicated, and even yet some of it 
may linger. 

Uncle Lauder has told me since that he often brought 
people into the room assuring them that he could make 
“Dod” (George Lauder) and me weep, laugh, or close 
our little fists ready to fight —in short, play upon all 
our moods through the influence of poetry and song. 
The betrayal of Wallace was his trump card which never 
failed to cause our little hearts to sob, a complete break- 
down being the invariable result. Often as he told the 
story it never lost its hold. No doubt it received from 
time to time new embellishments. My uncle’s stories 
never wanted “the hat and the stick” which Scott gave 
his. How wonderful is the influence of a hero upon 

I spent many hours and evenings in the High Street 
with my uncle and “Dod,” and thus began a lifelong 
brotherly alliance between the latter and myself. ““Dod”’ 
and “Naig’’ we always were in the family. I could not 
say “George” in infancy and he could not get more than 
“Naig’”’ out of Carnegie, and it has always been “Dod” 
and “Naig” with us. No other names would mean any- 

There were two roads by which to return from my 
uncle’s house in the High Street to my home in Moodie 
Street at the foot of the town, one along the eerie 
churchyard of the Abbey among the dead, where there 
was no light; and the other along the lighted streets by 
way of the May Gate. When it became necessary for me 
to go home, my uncle, with a wicked pleasure, would 
ask which way I was going. Thinking what Wallace 
would do, I always replied I was going by the Abbey. I 
have the satisfaction of believing that never, not even 


upon one occasion, did I yield to the temptation to take 
the other turn and follow the lamps at the junction of 
the May Gate. I often passed along that churchyard 
and through the dark arch of the Abbey with my heart 
in my mouth. Trying to whistle and keep up my cour- 
age, I would plod through the darkness, falling back in 
all emergencies upon the thought of what Wallace would 
have done if he had met with any foe, natural or super- 

King Robert the Bruce never got justice from my 
cousin or myself in childhood. It was enough for us that 
he was a king while Wallace was the man of the peo- 
ple. Sir John Graham was our second. The intensity of 
a Scottish boy’s patriotism, reared as I was, constitutes 
a real force in his life to the very end. If the source 
of my stock of that prime article — courage — were 
studied, I am sure the final analysis would find it 
founded upon Wallace, the hero of Scotland. It is a 
tower of strength for a boy to have a hero. | 

It gave me a pang to find when I reached America 
that there was any other country which pretended to 
have anything to be proud of. What was a country with- 
out Wallace, Bruce, and Burns? I find in the untraveled 
Scotsman of to-day something still of this feeling. It 
remains for maturer years and wider knowledge to tell 
us that every nation has its heroes, its romance, its 
traditions, and its achievements; and while the true 
Scotsman will not find reason in after years to lower the 
estimate he has formed of his own country and of its 
position even among the larger nations of the earth, he 
will find ample reason to raise his opinion of other na- 
tions because they all have much to be proud of — 
quite enough to stimulate their sons so to act their parts 
as not to disgrace the land that gave them birth. 


It was years before I could feel that the new land 
could be anything but a temporary abode. My heart 
was in Scotland. I resembled Principal Peterson’s lit- 
tle boy who, when in Canada, in reply to a question, said 
he liked Canada “very well for a visit, but he could 
never live so far away from the remains of Bruce and 


Y good Uncle Lauder justly set great value upon 

recitation in education, and many were the pen- 
nies which Dod and I received for this. In our little 
frocks or shirts, our sleeves rolled up, paper helmets 
and blackened faces, with laths for swords, my cousin 
-and myself were kept constantly reciting Norval and 
Glenalvon, Roderick Dhu and James Fitz-James to 
our schoolmates and often to the older people. 

I remember distinctly that in the celebrated dialogue 
between Norval and Glenalvon we had some qualms 
about repeating the phrase, — “and false as hell.” At 
first we made a slight cough over the objectionable 
word which always created amusement among the spec- 
tators. It was a great day for us when my uncle per- 
suaded us that we could say “hell” without swearing. 
I am afraid we practiced it very often. I always played 
the part of Glenalvon and made a great mouthful of the 
word. It had for me the wonderful fascination attributed 
to forbidden fruit. I can well understand the story of 
Marjory Fleming, who being cross one morning when 
Walter Scott called and asked how she was, answered: 

‘I am very cross this morning, Mr. Scott. I just want 
to say ‘damn’ [with a swing], but I winna.”’ 

Thereafter the expression of the one fearful word 
was a great point. Ministers could say “‘damnation” 
in the pulpit without sin, and so we, too, had full 
range on “‘hell”’ in recitation. Another passage made 
a deep impression. In the fight between Norval and 
Glenalvon, Norval says, “When we contend again our 


strife is mortal.’’ Using these words in an article written 
for the “North American Review”’ in 1897, my uncle 
came across them and immediately sat down and wrote 
me from Dunfermline that he knew where I had found 
the words. He was the only man living who did. 

My power to memorize must have been greatly 
strengthened by the mode of teaching adopted by my 
uncle. I cannot name a more important means of bene- 
fiting young people than encouraging them to commit 
favorite pieces to memory and recite them often. Any- 
thing which pleased me I could learn with a rapidity 
which surprised partial friends. I could memorize any- 
thing whether it pleased me or not, but if it did not im- 
press me strongly it passed away in a few hours. 

One of the trials of my boy’s life at school in Dun- 
fermline was committing to memory two double verses 
of the Psalms which I had to recite daily. My plan was 
not to look at the psalm until I had started for school. 
It was not more than five or six minutes’ slow walk, but 
_ I could readily master the task in that time, and, as the 
psalm was the first lesson, 1 was prepared and passed 
through the ordeal successfully. Had I been asked to 
repeat the psalm thirty minutes afterwards the attempt 
would, I fear, have ended in disastrous failure. 

The first penny I ever earned or ever received from 
any person beyond the family circle was one from my 
school-teacher, Mr. Martin, for repeating before the 
school Burns’s poem, “‘Man was made to Mourn.” In 
writing this I am reminded that in later years, dining 
with Mr. John Morley in London, the conversation 
turned upon the life of Wordsworth, and Mr. Morley 
said he had been searching his Burns for the poem to 
“Old Age,” so much extolled by him, which he had not 
been able to find under that title. I had the pleasure of 


repeating part of it to him. He promptly handed me a 
second penny. Ah, great as Morley is, he wasn’t my 
school-teacher, Mr. Martin — the first “great”? man I 
ever knew. Truly great was he to me. But a hero surely 
is “‘Honest John”? Morley. 

In religious matters we were not much hampered. 
While other boys and girls at school were compelled to 
learn the Shorter Catechism, Dod and I, by some ar- 
rangement the details of which I never clearly under- 
stood, were absolved. All of our family connections, 
Morrisons and Lauders, were advanced in their theologi- 
cal as in their political views, and had objections to the 
catechism, I have no doubt. We had not one orthodox 
Presbyterian in our family circle. My father, Uncle and 
Aunt Aitken, Uncle Lauder, and also my Uncle Car- 
negie, had fallen away from the tenets of Calvinism. 
At a later day most of them found refuge for a time in 
the doctrines of Swedenborg. My mother was always 
reticent upon religious subjects. She never mentioned 
these to me nor did she attend church, for she had no 
servant in those early days and did all the housework, 
including cooking our Sunday dinner. A great reader, 
always, Channing the Unitarian was in those days her 
special delight. She was a marvel! 

During my childhood the atmosphere around me was 
in a state of violent disturbance in matters theological 
as well as political. Along with the most advanced ideas 
which were being agitated in the political world — the 
death of privilege, the equality of the citizen, Repub- 
licanism — I heard many disputations upon theological 
subjects which the impressionable child drank in to an 
extent quite unthought of by his elders. I well remember 
that the stern doctrines of Calvinism lay as a terrible 
nightmare upon me, but that state of mind was soon 





over, owing to the influences of which I have spoken. I 
grew up treasuring within me the fact that my father 
had risen and left the Presbyterian Church one day 
when the minister preached the doctrine of infant 
damnation. This was shortly after I had made my ap- 
pearance. ; 

Father could not stand it and said: “If that be your 
religion and that your God, I seek a better religion and 
a nobler God.” He left the Presbyterian Church never 
to return, but he did not cease to attend various other 
churches. I saw him enter the closet every morning to 
pray and that impressed me. He was indeed a saint and 
always remained devout. All sects became to him as 
agencies for good. He had discovered that theologies 
were many, but religion was one. I was quite satisfied 
that my father knew better than the minister, who pic- 
tured not the Heavenly Father, but the cruel avenger 
of the Old Testament — an “Eternal Torturer”’ as An- 
drew D. White ventures to call him in his autobiography. 
Fortunately this conception of the Unknown is now 
largely of the past. 

One of the chief enjoyments of my childhood was the 
keeping of pigeons and rabbits. I am grateful every time 
I think of the trouble my father took to build a suitable 
house for these pets. Our home became headquarters 
for my young companions. My mother was always look- 
ing to home influences as the best means of keeping her 
two boys in the right path. She used to say that the 
first step in this direction was to make home pleasant; 
and there was nothing she and my father would not do 
to please us and the neighbors’ children who centered 
about us. 

My first business venture was securing my compan- 
ions’ services for a season as an employer, the compen- 


sation being that the young rabbits, when such came, 
should be named after them. The Saturday holiday 
was generally spent by my flock in gathering food for 
the rabbits. My conscience reproves me to-day, looking 
back, when I think of the hard bargain I drove with my 
young playmates, many of whom were content to gather 
dandelions and clover for a whole season with me, con- 
ditioned upon this unique reward — the poorest return 
ever made to labor. Alas! what else had I to offer them! 
Not a penny. 

I treasure the remembrance of this plan as the earliest 
evidence of organizing power upon the development of 
which my material success in life has hung — a success 
not to be attributed to what I have known or done my- 
self, but to the faculty of knowing and choosing others 
who did know better than myself. Precious knowledge 
this for any man to possess. I did not understand steam 
machinery, but I tried to understand that much more 
complicated piece of mechanism — man. Stopping at 
a small Highland inn on our coaching trip in 1898, a 
gentleman came forward and introduced himself. He 
was Mr. MacIntosh, the great furniture manufacturer 
of Scotland — a fine character as I found out afterward. 
He said he had ventured to make himself known as he 
was one of the boys who had gathered, and sometimes 
he feared “conveyed,” spoil for the rabbits, and had 
“one named after him.”’ It may be imagined how glad 
I was to meet him —the only one of the rabbit boys 
I have met in after-life. I hope to keep his friendship to 
the last and see him often. [As I read this manuscript 
to-day, December 1, 1913, I have a very precious note 
from him, recalling old times when we were boys to- 
gether. He has a reply by this time that will warm his 
heart as his note did mine.| 


With the introduction and improvement of steam 
machinery, trade grew worse and worse in Dunfermline 
for the small manufacturers, and at last a letter was 
written to my mother’s two sisters in Pittsburgh stating 
that the idea of our going to them was seriously enter- 
tained — not, as I remember hearing my parents say, 
to benefit their own condition, but for the sake of their 
two young sons. Satisfactory letters were received in 
reply. The decision was taken to sell the looms and fur- 
niture by auction. And my father’s sweet voice sang 
often to mother, brother, and me: 

“To the West, to the West, to the land of the free, 
Where the mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea; 
Where a man is a man even though he must toil 
And the poorest may gather the fruits of the soil.” 

The proceeds of the sale were most disappointing. The 
looms brought hardly anything, and the result was that 
twenty pounds more were needed to enable the family to 
pay passage to America. Here let me record an act of 
friendship performed by a lifelong companion of my 
mother — who always attracted stanch friends because 
she was so stanch herself — Mrs. Henderson, by birth 
Ella Ferguson, the name by which she was known in 
our family. She boldly ventured to advance the need- 
ful twenty pounds, my Uncles Lauder and Morrison 
guaranteeing repayment. Uncle Lauder also lent his 
aid and advice, managing all the details for us, and on 
the 17th day of May, 1848, we left Dunfermline. My 
father’s age was then forty-three, my mother’s thirty- 
three. I was in my thirteenth year, my brother Tom 
in his fifth year — a beautiful white-haired child with 
lustrous black eyes, who everywhere attracted atten- 


I had left school forever, with the exception of one 
winter’s night-schooling in America, and later a French 
night-teacher for a time, and, strange to say, an elocu- 
tionist from whom I learned how to declaim. I could 
read, write, and cipher, and had begun the study of 
algebra and of Latin. A letter written to my Uncle 
Lauder during the voyage, and since returned, shows 
that I was then a better penman than now. I had 
wrestled with English grammar, and knew as little of 
what it was designed to teach as children usually do. I 
had read little except about Wallace, Bruce, and Burns; 
but knew many familiar pieces of poetry by heart. I 
should add to this the fairy tales of childhood, and 
especially the “Arabian Nights,’ by which I was 
carried into a new world. I was in dreamland as I de- 
voured those stories. 

On the morning of the day we started from beloved 
Dunfermline, in the omnibus that ran upon the coal 
railroad to Charleston, I remember that I stood with 
tearful eyes looking out of the window until Dunferm- 
line vanished from view, the last structure to fade 
being the grand and sacred old Abbey. During my first 
fourteen years of absence my thought was almost daily, 
as it was that morning, “When shall I see you again?” 
Few days passed in which I did not see in my mind’s 
eye the talismanic letters on the Abbey tower — 
“King Robert The Bruce.” All my recollections of 
childhood, all I knew of fairyland, clustered around the 
old Abbey and its curfew bell, which tolled at eight 
o’clock every evening and was the signal for me to run 
to bed before it stopped. I have referred to that bell in 
my ‘American Four-in-Hand in Britain”’ ‘when passing 
the Abbey and I may as well quote from it now: 

1 An American Four-in-Hand in Britain. New York, 1886. 


As we drove down the Pends I was standing on the front 
seat of the coach with Provost Walls, when I heard the first 
toll of the Abbey bell, tolled in honor of my mother and my- 
self. My knees sank from under me, the tears came rushing 
before I knew it, and I turned round to tell the Provost that 
I must give in. For a moment I felt as if I were about to 
faint. Fortunately I saw that there was no crowd before us 
for a little distance. I had time to regain control, and biting 
my lips till they actually bled, I murmured to myself, ‘‘No 
matter, keep cool, you must go on”; but never can there 
come to my ears on earth, nor enter so deep into my soul, a 
sound that shall haunt and subdue me with its sweet, gra- 
cious, melting power as that did. 

By that curfew bell I had been laid in my little couch to 
sleep the sleep of childish innocence. Father and mother, 
sometimes the one, sometimes the other, had told me as they 
bent lovingly over me night after night, what that bell said 
as it tolled. Many good words has that bell spoken to me 
through their translations. No wrong thing did I do through 
the day which that voice from all I knew of heaven and the 
great Father there did not tell me kindly about ere I sank to 
sleep, speaking the words so plainly that I knew that the 
power that moved it had seen all and was not angry, never 
angry, never, but so very, very sorry. Nor is that bell dumb 
to me to-day when I hear its voice. It still has its message, 
and now it sounded to welcome back the exiled mother and 
son under its precious care again. 

The world has not within its power to devise, much less to 
bestow upon us, such reward as that which the Abbey bell 
gave when it tolled in our honor. But my brother Tom should 
have been there also; this was the thought that came. He, 
too, was beginning to know the wonders of that bell ere we 
were away to the newer land. 

Rousseau wished to die to the strains of sweet music. Could 
I choose my accompaniment, I could wish to pass into the 
dim beyond with the tolling of the Abbey bell sounding in 
my ears, telling me of the race that had been run, and calling 
me, as it had called the little white-haired child, for the last 
time — fo sleep. 


[have had many letters from readers speaking of this pas- 
sage in my book, some of the writers going so far as to say 
that tears fell as they read. It came from the heart and 
perhaps that is why it reached the hearts of others. 

We were rowed over in a small boat to the Edin- 
burgh steamer in the Firth of Forth. As I was about 
to be taken from the small boat to the steamer, I rushed 
to Uncle Lauder and clung round his neck, crying out: 
“T cannot leave you! I cannot leave you!”’ I was torn 
from him by a kind sailor who lifted me up on the deck 
of the steamer. Upon my return visit to Dunfermline 
this dear old fellow, when he came to see me, told me it 
was the saddest parting he had ever witnessed. 

We sailed from the Broomielaw of Glasgow in the 
800-ton sailing ship Wiscasset. During the seven weeks 
of the voyage, I came to know the sailors quite well, 
learned the names of the ropes, and was able to direct 
the passengers to answer the call of the boatswain, for 
the ship being undermanned, the aid of the passengers 
was urgently required. In consequence I was invited 
by the sailors to participate on Sundays, in the one 
delicacy of the sailors’ mess, plum duff. I left the ship 
with sincere regret. 

The arrival at New York was bewildering. I had 
been taken to see the Queen at Edinburgh, but that was 
the extent of my travels before emigrating. Glasgow we 
had not time to see before we sailed. New York was the 
first great hive of human industry among the inhabit- 
ants of which I had mingled, and the bustle and excite- 
ment of it overwhelmed me. The incident of our stay in 
New York which impressed me most occurred while I was 
walking through Bowling Green at Castle Garden. I was. 
caught up in the arms of one of the Wiscasset sailors, 
Robert Barryman, who was decked out in regular Jack- 


ashore fashion, with blue jacket and white trousers. I 
thought him the most beautiful man I had ever seen. 

He took me to a refreshment stand and ordered a 
glass of sarsaparilla for me, which I drank with as much 
relish as if it were the nectar of the gods. To this day 
nothing that I have ever seen of the kind rivals the im- 
age which remains in my mind of the gorgeousness of 
the highly ornamented brass vessel out of which that 
nectar came foaming. Often as I have passed the identi- 
cal spot I see standing there the old woman’s sarsapa- 
rilla stand, and I marvel what became of the dear old 
sailor. I have tried to trace him, but in vain, hoping 
that if found he might be enjoying a ripe old age, and 
that it might be in my power to add to the pleasure of 
his declining years. He was my ideal Tom Bowling, and 
when that fine old song is sung I always see as the “form 
of manly beauty’’ my dear old friend Barryman. Alas! 
ere this he’s gone aloft. Well; by his kindness on the 
voyage he made one boy his devoted friend and admirer. 

We knew only Mr. and Mrs. Sloane in New York — 
parents of the well-known John, Wille, and Henry 
Sloane. Mrs. Sloane (Euphemia Douglas) was my 
mother’s companion in childhood in Dunfermline. Mr. 
Sloane and my father had been fellow weavers. We 
called upon them and were warmly welcomed. It was a 
genuine pleasure when Willie, his son, bought ground 
from me in 1900 opposite our New York residence for 
his two married daughters so that our children of the 
third generation became playmates as our mothers 
were in Scotland. 

My father was induced by emigration agents in New 
York to take the Erie Canal by way of Buffalo and 
Lake Erie to Cleveland, and thence down the canal to 
Beaver — a journey which then lasted three weeks, 


and is made to-day by rail in ten hours. There was no 
railway communication then with Pittsburgh, nor in- 
deed with any western town. The Erie Railway was 
under construction and we saw gangs of men at work 
upon it as we traveled. Nothing comes amiss to youth, 
and I look back upon my three weeks as a passenger 
upon the canal-boat with unalloyed pleasure. All that 
was disagreeable in my experience has long since faded 
from recollection, excepting the night we were com- 
pelled to remain upon the wharf-boat at Beaver wait- 
ing for the steamboat to take us up the Ohio to Pitts- 
burgh. This was our first introduction to the mosquito 
in all its ferocity. My mother suffered so severely that 
in the morning she could hardly see. We were all 
frightful sights, but I do not remember that even the 
stinging misery of that night kept me from sleeping 
soundly. I could always sleep, never knowing “horrid 
night, the child of hell.” 

Our friends in Pittsburgh had been anxiously waiting 
to hear from us, and in their warm and affectionate 
greeting all our troubles were forgotten. We took up 
our residence with them in Allegheny City. A brother 
of my Uncle Hogan had built a small weaver’s shop at 
the back end of a lot in Rebecca Street. This had a 
second story in which there were two rooms, and it 
was in these (free of rent, for my Aunt Aitken owned 
them) that my parents began housekeeping. My uncle 
soon gave up weaving and my father took his place and 
began making tablecloths, which he had not only to 
weave, but afterwards, acting as his own merchant, to 
travel and sell, as no dealers could be found to take 
them in quantity. He was compelled to market them 
himself, selling from door to door. The returns were 
meager in the extreme. 



As usual, my mother came to the rescue. There was 
no keeping her down. In her youth she had learned to 
bind shoes in her father’s business for pin-money, and 
the skill then acquired was now turned to account for 
the benefit of the family. Mr. Phipps, father of my 
friend and partner Mr. Henry Phipps, was, like my 
grandfather, a master shoemaker. He was our neighbor 
in Allegheny City. Work was obtained from him, and in 
addition to attending to her household duties — for, of 
course, we had no servant — this wonderful woman, my 
mother, earned four dollars a week by binding shoes. 
Midnight would often find her at work. In the intervals 
during the day and evening, when household cares 
would permit, and my young brother sat at her knee 
threading needles and waxing the thread for her, she 
recited to him, as she had to me, the gems of Scottish 
minstrelsy which she seemed to have by heart, or told 
him tales which failed not to contain a moral. 

This is where the children of honest poverty have 
the most precious of all advantages over those of wealth. 
The mother, nurse, cook, governess, teacher, saint, all 
in one; the father, exemplar, guide, counselor, and 
friend! Thus were my brother and I brought up. What 
has the child of millionaire or nobleman that counts 
compared to such a heritage? 

My mother was a busy woman, but all her work did 
not prevent her neighbors from soon recognizing her 
as a wise and kindly woman whom they could call 
upon for counsel or help in times of trouble. Many have 
told me what my mother did for them. So it was in 
after years wherever we resided; rich and poor came to 
her with their trials and found good counsel. She tow- 
ered among her neighbors wherever she went. 


HE great question now was, what could be found 
for me to do. I had just completed my thirteenth 

year, and I fairly panted to get to work that I might 
help the family to a start in the new land. The pros- 
pect of want had become to me a frightful nightmare. 
My thoughts at this period centered in the determina- 
tion that we should make and save enough of money 
to produce three hundred dollars a year — twenty-five 
dollars monthly, which I figured was the sum required 
to keep us without being dependent upon others. 
Every necessary thing was very cheap in those days. 

The brother of my Uncle Hogan would often ask 
what my parents meant to do with me, and one day 
there occurred the most tragic of all scenes I have ever 
witnessed. Never can I forget it. He said, with the 
kindest intentions in the world, to my mother, that I 
was a likely boy and apt to learn; and he believed that 
if a basket were fitted out for me with knickknacks to 
sell, I could peddle them around the wharves and make 
quite a considerable sum. I never knew what an en- 
raged woman meant till then. My mother was sitting 
sewing at the moment, but she sprang to her feet with 
outstretched hands and shook them in his face. 

“What! my son a peddler and go among rough men 
upon the wharves! I would rather throw him into the 
Allegheny River. Leave me!”’ she cried, pointing to the 
door, and Mr. Hogan went. 

She stood a tragic queen. The next moment she had 


broken down, but only for a few moments did tears 
fall and sobs come. Then she took her two boys in her 
arms and told us not to mind her foolishness. There 
were many things in the world for us to do and we 
could be useful men, honored and respected, if we al- 
ways did what was right. It was a repetition of Helen 
Macgregor, in her reply to Osbaldistone in which she 
threatened to have her prisoners “‘chopped into as 
many pieces as there are checks in the tartan.”’ But 
the reason for the outburst was different. It was not 
because the occupation suggested was peaceful labor, 
for we were taught that idleness was disgraceful; but 
because the suggested occupation was somewhat va- 
grant in character and not entirely respectable in her 
eyes. Better death. Yes, mother would have taken 
her two boys, one under each arm, and perished with 
them rather than they should mingle with low com- 
pany in their extreme youth. 

As I look back upon the early struggles this can be 
said: there was not a prouder family in the land. A keen 
sense of honor, independence, self-respect, pervaded the 
household. Walter Scott said of Burns that he had the 
most extraordinary eye he ever saw in a human being. 
I can say as much for my mother. As Burns has it: 

“Her eye even turned on empty space, 
Beamed keen with honor.” 

Anything low, mean, deceitful, shifty, coarse, under- 
hand, or gossipy was foreign to that heroic soul. Tom 
and I could not help growing up respectable characters, 
having such a mother and such a father, for the father, 
too, was one of nature’s noblemen, beloved by all, a 

Soon after this incident my father found it necessary 


to give up hand-loom ‘weaving and to enter the cot- 
ton factory of Mr. Blackstock, an old Scotsman in 
Allegheny City, where we lived. In this factory he also 
obtained for me a position as bobbin boy, and my first 
work was done there at one dollar and twenty cents 
per week. It was a hard life. In the winter father and 
I had to rise and breakfast in the darkness, reach the 
factory before it was daylight, and, with a short interval 
for lunch, work till after dark. The hours hung heavily 
upon me and in the work itself I took no pleasure; but 
the cloud had a silver lining, as it gave me the feeling 
that I was doing something for my world — our family. 
I have made millions since, but none of those millions 
gave me such happiness as my first week’s earnings. 
I was now a helper of the family, a breadwinner, and 
no longer a total charge upon my parents. Often had > 
I heard my father’s beautiful singing of “‘The Boatie 
Rows” and often I longed to fulfill the last lines of the 
| **When Aaleck, Jock, and Jeanettie, 
Are up and got their lair, * 

They ’ll serve to gar the boatie row, 
And lichten a’ our care.” 

I was going to make our tiny craft skim. It should be 
noted here that Aaleck, Jock, and Jeanettie were first 
to get their education. Scotland was the first country 
that required all parents, high or low, to educate their 
children, and established the parish public schools. 
Soon after this Mr. John Hay, a fellow-Scotch manu- 
facturer of bobbins in Allegheny City, needed a boy, 
and asked whether I would not go into his service. I 
went, and received two dollars per week; but at first 
the work was even more irksome than the factory. I 
1 Education. 


had to run a small steam-engine and to fire the boiler in 
the cellar of the bobbin factory. It was too much for me. 
I found myself night after night, sitting up in bed 
trying the steam gauges, fearing at one time that the 
steam was too low and that the workers above would 
complain that they had not power enough, and at 
another time that the steam was too high and that the 
boiler might burst. 

But all this it was a matter of honor to conceal from 
my parents. They had their own troubles and bore 
them. I must play the man and bear mine. My hopes 
were high, and I looked every day for some change to 
take place. What it was to be I knew not, but that it 
would come [I felt certain if I kept on. Besides, at this 
date I was not beyond asking myself what Wallace 
would have done and what a Scotsman ought to do. 
Of one thing I was sure, he ought never to give up. 

One day the chance came. Mr. Hay had to make 
out some bills. He had no clerk, and was himself a poor 
penman. He asked me what kind of hand I could write, 
and gave me some writing to do. The result pleased 
him, and he found it convenient thereafter to let me 
make out his bills. I was also good at figures; and he 
soon found it to be to his interest — and besides, dear 
old man, I believe he was moved by good feeling to- 
ward the white-haired boy, for he had a kind heart and 
was Scotch and wished to relieve me from the engine — 
to put me at other things, less objectionable except in 
one feature. 

It now became my duty to bathe the newly made 
spools in vats of oil. Fortunately there was a room re- 
served for this purpose and I was alone, but not all the 
resolution I could muster, nor all the indignation I felt 
at my own weakness, prevented my stomach from be- 


having in a most perverse way. I never succeeded in 
overcoming the nausea produced by the smell of the 
oil. Even Wallace and Bruce proved impotent here. But 
if I had to lose breakfast, or dinner, I had all the better 
appetite for supper, and the allotted work was done. 
A real disciple of Wallace or Bruce could not give up; 
he would die first. 

My service with Mr. Hay was a distinct advance 
upon the cotton factory, and I also made the acquaint- 
ance of an employer who was very kind to me. Mr. Hay 
kept his books in single entry, and I was able to handle 
them for him; but hearing that all great firms kept their 
books in double entry, and after talking over the matter 
with my companions, John Phipps, Thomas N. Miller, 
and William Cowley, we all determined to attend night 
school during the winter and learn the larger system. 
So the four of us went to a Mr. Williams in Pittsburgh 
and learned double- -entry bookkeeping. 

One evening, early in 1850, when I returned home 
from work, I was told that Mr. David Brooks, manager 
of the telegraph office, had asked my Uncle Hogan if he 
knew where a good boy could be found to act as mes- 
senger. Mr. Brooks and my uncle were enthusiastic 
draught-players, and it was over a game of draughts 
that this important inquiry was made. Upon such trifles 
do the most momentous consequences hang. A word, 
a look, an accent, may affect the destiny not only of 
individuals, but of nations. He is a bold man who calls 
anything a trifle. Who was it who, being advised to dis- 
regard trifles, said he always would if any one could tell 
him what a trifle was? The young should remember that 
upon trifles the best gifts of the gods often hang. 

My uncle mentioned my name, and said he would see 
whether I would take the position. I remember so well 


the family council that was held. Of course I was wild 
with delight. No bird that ever was confined in a cage 
longed for freedom more than I. Mother favored, but 
father was disposed to deny my wish. It would prove 
too much for me, he said; I was too young and too small. . 
For the two dollars and a half per week offered it was 
evident that a much larger boy was expected. Late at 
night I might be required to run out into the country 
with a telegram, and there would be dangers to encoun- 
ter. Upon the whole my father said that it was best that 
I should remain where I was. He subsequently withdrew 
his objection, so far as to give me leave to try, and I be- 
lieve he went to Mr. Hay and consulted with him. Mr. 
Hay thought it would be for my advantage, and al- 
though, as he said, it would be an inconvenience to him, 
still he advised that I should try, and if I failed he was 
kind enough to say that my old place would be open 
for me. 

This being decided, I was asked to go over the river 
to Pittsburgh and call on Mr. Brooks. My father wished 
to go with me, and it was settled that he should accom- 
pany me as far as the telegraph office, on the corner of 
Fourth and Wood Streets. It was a bright, sunshiny 
morning and this augured well. Father and I walked 
over from Allegheny to Pittsburgh, a distance of nearly 
two miles from our house. Arrived at the door I asked 
father to wait outside. I insisted upon going alone up- 
stairs to the second or operating floor to see the great 
man and learn my fate. I was led to this, perhaps, be- 
cause I had by that time begun to consider myself some- 
thing of an American. At first boys used to call me 
*“Scotchie! Scotchie!’’ and I answered, “‘ Yes, I’m Scotch 
and I am proud of the name.” But in speech and in ad- 
dress the broad Scotch had been worn off to a slight 


extent, and I imagined that I could make a smarter 
showing if alone with Mr. Brooks than if my good old 
Scotch father were present, perhaps to smile at my airs. 

I was dressed in my one white linen shirt, which was 
usually kept sacred for the Sabbath day, my blue round- 
about, and my whole Sunday suit. I had at that time, and 
for a few weeks after I entered the telegraph service, but 
one linen suit of summer clothing; and every Saturday 
night, no matter if that was my night on duty and I did 
not return till near midnight, my mother washed those 
clothes and ironed them, and I put them on fresh on 
Sabbath morning. There was nothing that heroine did 
not do in the struggle we were making for elbow room 
in the western world. Father’s long factory hours tried 
his strength, but he, too, fought the good fight like a 
hero and never failed to encourage me.. 

The interview was successful. I took care to explain 
that I did not know Pittsburgh, that perhaps I would 
not do, would not be strong enough; but all I wanted 
was a trial. He asked me how soon I could come, and 
I said that I could stay now if wanted. And, looking 
back over the circumstance, I think that answer might 
well be pondered by young men. It is a great mistake not 
to seize the opportunity. The position was offered to me; 
something might occur, some other boy might be sent 
for. Having got myself in I proposed to stay there if 
I could. Mr. Brooks very kindly called the other boy — 
for it was an additional messenger that was wanted — 
and asked him to show me about, and let me go with 
him and learn the business. I soon found opportunity to 
run down to the corner of the street and tell my father 
that it was all right, and to go home and tell mother 
that I had got the situation. 

And that is how in 1850 I got my first real start in life. 



From the dark cellar running a steam-engine at two 
dollars a week, begrimed with coal dirt, without a trace 
of the elevating influences of life, I was lifted into para- 
dise, yes, heaven, as it seemed to me, with newspapers, 
pens, pencils, and sunshine about me. There was scarcely 
a minute in which I could not learn something or find 
out how much there was to learn and how little I knew. 
I felt that my foot was upon the ladder and that I was 
bound to climb. 

I had only one fear, and that was that I could not 
learn quickly enough the addresses of the various busi- 
ness houses to which messages had to be delivered. 
I therefore began to note the signs of these houses up 
one side of the street and down the other. At night I ex- 
ercised my memory by naming in succession the various 
firms. Before long I could shut my eyes and, beginning 
at the foot of.a business street, call off the names of the 
firms in proper order along one side to the top of the 
street, then crossing on the other side go down in regu- 
lar order to the foot again. 

The next step was to know the men themselves, for it 
gave a messenger a great advantage, and often saved 
a long journey, if he knew members or employees of 
firms. He might meet one of these going direct to his 
office. It was reckoned a great triumph among the boys 
to deliver a message upon the street. And there was the 
additional satisfaction to the boy himself, that a great 
man (and most men are great to messengers), stopped 
upon the street in this way, seldom failed to note the 
boy and compliment him. 3 

The Pittsburgh of 1850 was very different from what 
it has since become. It had not yet recovered from the 
ereat fire which destroyed the entire business portion of 
the city on April 10, 1845. The houses were mainly of 


wood, a few only were of brick, and not one was fire- 
proof. The entire population in and around Pittsburgh 
was not over forty thousand. The business portion of 
the city did not extend as far as Fifth Avenue, which was 
then a very quiet street, remarkable only for having the 
theater upon it. Federal Street, Allegheny, consisted of 
straggling business houses with great open spaces be- 
tween them, and I remember skating upon ponds in 
the very heart of the present Fifth Ward. The site of 
our Union Iron Mills was then, and many years later, 
a cabbage garden. 

General Robinson, to whom I delivered many a tele- 
graph message, was the first white child born west of the 
Ohio River. I saw the first telegraph line stretched from 
the east into the city; and, at a later date, I also saw the 
first locomotive, for the Ohio and Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, brought by canal from Philadelphia and unloaded 
from a scow in Allegheny City. There was no direct 
railway communication to the East. Passengers took | 
the canal to the foot of the Allegheny Mountains, over 
which they were transported to Hollidaysburg, a dis- 
tance of thirty miles by rail; thence by canal again to 
Columbia, and then eighty-one miles by rail to Phila- 
delphia — a journey which occupied three days. 

The great event of the day in Pittsburgh at that time 
was the arrival and departure of the steam packet to 
and from Cincinnati, for daily communication had been 
established. The business of the city was largely that of 
forwarding merchandise East and West, for it was the 
great transfer station from river to canal. A rolling mill 

1 “Beyond Philadelphia was the Camden and Amboy Railway; beyond 
Pittsburgh, the Fort Wayne and Chicago, separate organizations with 
which we had nothing to do.” (Problems of To-day, by Andrew Canireeg 
p. 187. New York, 1908.) 


had begun to roll iron; but not a ton of pig metal was 
made, and not a ton of steel for many a year thereafter. 
The pig iron manufacture at first was a total failure 
because of the lack of proper fuel, although the most 
valuable deposit of coking coal in the world lay within 
a few miles, as much undreamt of for coke to smelt iron- 
stone as the stores of natural gas which had for ages 
lain untouched under the city. 

There were at that time not half a dozen “carriage”’ 
people in the town; and not for many years after was the 
attempt made to introduce livery, even for a coachman. 
As late as 1861, perhaps, the most notable financial 
event which had occurred in the annals of Pittsburgh 
was the retirement from business of Mr. Fahnestock 
with the enormous sum of $174,000, paid by his partners 
for his interest. How great a sum that seemed then and 
how trifling now! 

My position as messenger boy soon made me ac- 
quainted with the few leading men of the city. The bar 
of Pittsburgh was distinguished. Judge Wilkins was at 
its head, and he and Judge MacCandless, Judge Mc- 
Clure, Charles Shaler and his partner, Edwin M. Stan- 
ton, afterwards the great War Secretary (“‘Lincoln’s 

right-hand man’’) were all well known to me — the last- 
named especially, for he was good enough to take notice 
of me as a boy. In business circles among prominent men 
who still survive, Thomas M. Howe, James Park, C. G. 
Hussey, Benjamin F. Jones, William Thaw, John Chal- 
fant, Colonel Herron were great men to whom the mes- 
senger boys looked as models, and not bad models 
either, as their lives proved. [Alas! all dead as I revise 
this paragraph in 1906, so steadily moves the solemn 
procession. | 

My life as a telegraph messenger was in every respect 


a happy one, and it was while in this position that I laid 
the foundation of my closest friendships. The senior 
messenger boy being promoted, a new boy was needed, 
and he came in the person of David McCargo, after- 
wards the well-known superintendent of the Allegheny 
Valley Railway. He was made my companion and we 
had to deliver all the messages from the Eastern line, 
while two other boys delivered the messages from the 
West. The Eastern and Western Telegraph Companies 
were then separate, although occupying the same build- 
ing. “Davy” and I became firm friends at once, one 
great bond being that he was Scotch; for, although 
“Davy” was born in America, his father was quite as 
much a Scotsman, even in speech, as my own father. 
A short time after “Davy’s’’ appointment a third 
boy was required, and this time I was asked if I could 
find a suitable one. This I had no difficulty in doing in 
my chum, Robert Pitcairn, later on my successor as. 
superintendent and general agent at Pittsburgh of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad. Robert, like myself, was not only 
Scotch, but Scotch-born, so that “Davy,” “Bob,” and 
“Andy” became the three Scotch boys who delivered 
all the messages of the Eastern Telegraph Line in Pitts- 
burgh, for the then magnificent salary of two and a half — 
dollars per week. It was the duty of the boys to sweep 
the office each morning, and this we did in turn, so it 
will be seen that we all began at the bottom. Hon. H. W. 
Oliver,! head of the great manufacturing firm of Oliver 
Brothers, and W. C. Morland,? City Solicitor, subse- 
quently joined the corps and started in the same fash- 
ion. It is not the rich man’s son that the young struggler 
for advancement has to fear in the race of life, nor his 
nephew, nor his cousin. Let him look out for the “dark 
1 Died 1904. 2 Died 1889. 



horse” in the boy who begins by sweeping out the 

A messenger boy in those days had many pleasures. 
There were wholesale fruit stores, where a pocketful of 
apples was sometimes to be had for the prompt delivery 
of a message; bakers’ and confectioners’ shops, where 
sweet cakes were sometimes given to him. He met with 
very kind men, to whom he looked up with respect; 
they spoke a pleasant word and complimented him on 
his promptness, perhaps asked him to deliver a message 
on the way back to the office. I do not know a situation 
in which a boy is more apt to attract attention, which is 
all a really clever boy requires in order to rise. Wise men 
are always looking out for clever boys. 

One great excitement of this life was the extra 
charge of ten cents which we were permitted to collect 
for messages delivered beyond a certain limit. These 
“dime messages,”’ as might be expected, were anxiously 
watched, and quarrels arose among us as to the right 
of delivery. In some cases it was alleged boys had now 
and then taken a dime message out of turn. This was 
the only cause of serious trouble among us. By way of 
settlement I proposed that we should “‘pool”’ these mes- 
sages and divide the cash equally at the end of each 
week. I was appointed treasurer. Peace and good-humor 
reigned ever afterwards. This pooling of extra earnings 
not being intended to create artificial prices was really 
codperation. It was my first essay in financial organiza- 

The boys considered that they had a perfect right to 
spend these dividends, and the adjoining confectioner’s 
shop had running accounts with most of them. The ac- 
counts were sometimes greatly overdrawn. The treas- 
urer had accordingly to notify the confectioner, which 


he did in due form, that he would not be responsible for 
any debts contracted by the too hungry and greedy 
boys. Robert Pitcairn was the worst offender of all, ap- 
parently having not only. one sweet tooth, but all his 
teeth of that character. He explained to me confiden- 
tially one day, when I scolded him, that he had live 
things in his stomach that gnawed his insides until fed 
upon sweets. 


ITH all their pleasures the messenger boys were 

hard worked. Every other evening they were re- 
quired to be on duty until the office closed, and on these 
nights it was seldom that I reached home before eleven 
o clock. On the alternating nights we were relieved at 
six. This did not leave much time for self-improvement, 
nor did the wants of the family leave any money to 
spend on books. There came, however, like a blessing 
from above, a means by which the treasures of liter- 
ature were unfolded to me. 

Colonel James Anderson —I bless his name as I 
write — announced that he would open his library of 
four hundred volumes to boys, so that any young man 
could take out, each Saturday afternoon, a book which 
could be exchanged for another on the succeeding Sat- 
urday. My friend, Mr. Thomas N. Miller, reminded me 
recently that Colonel Anderson’s books were first opened 
to “working boys,” and the question arose whether 
messenger boys, clerks, and others, who did not work 
with their hands, were entitled to books. My first com- 
munication to the press was a note, written to the 
“Pittsburgh Dispatch,” urging that we should not be 
excluded; that although we did not now work with our 
hands, some of us had done so, and that we were really 
working boys.' Dear Colonel Anderson promptly en- 

1 The note was signed “‘ Working Boy.” The librarian responded in the 
columns of the Dispatch defending the rules, which he claimed meant that 
“a Working Boy should have a trade.” Carnegie’s rejoinder was signed 
“A Working Boy, though without a Trade,” and a day or two thereafter 


larged the classification. So my first appearance as a 
public writer was a success. 

My dear friend, Tom Miller, one of the inner circle, 
lived near Colonel Anderson and introduced me to him, 
and in this way the windows were opened in the walls of 
my dungeon through which the hght of knowledge 
streamed in. Every day’s toil and even the long hours 
of night service were lightened by the book which I car- 
ried about with me and read in the intervals that could 
be snatched from duty. And the future was made bright 
by the thought that when Saturday came a new volume 
could be obtained. In this way I became familiar with 
Macaulay’s essays and his history, and with Bancroft’s 
“History of the United States,” which I studied with 
more care than any other book I had then read. Lamb’s 
essays were my special delight, but I had at this time 
no knowledge of the great master of all, Shakespeare, 
beyond the selected pieces in the school books. My taste 
for him I acquired a little later at the old Pittsburgh 

John Phipps, James R. Wilson, Thomas N. Miller, 
William Cowley — members of our circle — shared 
with me the invaluable privilege of the use of Colonel 
Anderson’s library. Books which it would have been im- 
possible for me to obtain elsewhere were, by his wise 
generosity, placed within my reach; and to him I owe a 
taste for literature which I would not exchange for all 
the millions that were ever amassed by man. Life would 
be quite intolerable without it. Nothing contributed so 
much to keep my companions and myself clear of low 
fellowship and bad habits as the beneficence of the good 

the Dispatch had an item on its editorial page which read: “‘ Will ‘a Work- 
ing Boy without a Trade’ please call at this office.” (David Homer Bates 
in Century Magazine, July, 1908.) 



Colonel. Later, when fortune smiled upon me, one of 
my first duties was the erection of a monument to my 
benefactor. It stands in front of the Hall and Library 
in Diamond Square, which I presented to Allegheny, 
and bears this inscription: 

To Colonel James Anderson, Founder of Free Li- 
braries in Western Pennsylvania. He opened his 
Library to working boys and upon Saturday after- 
noons acted as librarian, thus dedicating not only 
his books but himself to the noble work. This monu- 
ment is erected in grateful remembrance by Andrew 
Carnegie, one of the “‘working boys”’ to whom were 
_ thus opened the precious treasures of knowledge and 
imagination through which youth may ascend. | 

This is but a slight tribute and gives only a faint idea 
of the depth of gratitude which I feel for what he did 
for me and my companions. It was from my own early 
experience that I decided there was no use to which 
money could be applied so productive of good to boys 
and girls who have good within them and ability and 
ambition to develop it, as the founding of a public library 
in a community which is willing to support it as a mu- 
nicipal institution. I am sure that the future of those 
libraries I have been privileged to found will prove the 
correctness of this opinion. For if one boy in each library 
district, by having access to one of these libraries, is half 
as much benefited as I was by having access to Colonel 
Anderson’s four hundred well-worn volumes, I shall 
consider they have not been established in vain. 

“As the twig is bent the tree’s inclined.”’ The treas- 
ures of the world which books contain were opened to 
me at the right moment. The fundamental advantage 
of a library is that it gives nothing for nothing. Youths 
must acquire knowledge themselves. There is no escape 


from this. It gave me great satisfaction to discover, 
many years later, that my father was one of the five 
weavers in Dunfermline who gathered together the few 
books they had and formed the first circulating library 
in that town. : 

The history of that library is interesting. It grew, and 
was removed no less than seven times from place to 
place, the first move being made by the founders, who 
carried the books in their aprons and two coal scuttles 
from the hand-loom shop to the second resting-place. 
That my father was one of the founders of the first li- 
brary in his native town, and that I have been fortunate 
enough to be the founder of the last one, is certainly to 
me one of the most interesting incidents of my life. I 
have said often, in public speeches, that I had never 
heard of a lineage for which I would exchange that of a 
library-founding weaver.' I followed my father in li- 
brary founding unknowingly —I am tempted almost 
' to say providentially — and it has been a source of in- 
tense satisfaction to me. Such a father as mine was a 
guide to be followed — one of the sweetest, purest, and 
kindest natures I have ever known. 

I have stated that it was the theater which first 
stimulated my love for Shakespeare. In my messenger 
days the old Pittsburgh Theater was in its glory under 
the charge of Mr. Foster. His telegraphic business was 
done free, and the telegraph operators were given free 
admission to the theater in return. This privilege ex- 
tended in some degree also to the messengers, who, I 
fear, sometimes withheld telegrams that arrived for him 
in the late afternoon until they could be presented at 

1 “Tt’s a God’s mercy we are all from honest weavers; let us pity those 
who have n’t ancestors of whom they can be proud, dukes or duchesses 
though they be.” (Our Coaching Trip, by Andrew Carnegie, New York, 


the door of the theater in the evening, with the timid 
request that the messenger might be allowed to slip 
upstairs to the second tier — a request which was al- 
ways granted. The boys exchanged duties to give each 
the coveted entrance in turn. | 

In this way I became acquainted with the world that 
lay behind the green curtain. The plays, generally, were 
of the spectacular order; without much literary merit, 
but well calculated to dazzle the eye of a youth of fifteen. 
Not only had I never seen anything so grand, but I had 
never seen anything of the kind. I had never been in a 
theater, or even a concert room, or seen any form of 
public amusement. It was much the same with “Davy” 
McCargo, “Harry” Oliver, and “Bob” Pitcairn. We 
all fell under the fascination of the footlights, and every 
opportunity to attend the theater was eagerly embraced. 

A change in my tastes came when “‘Gust’”’ Adams,! 
one of the most celebrated tragedians of the day, be- 
gan to play in Pittsburgh a round of Shakespearean 
characters. Thenceforth there was nothing for me but 
Shakespeare. I seemed to be able to memorize him 
almost without effort. Never before had I realized what 
magic lay in words. The rhythm and the melody all 
seemed to find a resting-place in me, to melt into a solid 
mass which lay ready to come at call. It was a new lan- 
guage and its appreciation I certainly owe to dramatic 
representation, for, until I saw “‘Macbeth”’ played, my 
interest in Shakespeare was not aroused. I had not read 
the plays. 

At a much later date, Wagner was revealed to me in 
“Lohengrin.” I had heard at the Academy of Music in 
New York, little or nothing by him when the overture 
to “Lohengrin” thrilled me as a new revelation. Here 

1 Edwin Adams. . 


was a genius, indeed, differing from all before, a new 
ladder upon which to climb upward — like Shakespeare, 
a new friend. 

I may speak here of another matter which belongs to 
this same period. A few persons in Allegheny — prob- 
ably not above a hundred in all — had formed them- 
selves into a Swedenborgian Society, in which our 
American relatives were prominent. My father attended 
that church after leaving the Presbyterian, and, of 
course, I was taken there. My mother, however, took 
no interest in Swedenborg. Although always inculeating . 
respect for all forms of religion, and discouraging the- 
ological disputes, she maintained for herself a marked 
reserve. Her position might best be defined by the 
celebrated maxim of Confucius: “To perform the duties 
of this life well, troubling not about another, is the 
prime wisdom.” 

She encouraged her boys to attend church and Sun- 
day school; but there was no difficulty in seeing that 
the writings of Swedenborg, and much of the Old and 
New Testaments had been discredited by her as un- 
worthy of divine authorship or of acceptance as authori- 
tative guides for the conduct of life. I became deeply 
interested in the mysterious doctrines of Swedenborg, 
and received the congratulations of my devout Aunt 
Aitken upon my ability to expound “spiritual sense.” 
That dear old woman fondly looked forward to a time 
when I should become a shining light in the New Jeru- 
salem, and I know it was sometimes not beyond the 
bounds of her imagination that I might blossom into 
what she called a “‘preacher of the Word.”’ 

As I more and more wandered from man-made the- 
ology these fond hopes weakened, but my aunt’s interest 
in and affection for her first nephew, whom she had 


dandled on her knee in Scotland, never waned. My 
cousin, Leander Morris, whom she had some hopes of 
saving through the Swedenborgian revelation, griev- 
ously disappointed her by actually becoming a Baptist 
and being dipped. This was too much for the evangelist, 
although she should have remembered her father passed 
through that same experience and often preached for 
the Baptists in Edinburgh. 

Leander’s reception upon his first call after his fall 
was far from cordial. He was made aware that the fam- 
ily record had suffered by his backsliding when at the 
very portals of the New Jerusalem revealed by Sweden- 
borg and presented to him by one of the foremost dis- 
ciples — his aunt. He began deprecatingly: 

*“Why are you so hard on me, aunt? Look at Andy, 
he is not a member of any church and you don’t scold 
him. Surely the Baptist Church is better than none.” 

The quick reply came: 

“Andy! Oh! Andy, he’s naked, but you are clothed 
in rags.” | 

He never quite regained his standing with dear Aunt 
Aitken. I might yet be reformed, being unattached; but 
Leander had chosen a sect and that sect not of the New 

It was in connection with the Swedenborgian Society 
that a taste for music was first aroused in me. As an 
appendix to the hymn-book of the society there were 
short selections from the oratorios. I fastened instinc- 
tively upon these, and although denied much of a voice, 
yet credited with “expression,” I was a constant at- 
tendant upon choir practice. The leader, Mr. Koethen, 
I have reason to believe, often pardoned the discords I 
produced in the choir because of my enthusiasm in the 
cause. When, at a later date, I became acquainted with 


the oratorios in full, it was a pleasure to find that sev- 
eral of those considered in musical circles as the gems of 
Handel’s musical compositions were the ones that I as 
an ignorant boy had chosen as favorites. So the begin- 
ning of my musical education dates from the small choir 
of the Swedenborgian Society of Pittsburgh. 

I must not, however, forget that a very good founda- 
tion was laid for my love of sweet sounds in the unsur- 
passed minstrelsy of my native land as sung by my 
father. There was scarcely an old Scottish song with 
which I was not made familiar, both words and tune. 
Folk-songs are the best possible foundation for sure 
progress to the heights of Beethoven and Wagner. My 
father being one of the sweetest and most pathetic sing- 
ers I ever heard, I probably inherited his love of music 
and of song, though not given his voice. Confucius’ ex- 
clamation often sounds in my ears: “‘Music, sacred 
tongue of God! I hear thee calling and I come.,” 

An incident of this same period exhibits the liberality 
of my parents in another matter. As a messenger boy 
I had no holidays, with the exception of two weeks 
given me in the summer-time, which I spent boating on. 
the river with cousins at my uncle’s at East Liverpool, 
Ohio. I was very fond of skating, and in the winter about 
which I am speaking, the slack water of the river op- 
posite our house was beautifully frozen over. The ice 
was in splendid condition, and reaching home late Sat- 
urday night the question arose whether I might be per- 
mitted to rise early in the morning and go skating 
before church hours. No question of a more serious 
character could have been submitted to ordinary Scot- 
tish parents. My mother was clear on the subject, that 
in the circumstances I should be allowed to skate as long 
as I liked. My father said he believed it was right I 


should go down and skate, but he hoped I would be back 
in time to go with him to church. 

I suppose this decision would be arrived at to-day by 
nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand 
homes in America, and probably also in the majority of 
homes in England, though not in Scotland. But those 
who hold to-day that the Sabbath in its fullest sense 
was made for man, and who would open picture gal- 
leries and museums to the public, and make the day 
somewhat of a day of enjoyment for the masses instead 
of pressing upon them the duty of mourning over sins 
largely imaginary, are not more advanced than were my 
parents forty years ago. They were beyond the ortho- 
dox of the period when it was scarcely permissible, at 
least among the Scotch, to take a walk for pleasure or 
read any but religious books on the Sabbath. 


HAD served as messenger about a year, when Colo- 

nel John P. Glass, the manager of the downstairs 
office, who came in contact with the public, began 
selecting me occasionally to watch the office for a few 
minutes during his absence. As Mr. Glass was a highly 
popular man, and had political aspirations, these peri- 
ods of absence became longer and more frequent, so 
that I soon became an adept in his branch of the work. 
I received messages from the public and saw that those 
that came from the operating-room were properly as- 
signed to the boys for prompt delivery. 

This was a trying position for a boy to fill, and at that 
time I was not popular with the other boys, who re- 
sented my exemption from part of my legitimate work. 
I was also taxed with being penurious in my habits — 
mean, as the boys had it. I did not spend my extra 
dimes, but they knew not the reason. Every penny that 
I could save I knew was needed at home. My parents 
were wise and nothing was withheld from me. I knew 
every week the receipts of each of the three who were 
working — my father, my mother, and myself. I also 
knew all the expenditures. We consulted upon the addi- 
tions that could be made to our scanty stock of furniture 
and clothing and every new small article obtained was 
a source of joy. There never was a family more united. 

Day by day, as mother could spare a silver half- 
dollar, it was carefully placed in a stocking and hid un- 
til two hundred were gathered, when I obtained a draft 


to repay the twenty pounds so generously lent to us by 
her friend Mrs. Henderson. That was a day we cele- 
brated. The Carnegie family was free from debt. Oh, 
the happiness of that day! The debt was, indeed, dis- 
charged, but the debt of gratitude remains that never 
can be paid. Old Mrs. Henderson lives to-day. I go to 
her house as to a shrine, to see her upon my visits to 
Dunfermline; and whatever happens she can never be 
forgotten. [As I read these lines, written some years ago, 
I moan, “Gone, gone with the others!’’ Peace to the 
ashes of a dear, good, noble friend of my mother’s.] 

The incident in my messenger life which at once 
lifted me to the seventh heaven, occurred one Saturday 
evening when Colonel Glass was paying the boys their 
month’s wages. We stood in a row before the counter, 
and Mr. Glass paid each one in turn. I was at the head 
and reached out my hand for the first eleven and a 
quarter dollars as they were pushed out by Mr. Glass. 
To my surprise he pushed them past me and paid the 
next boy. I thought it was a mistake, for I had hereto- 
fore been paid first, but it followed in turn with each of 
the other boys. My heart began to sink within me. Dis- 
grace seemed coming. What had I done or not done? I 
was about to be told that there was no more work for 
me. I was to disgrace the family. That was the keen- 
est pang of all. When all had been paid and the boys 
were gone, Mr. Glass took me behind the counter and 
said that I was worth more than the other boys, and 
he had resolved to pay me thirteen and a half dollars 
a month. 

My head swam; I doubted whether I had heard him cor- 
rectly. He counted out the money. I don’t know whether 
I thanked him; I don’t believe I did. I took it and made 
one bound for the door and scarcely stopped until I got 


home. I remember distinctly running or rather bounding 
from end to end of the bridge across the Allegheny 
River — inside on the wagon track because the foot- 
walk was too narrow. It was Saturday night. I handed 
over to mother, who was the treasurer of the family, the 
eleven dollars and a quarter and said nothing about the 
remaining two dollars and a quarter in my pocket — 
worth more to me then than all the millions I have made 
since. ; 

Tom, a little boy of nine, and myself slept in the attic 
together, and after we were safely in bed I whispered 
the secret to my dear little brother. Even at his early 
age he knew what it meant, and we talked over the fu- 
ture. It was then, for the first time, I sketched to him 
how we would go into business together; that the firm of 
““Carnegie Brothers”’ would be a great one, and that 
father and mother should yet ride in their carriage. At 
the time that seemed to us to embrace everything known 
as wealth and most of what was worth striving for. The 
old Scotch woman, whose daughter married a merchant 
in London, being asked by her son-in-law to come to 
London and live near them, promising she should “ride 
in her carriage,”’ replied: 

“What good could it do me to ride in a carriage gin 
I could na be seen by the folk in Strathbogie?”’ Father 
and mother would not only be seen in Pittsburgh, but 
should visit Dunfermline, their old home, in style. 

On Sunday morning with father, mother, and Tom 
at breakfast, I produced the extra two dollars and a 
quarter. The surprise was great and it took some mo- 
ments for them to grasp the situation, but it soon 
dawned upon them. Then father’s glance of loving pride ° 
and mother’s blazing eye soon wet with tears, told their 
feeling. It was their boy’s first triumph and proof posi- 


tive that he was worthy of promotion. No subsequent 
success, or recognition of any kind, ever thrilled me as 
this did. [ cannot even imagine one that could. Here was 
heaven upon earth. My whole world was moved to 
tears of joy. 

Having to sweep out the operating-room in the morn- 
ings, the boys had an opportunity of practicing upon the 
telegraph instruments before the operators arrived. 
This was a new chance. I soon began to play with the 
key and to talk with the boys who were at the other 
stations who had like purposes to my own. Whenever 
one learns to do anything he has never to wait long for 
an opportunity of putting his knowledge to use. 

One morning I heard the Pittsburgh call given with 
vigor. It seemed to me I could divine that some one 
wished greatly to communicate. I ventured to answer, 
and let the slip run. It was Philadelphia that wanted to 
send “a death message”’ to Pittsburgh immediately. 
Could I take it? I replied that I would try if they would 
send slowly. I succeeded in getting the message and ran 
out with it. I waited anxiously for Mr. Brooks to come 
in, and told him what I had dared to do. Fortunately, 
he appreciated it and complimented me, instead of 
scolding me for my temerity; yet dismissing me with 
the admonition to be very careful and not to make mis- 
takes. It was not long before I was called sometimes 
to watch the instrument, while the operator wished to 
be absent, and in this way I learned the art of teleg- 

We were blessed at this time with a rather indolent 
operator, who was only too glad to have me do his 
work. It was then the practice for us to receive the mes- 
sages on a running slip of paper, from which the opera- 
tor read to a copyist, but rumors had reached us that 


a man in the West had learned to read by sound and 
could really take a message by ear. This led me to prac- 
tice the new method. One of the operators in the office, 
Mr. Maclean, became expert at it, and encouraged me 
by his success. I was surprised at the ease with which 
I learned the new language. One day, desiring to take a 
message in the absence of the operator, the old gentle- 
man who acted as copyist resented my presumption and 
refused to “copy” for a messenger boy. I shut off the 
paper slip, took pencil and paper and began taking the 
message by ear. I shall never forget his surprise. He or- 
dered me to give him back his pencil and pad, and after 
that there was never any difficulty between dear old 
Courtney Hughes and myself. He was my devoted 
friend and copyist. 

Soon after this incident Joseph Taylor, the operator 
at Greensburg, thirty miles from Pittsburgh, wishing to 
be absent for two weeks, asked Mr. Brooks if he could 
not send some one to take his place. Mr. Brooks called | 
me and asked whether I thought I could do the work. 
I replied at once in the affirmative. 

“Well,” he said, ““we will send you out there for a 

I went out in the mail stage and had a most delight- 
ful trip. Mr. David Bruce, a well-known solicitor of 
Scottish ancestry, and his sister happened to be passen- 
gers. It was my first excursion, and my first glimpse of 
the country. The hotel at Greensburg was the first pub- 
lic house in which I had ever taken a meal. I thought 
the food wonderfully fine. 

This was in 1852. Deep cuts and embankments near 
Greensburg were then being made for the Pennsylvania 
Railroad, and I often walked out in the early morning to 
see the work going forward, little dreaming that I was 



so soon to enter the service of that great corporation. 
This was the first responsible position I had occupied in 
the telegraph service, and I was so anxious to be at 
hand in case I should be needed, that one night very 
late I sat in the office during a storm, not wishing to cut 
off the connection. I ventured too near the key and for 
my boldness was knocked off my stool. A flash of light- 
ning very nearly ended my career. After that I was 
noted in the office for caution during lightning storms. 
I succeeded in doing the small business at Greensburg to 
the satisfaction of my superiors, and returned to Pitts- 
burgh surrounded with something like a halo, so far as 
the other boys were concerned. Promotion soon came. 
A new operator was wanted and Mr. Brooks telegraphed 
to my afterward dear friend James D. Reid, then gen- 
eral superintendent of the line, another fine specimen of 
the Scotsman, and took upon himself to recommend me 
as an assistant operator. The telegram from Louisville 
in reply stated that Mr. Reid highly approved of pro- 
moting ‘“‘Andy,”’ provided Mr. Brooks considered him 
competent. The result was that I began as a telegraph 
operator at the tremendous salary of twenty-five dollars 
per month, which I thought a fortune. To Mr. Brooks 
and Mr. Reid I owe my promotion from the messenger’s 
station to the operating-room.' I was then in my seven- 
teenth year and had served my apprenticeship. I was 
now performing a man’s part, no longer a boy’s — 
earning a dollar every working day. 

1 “*T liked the boy’s looks, and it was very easy to see that though he 
was little he was full of spirit. He had not been with me a month when he 
began to ask whether I would teach him to telegraph. I began to instruct 
him and found him an apt pupil.”’ (James D. Reid, The Telegraph in Amer- 
ica. New York, 1879.) ; 

Reid was born near Dunfermline and forty years afterwards Mr. Car- 
negie was able to secure for him the appointment of United States Consul 
at Dunfermline. 


The operating-room of a telegraph office is an excel- 
lent school for a young man. He there has to do with 
pencil and paper, with composition and invention. And 
there my slight knowledge of British and European 
affairs soon stood me in good stead. Knowledge is sure 
to prove useful in one way or another. It always tells. 
The foreign news was then received by wire from Cape 
Race, and the taking of successive “steamer news”’ was 
one of the most notable of our duties. I liked this better 
than any other branch of the work, and it was soon 
tacitly assigned to me. 

The lines in those days worked poorly, and during 
a storm much had to be guessed at. My guessing powers 
were said to be phenomenal, and it was my favorite 
diversion to fill up gaps instead of interrupting the sender 
and spending minutes over a lost word or two. This was 
not a dangerous practice in regard to foreign news, for 
if any undue liberties were taken by the bold operator, 
they were not of a character likely to bring him into 
serious trouble. My knowledge of foreign affairs became 
somewhat extensive, especially regarding the affairs of | 
Britain, and my guesses were quite safe, if I got the first 
letter or two right. 

The Pittsburgh newspapers had each been in the habit 
of sending a reporter to the office to transcribe the press 
dispatches. Later on one man was appointed for all the - 
papers and he suggested that multiple copies could 
readily be made of the news as received, and it was 
arranged that I should make five copies of all press dis- 
patches for him as extra work for which he was to pay 
me a dollar per week. This, my first work for the press, 
yielded very modest remuneration, to be sure; but it 
made my salary thirty dollars per month, and every 
dollar counted in those days. The family was gradually 


gaining ground; already future millionairedom seemed 

Another step which exercised a decided influence over 
me was joining the “Webster Literary Society” along 
with my companions, the trusty five already named. 
We formed a select circle and stuck closely together. 
This was quite an advantage for all of us. We had before 
this formed a small debating club which met in Mr. 
Phipps’s father’s room in which his few journeymen 
shoemakers worked during the day. Tom Miller re- 
cently alleged that I once spoke nearly an hour and 
a half upon the question, “Should the judiciary be 
elected by the people?”’ but we must mercifully assume 
his memory to be at fault. The “ Webster’’ was then the 
foremost club in the city and proud were we to be 
thought fit for membership. We had merely been pre- 
paring ourselves in the cobbler’s room. 

I know of no better mode of benefiting a youth than 
joining such a club as this. Much of my reading became 
such as had a bearing on forthcoming debates and that 
gave clearness and fixity to my ideas. The self-posses- 
sion I afterwards came to have before an audience may 
very safely be attributed to the experience of the 
“Webster Society.”’ My two rules for speaking then 
(and now) were: Make yourself perfectly at home before 
your audience, and simply talk to them, not at them. 
Do not try to be somebody else; be your own self and 
talk, never “‘orate”’ until you can’t help it. 

I finally became an operator by sound, discarding 
printing entirely. The accomplishment was then so rare 
that people visited the office to be satisfied of the extra- 
ordinary feat. This brought me into such notice that 
when a great flood destroyed all telegraph communica- 
tion between Steubenville and Wheeling, a distance of 


twenty-five miles, I was sent to the former town to re- 
ceive the entire business then passing between the East 
and the West, and to send every hour or two the dis- 
patches in small boats down the river to Wheeling. In 
exchange every returning boat brought rolls of dis- 
patches which I wired East, and in this way for more 
than a week the entire telegraphic communication be- 
tween the East and the West vza Pittsburgh was main- 

While at Steubenville I learned that my father was 
going to Wheeling and Cincinnati to sell the tablecloths 
he had woven. I waited for the boat, which did not ar- 
rive till late in the evening, and went down to meet him. 
I remember how deeply affected I was on finding that 
instead of taking a cabin passage, he had resolved not 
to pay the price, but to go down the river as a deck 
passenger. I was indignant that one of so fine a nature 
should be compelled to travel thus. But there was com- 
fort in saying: 

“Well, father, it will not be long before mother and 
you shall ride in your carriage.” 

My father was usually shy, reserved, and keenly 
sensitive, very saving of praise (a Scotch trait) lest his 
sons might be too greatly uplifted; but when touched 
he lost his self-control. He was so upon this occasion, 
and grasped my hand with a look which I often see and 
can never forget. He murmured slowly: 

‘Andra, I am proud of you.” 

The voice trembled and he seemed ashamed of himself 
for saying so much. The tear had to be wiped from his 
eye, I fondly noticed, as he bade me good-night and told 
me to run back to my office. Those words rang in my 
ear and warmed my heart for years and years. We under- 
stood each other. How reserved the Scot is! Where he 


feels most he expresses least. Quite right. There are holy 
depths which it is sacrilege to disturb. Silence is more 
eloquent than words. My father was one of the most 
lovable of men, beloved of his companions, deeply reli- 
gious, although non-sectarian and non-theological, not 
much of a man of the world, but a man all over for 
heaven. He was kindness itself, although reserved. 
Alas! he passed away soon after returning from this 
Western tour just as we were becoming able to give him 
a life of leisure and comfort. 

After my return to Pittsburgh it was not long before 
I made the acquaintance of an extraordinary man, 
Thomas A. Scott, one to whom the term “‘genius”’ in his 
department may safely be applied. He had come to 
Pittsburgh as superintendent of that division of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad. Frequent telegraphic communi- 
cation was necessary between him and his superior, Mr. 
Lombaert, general superintendent at Altoona. This 
brought him to the telegraph office at nights, and upon 
several occasions I happened to be the operator. One day 
I was surprised by one of his assistants, with whom I 
was acquainted, telling me that Mr. Scott had asked 
him whether he thought that I could be obtained as his 
clerk and telegraph operator, to which this young man 
told me he had replied: 

“That is impossible. He is now an operator.”’ 

But when I heard this I said at once: 

*“Not so fast. He can have me. I want to get out of a 
mere office life. Please go and tell him so.”’ 

The result was I was engaged February 1, 1853, at a 
salary of thirty-five dollars a month as Mr. Scott’s clerk 
and operator. A raise in wages from twenty-five to 
thirty-five dollars per month was the greatest I had 
ever known. The public telegraph line was temporarily 


put into Mr. Scott’s office at the outer depot and the 
Pennsylvania Railroad Company was given permission 
to use the wire at seasons when such use would not in- 
terfere with the general public business, until their own 
line, then being built, was completed. 


ROM the operating-room of the telegraph’ office 

I had now stepped into the open world, and the 
change at first was far from agreeable. I had just 
reached my eighteenth birthday, and I do not see how 
it could be possible for any boy to arrive at that age 
much freer from a knowledge of anything but what was 
pure and good. I do not believe, up to that time, I had 
ever spoken a bad word in my life and seldom heard one. 
I knew nothing of the base and the vile. Fortunately 
I had always been brought in contact with good people. 
I was now plunged at once into the company of coarse 
men, for the office was temporarily only a portion of the 
shops and the headquarters for the freight conductors, 
brakemen, and firemen. All of them had access to the 
same room with Superintendent Scott and myself, and 
they availed themselves of it. This was a different world, 
indeed, from that to which I had been accustomed. 
I was not happy about it. I ate, necessarily, of the fruit 
of the tree of knowledge of good and evil for the first 
time. But there were still the sweet and pure surround- 
ings of home, where nothing coarse or wicked ever en- 
tered, and besides, there was the world in which I dwelt 
with my companions, all of them refined young men, 
striving to improve themselves and become respected 
citizens. I passed through this phase of my life detesting 
what was foreign to my nature and my early education. 
The experience with coarse men was probably bene- 
ficial because it gave me a “‘scunner’”’ (disgust), to use a 


Scotism, at chewing or smoking tobacco, also at swear- 
ing or the use of improper language, which fortunately 
remained with me through life. 

I do not wish to suggest that the men of whom I have 
spoken were really degraded or bad characters. The 
habit of swearing, with coarse talk, chewing and smok- 
ing tobacco, and snuffing were more prevalent then 
than to-day and meant less than in this age. Rail- 
roading was new, and many rough characters were 
attracted to it from the river service. But many of the 
men were fine young fellows who have lived to be 
highly respectable citizens and to occupy responsible 
positions. And I must say that one and all of them were 
most kind to me. Many are yet living from whom I 
hear occasionally and regard with affection. A change 
came at last when Mr. Scott had his own office which 
he and I occupied. 

I was soon sent by Mr. Scott to Altoona to get the 
monthly pay-rolls and checks. The railroad line was not 
completed over the Allegheny Mountains at that time, 
and I had to pass over the inclined planes which made 
the journey a remarkable one to me. Altoona was then 
composed of a few houses built by the company. The 
shops were under construction and there was nothing 
of the large city which now occupies the site. It was 
there that I saw for the first time the great man in our 
railroad field — Mr. Lombaert, general superintendent. 
His secretary at that time was my friend, Robert Pit- 
cairn, for whom I had obtained a situation on the rail- 
road, so that “Davy,” “Bob,’? and ““Andy” were 
still together in the same service. We had all left the 
telegraph company for the Pennsylvania Railroad 

Mr. Lombaert was very different from Mr. Scott; 


he was not sociable, but rather stern and unbending. 
Judge then of Robert’s surprise, and my own, when, 
after saying a few words to me, Mr. Lombaert added: 
“You must come down and take tea with us to-night.” 
I stammered out something of acceptance and awaited 
the appointed hour with great trepidation. Up to this 
time I considered that invitation the greatest honor 
I had received. Mrs. Lombaert was exceedingly kind, 
and Mr. Lombaert’s introduction of me to her was: 
“This is Mr. Scott’s “Andy.’”’ I was very proud in- 
deed of being recognized as belonging to Mr. Scott. 

An incident happened on this trip which might have 
blasted my career for a time. I started next morning 
for Pittsburgh with the pay-rolls and checks, as I 
thought, securely placed under my waistcoat, as it 
was too large a package for my pockets. I was a very 
enthusiastic railroader at that time and _ preferred 
riding upon the engine. I got upon the engine that took 
me to Hollidaysburg where the State railroad over 
the mountain was joined up. It was a very rough ride, 
indeed, and at one place, uneasily feeling for the pay-roll 
package, I was horrified to find that the jolting of the 
train had shaken it out. I had lost it! 

There was no use in disguising the fact that such a 
failure would ruin me. To have been sent for the pay- 
rolls and checks and to lose the package, which I should 
have “‘grasped as my honor,” was a dreadful showing. 
I called the engineer and told him it must have been 
shaken out within the last few miles. Would he reverse 
his engine and run back for it? Kind soul, he did so. 
I watched the line, and on the very banks of a large 
stream, within a few feet of the water, I saw that pack- 
age lying. I could scarcely believe my eyes. I ran down 
and grasped it. It was all right. Need I add that it 


never passed out of my firm grasp again until it was 
safe in Pittsburgh? The engineer and fireman were the 
only persons who knew of my carelessness, and I had 
their assurance that it would not be told. 

It was long after the event that I ventured to tell the 
story. Suppose that package had fallen just a few feet 
farther away and been swept down by the stream, how 
many years of faithful service would it have required 
upon my part to wipe out the effect of that one piece of 
carelessness! I could no longer have enjoyed the con- 
fidence of those whose confidence was essential to suc- 
cess had fortune not favored me. I have never since 
believed in being too hard on a young man, even if he 
does commit a dreadful mistake or two; and I have al- 
ways tried in judging such to remember the difference it 
would have made in my own career but for an accident 
which restored to me that lost package at the edge of the 
stream afew milesfrom Hollidaysburg. I could go straight 
to the very spot to-day, and often as I passed over that 
line afterwards I never failed to see that light-brown 
package lying upon the bank. It seemed to be calling: 

“All right, my boy! the good gods were with you, 
but don’t do it again!” 

At an early age I became a strong anti-slavery parti- 
san and hailed with enthusiasm the first national meet- 
ing of the Republican Party in Pittsburgh, February 
22, 1856, although too young to vote. I watched the 
prominent men as they walked the streets, lost in admi- 
ration for Senators Wilson, Hale, and others. Some time 
before I had organized among the railroad men a club 
of a hundred for the “New York Weekly Tribune,” 
and ventured occasionally upon short notes to the 
great editor, Horace Greeley, who did so much to arouse 
the people to action upon this vital question. 


The first time I saw my work in type in the then 
flaming organ of freedom certainly marked a stage in 
my career. I kept that “Tribune” for years. Looking 
back to-day one cannot help regretting so high a price 
as the Civil War had to be paid to free our land from 
the curse, but it was not slavery alone that needed 
abolition. The loose Federal system with State rights 
so prominent would inevitably have prevented, or at 
least long delayed, the formation of one solid, all- 
powerful, central government. The tendency under 
the Southern idea was centrifugal. To-day it is centrip- 
etal, all drawn toward the center under the sway of 
the Supreme Court, the decisions of which are, very 
properly, half the dicta of lawyers and half the work 
of statesmen. Uniformity in many fields must be se- 
cured. Marriage, divorce, bankruptcy, railroad super- 
vision, control of corporations, and some other depart- 
ments should in some measure be brought under one 
head. [Re-reading this paragraph to-day, July, 1907, 
written many years ago, it seems prophetic. These are 
now burning questions.] 

It was not long after this that the railroad company 
constructed its own telegraph line. We had to supply it 
with operators. Most of these were taught in our offices 
at Pittsburgh. The telegraph business continued to in- 
crease with startling rapidity. We could scarcely pro- 
vide facilities fast enough. New telegraph offices were 
required. My fellow messenger-boy, “Davy” McCargo, 
I appointed superintendent of the telegraph department 
March 11, 1859. I have been told that “ Davy” and my- 
self are entitled to the credit of being the first to employ 
young women as telegraph operators in the United States 
upon railroads, or perhaps in any branch. At all events, 
we placed girls in various offices as pupils, taught and 


then put them in charge of offices as occasion required. 
Among the first of these was my cousin, Miss Maria 
Hogan. She was the operator at the freight station in 
Pittsburgh, and with her were placed successive pupils, 
her office becoming a school. Our experience was that 
young women operators were more to be relied upon 
than young men. Among all the new occupations in- 
vaded by women I do not know of any better suited for 
them than that of telegraph operator. 

Mr. Scott was one of the most delightful superiors 
that anybody could have and I soon became warmly 
attached to him. He was my great man and all the hero 
worship that is inherent in youth I showered upon him. 
I soon began placing him in imagination in the presi- 
dency of the great Pennsylvania Railroad — a position 
which he afterwards attained. Under him I gradually 
performed duties not strictly belonging to my depart- 
ment and I can attribute my decided advancement in 
the service to one well-remembered incident. 

The railway was a single line. Telegraph orders to 
trains often became necessary, although it was not 
then a regular practice to run trains by telegraph. No 
one but the superintendent himself was permitted to 
give a train order on any part of the Pennsylvania 
system, or indeed of any other system, I believe, at 
that time. It was then a dangerous expedient to give 
telegraphic orders, for the whole system of railway 
management was still in its infancy, and men had not 
yet been trained for it. It was necessary for Mr. Scott 
to go out night after night to break-downs or wrecks to 
superintend the clearing of the line. He was necessarily 
absent from the office on many mornings. 

One morning I reached the office and found that a 
serious accident on the Eastern Division had delayed 


the express passenger train westward, and that the 
passenger train eastward was proceeding with a flagman 
in advance at every curve. The freight trains in both 
directions were all standing still upon the sidings. Mr. 
Scott was not to be found. Finally I could not resist 
the temptation to plunge in, take the responsibility, 
give “train orders,”’ and set matters going. “‘ Death or 
Westminster Abbey,”’ flashed across my mind. I knew 
it was dismissal, disgrace, perhaps criminal punishment 
for me if I erred. On the other hand, I could bring in the 
wearied freight-train men who had lain out all night. I 
could set everything in motion. I knew I could. I had 
often done it in wiring Mr. Scott’s orders. I knew just 
what to do, and so I began. I gave the orders in his 
name, started every train, sat at the instrument watch- 
ing every tick, carried the trains along from station to 
station, took extra precautions, and had everything 
running smoothly when Mr. Scott at last reached the 
office. He had heard of the delays. His first words were: 

“Well! How are matters?” 

He came to my side quickly, grasped his pencil and 
began to write his orders. I had then to speak, and 
timidly said: 

“Mr. Scott, I could not find you anywhere and I 
gave these orders in your name early this morning.” 

“Are they going all right? Where is the Eastern 

I showed him the messages and gave him the position 
of every train on the line —freights, ballast trains, 
everything — showed him the answers of the various 
conductors, the latest reports at the stations where 
the various trains had passed. All was right. He looked 
in my face for a second. I scarcely dared look in his. 
I did not know what was going to happen. He did not 


say one word, but again looked carefully over all that 
had taken place. Still he said nothing. After a little he 
moved away from my desk to his own, and that was the 
end of it. He was afraid to approve what I had done, 
yet he had not censured me. If it came out all right, 
it was all right; if it came out all wrong, the responsi- 
bility was mine. So it stood, but I noticed that he came 
in very regularly and in good time for some mornings 
after that. 

Of course I never spoke to any one about it. None 
of the trainmen knew that Mr. Scott had not personally 
given the orders. I had almost made up my mind that if 
the like occurred again, I would not repeat my proceed- 
ing of that morning unless I was authorized to do so. I 
was feeling rather distressed about what I had done until 
I heard from Mr. Franciscus, who was then in charge 
of the freighting department at Pittsburgh, that Mr. 
Scott, the evening after the memorable morning, had 
said to him: 

“Do you know what that little white-haired Scotch 
devil of mine did?”’ 

c¢ No.”’ 

“I’m blamed if he did n’t run every train on the 
division in my name without the slightest authority.” 

** And did he do it all right?” asked Franciscus. 

Oh, yes, all right.” | 

This satisfied me. Of course I had my cue for the 
next occasion, and went boldly in. From that date it 
was very seldom that Mr. Scott gave a train order. — 

The greatest man of all on my horizon at this time 
was John Edgar Thomson, president of the Pennsyl-. 
vania, and for whom our steel-rail mills were afterward 
named. He was the most reserved and silent of men, next 
to General Grant, that I ever knew, although General 


A > 




Grant was: more voluble when at home with friends. 
He walked about as if he saw nobody when he made his 
periodical visits to Pittsburgh. This reserve I learned 
afterwards was purely the result of shyness. I was sur- 
prised when in Mr. Scott’s office he came to the tele- 
graph instrument and greeted me as “‘Scott’s Andy.” 
But I learned afterwards that he had heard of my 
train-running exploit. The battle of life is already half 
won by the young man who is brought personally in 
contact with high officials; and the great aim of every 
boy should be to do something beyond the sphere of 
his duties — something which attracts the attention 
of those over him. 

Some time after this Mr. Scott wished to travel for a 
week or two and asked authority from Mr. Lombaert 
to leave me in charge of the division. Pretty bold man 
le was, for I was then not very far out of my teens. It 
was granted. Here was the coveted opportunity of my 
life. With the exception of one accident caused by the 
inexcusable negligence of a ballast-train crew, every- 
thing went well in his absence. But that this accident 
should occur was gall and wormwood to me. Determined 
to fulfill all the duties of the station I held a court- 
martial, examined those concerned, dismissed peremp- 
torily the chief offender, and suspended two others for 
their share in the catastrophe. Mr. Scott after his re- 
turn of course was advised of the accident, and pro- 
posed to investigate and deal with the matter. I felt 
I had gone too far, but having taken the step, I in- 
formed him that all that had been settled. I had in- 
vestigated the matter and punished the guilty. Some 
of these appealed to Mr. Scott for a reopening of the 
case, but this I never could have agreed to, had it been 
pressed. More by look I think than by word Mr. Scott 


understood my feelings upon this delicate oe and 

It is probable he was afraid I had been too severe and 
very likely he was correct. Some years after this, when I, 
myself, was superintendent of the division I always had 
a soft spot in my heart for the men then suspended for 
a time. I had felt qualms of conscience about my action 
in this, my first court. A new judge is very apt to stand 
so straight as really to lean a little backward. Only ex- 
perience teaches the supreme force of gentleness. Light 
but certain punishment, when necessary, is most effec- 
tive. Severe punishments are not needed and a judicious 
pardon, for the first offense at least, is often best of all. 

As the half-dozen young men who constituted our 
inner circle grew in knowledge, it was inevitable that 
the mysteries of life and death, the here and the here- 
after, should cross our path and have to be grappled 
with. We had all been reared by good, honest, self- 
respecting parents, members of one or another of the 
religious sects. Through the influence of Mrs. McMillan, 
wife of one of the leading Presbyterian ministers of 
Pittsburgh, we were drawn into the social circle of her 
husband’s church. [As I read this on the moors, July 
16, 1912, I have before me a note from Mrs. McMillan 
from London in her eightieth year. Two of her daugh- 
ters were married: in London last week to university 
professors, one remains in Britain, the other has ac- 
cepted an appointment in Boston. Eminent men both. 
So draws our English-speaking race together.] Mr. 
McMillan was a good strict Calvinist of the old school, 
his charming wife a born leader of the young. We were 
all more at home with her and enjoyed ourselves more 
at her home gatherings than elsewhere. This led to 
some of us occasionally attending her church. 


A sermon of the strongest kind upon predestination 
which Miller heard there brought the subject of the- 
ology upon us and it would not down. Mr. Miller’s 
people were strong Methodists, and Tom had known 
little of dogmas. This doctrine of predestination, in- 
cluding infant damnation — some born to glory and 
others to the opposite — appalled him. To my aston- 
ishment I learned that, going to Mr. McMillan after 
the sermon to talk over the matter, Tom had blurted 
out at the finish, 

“Mr. McMillan, if your idea were correct, your 
God would be a perfect devil,” and left the astonished 
minister to himself. 

This formed the subject of our Sunday afternoon 
conferences for many a week. Was that true or not, 
end what was to be the consequence of Tom’s declara- 
tion? Should we no longer be welcome guests of Mrs. 
McMillan? We could have spared the minister, perhaps, 
but none of us relished the idea of banishment from his 
wife’s delightful reunions. There was one point clear. 
Carlyle’s struggles over these matters had impressed us 
and we could follow him in his resolve: “If it be in- 
credible, in God’s name let it be discredited.” It was 
only the truth that could make us free, and the truth, 
the whole truth, we should pursue. 

Once introduced, of course, the subject remained with 
us, and one after the other the dogmas were voted down 
as the mistaken ideas of men of a less enlightened age. 
I forget who first started us with a second axiom. It was 
one we often dwelt upon: “A forgiving God would be 
the noblest work of man.” We accepted as proven that 
each stage of civilization creates its own God, and that 
as man ascends and becomes better his conception 
of the Unknown likewise improves. Thereafter we all 


became less theological, but I am sure more truly re- 
ligious. The crisis passed. Happily we were not ex- 
cluded from Mrs. McMillan’s society. It was a notable 
day, however, when we resolved to stand by Miller’s 
statement, even if it involved banishment and worse. 
We young men were getting to be pretty wild boys 
about theology, although more truly reverent about 

The first great loss to our circle came when John 
Phipps was killed by a fall from a horse. This struck 
home to all of us, yet I remember I could then say to 
myself: “John has, as it were, just gone home to Eng- 
land where he was born. We are all to follow him 
soon and live forever together.”’ I had then no doubts. 
It was not a hope I was pressing to my heart, but a 
certainty. Happy those who in their agony have such a 
refuge. We should all take Plato’s advice and never 
give up everlasting hope, “‘alluring ourselves as with en- 
chantments, for the hope is noble and the reward is 
great.”’ Quite right. It would be no greater miracle that 
brought us into another world to live forever with our 
dearest than that which has brought us into this one 
to live a lifetime with them. Both are equally incom- 
prehensible to finite beings. Let us therefore comfort 
ourselves with everlasting hope, “as with enchant- 
ments,’ as Plato recommends, never forgetting, how- 
ever, that we all have our duties here and that the 
kingdom of heaven is within us. It also passed into an 
axiom with us that he who proclaims there is no here- 
after 1s as foolish as he who proclaims there is, since 
neither can know, though all may and should hope. 
Meanwhile “Home our heaven” instead of ‘‘ Heaven 
our home”’ was our motto. | 

During these years of which I have been writing, the 


family fortunes had been steadily improving. My 
thirty-five dollars a month had grown to forty, an un- 
solicited advance having been made by Mr. Scott. 
It was part of my duty to pay the men every month.! 
We used checks upon the bank and I drew my salary 
invariably in two twenty-dollar gold pieces. They 
seemed to me the prettiest works of art in the world. 
It was decided in family council that we could venture 
to buy the lot and the two small frame houses upon it, 
in one of which we had lived, and the other, a four- 
roomed house, which till then had been occupied by my 
Uncle and Aunt Hogan, who had removed elsewhere. 
It was through the aid of my dear Aunt Aitken that we 
had been placed in the small house above the weaver’s 
shop, and it was now our turn to be able to ask her to 
return to the house that formerly had been her own. 
In the same way after we had occupied the four-roomed 
house, Uncle Hogan having passed away, we were able 
to restore Aunt Hogan to her old home when we re- 
moved to Altoona. One hundred dollars cash was paid 
upon purchase, and the total price, as I remember, was 
seven hundred dollars. The struggle then was to make 
up the semi-annual payments of interest and as great an 
amount of the principal as we could save. It was not 
long before the debt was cleared off and we were 
property-holders, but before that was accomplished, 
the first sad break occurred in our family, in my father’s 
death, October 2, 1855. Fortunately for the three re- 
maining members life’s duties were pressing. Sorrow 
and duty contended and we had to work. The expenses 

1 “T remember well when I used to write out the monthly pay-roll and 
came to Mr. Scott’s name for $125. I wondered what he did with it all. 
I was then getting thirty-five.” (Andrew Carnegie in speech at Reunion 
of U.S. Military Telegraph Corps, March 28, 1907.) 


connected with his illness had to be saved and paid 
and we had not up to this time much store in reserve. 

And here comes in one of the sweet incidents of our 
early life in America. The principal member of our 
small Swedenborgian Society was Mr. David McCand- 
less. He had taken some notice of my father and 
mother, but beyond a few passing words at church on 
Sundays, I do not remember that they had ever been 
brought in close contact. He knew Aunt Aitken well, 
however, and now sent for her to say that if my mother 
required any money assistance at this sad period he 
would be very pleased to advance whatever was nec- 
essary. He had heard much of my heroic mother and 
that was sufficient. 

One gets so many kind offers of assistance when 
assistance 1s no longer necessary, or when one is in a 
position which would probably enable him to repay a 
favor, that it is delightful to record an act of pure and 
disinterested benevolence. Here was a poor Scottish 
woman. bereft of her husband, with her eldest son just 
getting a start and a second in his early teens, whose 
misfortunes appealed to this man, and who in the most 
delicate manner sought to mitigate them. Although 
my mother was able to decline the proffered aid, it is 
needless to say that Mr. McCandless obtained a place 
in our hearts sacred to himself. I am a firm believer in 
the doctrine that people deserving necessary assist- 
ance at critical periods in their career usually receive 
it. There are many splendid natures in the world — 
men and women who are not only willing, but anxious 
to stretch forth a helping hand to those they know to 
be worthy. As a rule, those who show willingness to 
help themselves ae not fear about obtaining the help 
of others. | 


Father’s death threw upon me the management of 
affairs to a greater extent than ever. Mother kept on 
the binding of shoes; Tom went steadily to the public 
school; and I continued with Mr. Scott in the service 
of the railroad company. Just at this time Fortunatus 
knocked at our door. Mr. Scott asked me if I had five 
hundred dollars. If so, he said he wished to make an in- 
vestment for me. Five hundred cents was much nearer 
my capital. I certainly had not fifty dollars saved for 
investment, but I was not going to miss the chance of 
becoming financially connected with my leader and 
great man. So I said boldly I thought I could manage 
that sum. He then told me that there were ten shares 
of Adams Express stock that he could buy, which had 
belonged to a station agent, Mr. Reynolds, of Wilkins- 
burg. Of course this was reported to the head of the 
family that evening, and. she was not long in suggest- 
ing what might be done. When did she ever fail? We 
had then paid five hundred dollars upon the house, and 
in some way she thought this might be pledged as 
security for a loan. 

My mother took the steamer the next morning for 
East Liverpool, arriving at night, and through her 
brother there the money was secured. He was a justice 
of the peace, a well-known resident of that then small 
town, and had numerous sums in hand from farmers for 
investment. Our house was mortgaged and mother 
brought back 'the five hundred dollars which I handed 
over to Mr. Scott, who soon obtained for me the coveted 
ten shares in return. There was, unexpectedly, an addi- 
tional hundred dollars to pay as a premium, but Mr. 
Scott kindly said I could pay that when convenient, and 
this of course was an easy matter to do. 

This was my first investment, In those good old days 


monthly dividends were more plentiful than now and 
Adams Express paid a monthly dividend. One morning 
a white envelope was lying upon my desk, addressed 
in a big John Hancock hand, to “Andrew Carnegie, — 
Esquire.” “Esquire” tickled. the boys and me inordi- 
nately. At one corner was seen the round stamp of 
Adams Express Company. I opened the envelope. All 
it contained was a check for ten dollars upon the Gold 
Exchange Bank of New York. I shall remember that 
check as long as I live, and that John Hancock signa- 
ture of “J. C. Babcock, Cashier.”’ It gave me the first 
penny of revenue from capital — something that I had 
not worked for with the sweat of my brow. “Eureka!” 
I cried. “Here’s the goose that lays the golden eggs.” 
It was the custom of our party to spend Sunday after- 
noons in the woods. I kept the first check and showed it 
as we sat under the trees in a favorite grove we had 
found near Wood’s Run. The effect produced upon my 
companions was overwhelming. None of them had 
imagined such an investment possible. We resolved to 
save and to watch for the next opportunity for invest- 
ment in which all of us should share, and for years after- 
ward we divided our trifling investments and worked 
together almost as partners. | 
Up to this time my circle of acquaintances had not 
enlarged much. Mrs. Franciscus, wife of our freight 
agent, was very kind and on several occasions asked me 
to her house in Pittsburgh. She often spoke of the first 
time I rang the bell of the house in Third Street to de- 
liver a message from Mr. Scott. She asked me to come 
in; I bashfully declined and it required coaxing upon her 
part to overcome my shyness. She was never able for 
years to induce me to partake of a meal in her house. 
I had great timidity about going into other people’s 


houses, until late in life; but Mr. Scott would occasion- 
ally insist upon my going to his hotel and taking a meal 
with him, and these were great occasions for me. Mr. 
Franciscus’s was the first considerable house, with the 
exception of Mr. Lombaert’s at Altoona, I had ever 
entered, as far as I recollect. Every house was fashion- 
able in my eyes that was upon any one of the principal 
streets, provided it had a hall entrance. 

I had never spent a night in a strange house in my life 
until Mr. Stokes of Greensburg, chief counsel of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, invited me to his beautiful home 
in the country to pass a Sunday. It was an odd thing for 
Mr. Stokes to do, for I could little interest a brilliant 
and educated man like him. The reason for my receiving 
‘such an honor was a communication I had written for 
the “Pittsburgh Journal.’’ Even in my teens I was a 
scribbler for the press. To be an editor was one of my 
ambitions. Horace Greeley and the “Tribune” was my 
ideal of human triumph. Strange that there should have 
come a day when I could have bought the “Tribune”’; 
but by that time the pearl had lost its luster. Our air 
castles are often within our grasp late in life, but then 
they charm not. 

The subject of my article was upon the attitude of the 
city toward the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. It 
was signed anonymously and I was surprised to find it 
got a prominent place in the columns of the “Journal,” 
then owned and edited by Robert M. Riddle. I, as 
operator, received a telegram addressed to Mr. Scott 
and signed by Mr. Stokes, asking him to ascertain from 
Mr. Riddle who the author of that communication was. 
I knew that Mr. Riddle could not tell the author, be- 
cause he did not know him; but at the same time I 
was afraid that if Mr. Scott called upon him he would 


hand him the manuscript, which Mr. Scott would cer- 
tainly recognize at a glance. I therefore made a clean 
breast of it to Mr. Scott and told him I was the author. 
He seemed incredulous. He said he had read it that 
morning and wondered who had written it. His incred- 
ulous look did not pass me unnoticed. The pen was get- 
ting to be a weapon with me. Mr. Stokes’s invitation 
to spend Sunday with him followed soon after, and the 
visit is one of the bright spots in my life. Henceforth we 
were great friends. 

The grandeur of Mr. Stokes’s home impressed me, but 
the one feature of it that eclipsed all else was a marble 
mantel in his library. In the center of the arch, carved 
in the marble, was an open book with this inscription: 

**He that cannot reason is a fool, 
He that will not a bigot, 
He that dare not a slave.” 

These noble words thrilled me. I said to myself, 
“Some day, some day, I'll have a library”’ (that was a 
look ahead) “‘and these words shall grace the mantel as 
here.”’ And so they do in New York and Skibo to-day. 

Another Sunday which I spent at his home after an 
interval of several years was also noteworthy. I had 
then become the superintendent of the Pittsburgh 
Division of the Pennsylvania Railroad. The South had 
seceded. I was all aflame for the flag. Mr. Stokes, being 
a leading Democrat, argued against the right of the 
North to use force for the preservation of the Union. 
He gave vent to sentiments which caused me to lose my 
self-control, and I exclaimed: 

**Mr. Stokes, we shall be hanging men like you in 
less than six weeks.” 

I hear his laugh as I write, and his voice calling to his 
wife in the adjoining room: 


“Naney, Nancy, listen to this young Scotch devil. 
He says they will be hanging men like me in less than 
six weeks.” _ 

Strange things happened in those days. A short time 
after, that same Mr. Stokes was applying to me in 
Washington to help him to a major’s commission in the 
volunteer forces. I was then in the Secretary of War’s 
office, helping to manage the military railroads and 
telegraphs for the Government. This appointment he 
secured and ever after was Major Stokes, so that the 
man who doubted the right of the North to fight for the 
Union had himself drawn sword in the good cause. Men 
at first argued and theorized about Constitutional 
rights. It made all the difference in the world when the 
‘flag was fired upon. In a moment everything was 
ablaze — paper constitutions included. The Union and 
Old Glory! That was all the people cared for, but that 
was enough. The Constitution was intended to insure 
one flag, and as Colonel Ingersoll proclaimed: ‘‘There 
was not air enough on the American continent to float 


R. SCOTT was promoted to be the general super- 

intendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad in 1856, 
taking Mr. Lombaert’s place; and he took me, then in my 
twenty-third year, with him to Altoona. This breaking- 
up of associations in Pittsburgh was a sore trial, but 
nothing could be allowed to interfere for a moment 
with my business career. My mother was satisfied upon 
this point, great as the strain was upon her. Besides, 
“follow my leader” was due to so true a friend as Mr. 
Scott had been. 

His promotion to the superintendency gave rise to 
some jealousy; and besides that, he was confronted with 
a strike at the very beginning of his appointment. He 
had lost his wife in Pittsburgh a short time before and 
had his lonely hours. He was a stranger in Altoona, his 
new headquarters, and there was none but myself seem- 
ingly of whom he could make a companion. We lived for 
many weeks at the railway hotel together before he took 
up housekeeping and brought his children from Pitts- 
burgh, and at his desire I occupied the same large bed- 
room with him. He seemed anxious always to have me 
near him. | 

The strike became more and more threatening. I re- 
member being wakened one night and told that the 
freight-train men had left their trains at Mifflin; that 
the line was blocked on this account and all traffic 
stopped. Mr. Scott was then sleeping soundly. It seemed 
to me a pity to disturb him, knowing how overworked 
and overanxious he was; but he awoke and I suggested 


that I should go up and attend to the matter. He seemed 
to murmur assent, not being more than half awake. So 
I went to the office and in his name argued the question 
with the men and promised them a hearing next day at 
Altoona. I succeeded in getting them to resume their 
duties and to start the traffic. 

Not only were the trainmen in a rebellious mood, but 
the men in the shops were rapidly organizing to join 
with the disaffected. This I learned in a curious manner. 
One night, as I was walking home in the dark, I became 
aware that a man was following me. By and by he came 
up to me and said: 

“T must not be seen with you, but you did me a favor 
once and I then resolved if ever I could serve you I 
would do it. I called at the office in Pittsburgh and asked 
for work as a blacksmith. You said there was no work 
then at Pittsburgh, but perhaps employment could be 
had at Altoona, and if I would wait a few minutes you 
would ask by telegraph. You took the trouble to do so, 
examined my recommendations, and gave me a pass and 
sent me here. I have a splendid job. My wife and family 
are here and I was never so well situated in my life. 
And now I want to tell you something for your good.” 

I listened and he went on to say that a paper was 
being rapidly signed by the shopmen, pledging them- 
selves to strike on Monday next. There was no time to 
be lost. I told Mr. Scott in the morning and he at once 
had printed notices posted in the shops that all men 
who had signed the paper, pledging themselves to strike, 
were dismissed and they should call at the office to be 
paid. A list of the names of the signers had come into 
our possession in the meantime, and this fact was an- 
nounced. Consternation followed and the threatened 
strike was broken. 


I have had many incidents, such as that of the black- 
smith, in my life. Slight attentions or a kind word to the 
humble often bring back reward as great as it is un- - 
looked for. No kind action is ever lost. Even to this day 
I occasionally meet men whom I had forgotten, who 
recall some trifling attention I have been able to pay 
them, especially when in charge at Washington of 
government railways and telegraphs during the Civil 
War, when I could pass people within the lines — a 
father helped to reach a wounded or sick son at the 
front, or enabled to bring home his remains, or some 
similar service. I am indebted to these trifles for some 
of the happiest attentions and the most pleasing inci- 
dents of my life. And there is this about such actions: 
they are disinterested, and the reward is sweet in pro- 
portion to the humbleness of the individual whom you 
have obliged. It counts many times more to do a kind- 
ness to a poor working-man than to a millionaire, who 
may be able some day to repay the favor. How true 
Wordsworth’s lines: 

“That best portion of a good man’s life — 
His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
Of kindness and of love.” 

The chief happening, judged by its consequences, of 
the two years I spent with Mr. Scott at Altoona, arose 
from my being the principal witness in a suit against 
the company, which was being tried at Greensburg by 
the brilliant Major Stokes, my first host. It was feared 
that I was about to be subpcenaed by the plaintiff, and 
the Major, wishing a postponement of the case, asked 
Mr. Scott to send me out of the State as rapidly as 
possible. This was a happy change for me, as I was en- 
abled to visit my two bosom companions, Miller and 
Wilson, then in the railway service at Crestline, Ohio. 


On my way thither, while sitting on the end seat of the 
rear car watching the line, a farmer-looking man ap- 
proached me. He carried a small green bag in his hand. 
He said the brakeman had informed him I was con- 
nected with the Pennsylvania Railroad. He wished to 
show me the model of a car which he had invented for 
night traveling. He took a small model out of the bag, 
which showed a section of a sleeping-car. 

This was the celebrated T. T. Woodruff, the inventor 
of that now indispensable adjunct of civilization — the 
sleeping-car. Its importance flashed upon me. I asked 
him if he would come to Altoona if I sent for him, and | 
I promised to lay the matter before Mr. Scott at once 
upon my return. I could not get that sleeping-car idea 
out of my mind, and was most anxious to return to 
Altoona that I might press my views upon Mr. Scott. 
When I did so, he thought I was taking time by the 
forelock, but was quite receptive and said I might 
telegraph for the patentee. He came and contracted to 
place two of his cars upon the line as soon as they could 
be built. After this Mr. Woodruff, greatly to my sur- 
prise, asked me if I would not join him in the new en- 
terprise and offered me an eighth interest in the venture. 

I promptly accepted his offer, trusting to be able to 
make payments somehow or other. The two cars were 
to be paid for by monthly installments after delivery. 
When the time came for making the first payment, my 
portion was two hundred and seventeen and a half dol- 
lars. I boldly decided to apply to the local banker, Mr. 
Lloyd, for a loan of that sum. I explained the matter to 
him, and I remember that he put his great arm (he was 
six feet three or four) around me, saying: 

“Why, of course I will lend it. You are all right, 


And here I made my first note, and actually got a 
banker to take it. A proud moment that in a young man’s 
career! The sleeping-cars were a great success and their 
monthly receipts paid the monthly installments. The first 
considerable sum I made was from this source. [To-day, 
July 19, 1909, as I re-read this, how glad I am that I 
have recently heard from Mr. Lloyd’s married daughter 
telling me of her father’s deep affection for me, thus 
making me very happy, indeed.] 

One important change in our life at Altoona, after my 
mother and brother arrived, was that, instead of con- 
tinuing to live exclusively by ourselves, it was consid- 
ered necessary that we should have a servant. It was 
with the greatest reluctance my mother could be 
brought to admit a stranger into the family circle. She 
had been everything and had done everything for her 
two boys. This was her life, and she resented with all a 
strong woman’s jealousy the introduction of a stranger 
who was to be permitted to do anything whatever in the 
home. She had cooked and served her boys, washed 
their clothes and mended them, made their beds, cleaned 
their home. Who dare rob her of those motherly priv- 
ileges! But nevertheless we could not escape the inevi- 
table servant girl. One came, and others followed, and 
with these came also the destruction of much of that 
genuine family happiness which flows from exclusive- 
ness. Being served by others is a poor substitute for 
a mother’s labor of love. The ostentatious meal prepared 
by a strange cook whom one seldom sees, and served by — 
hands paid for the task, lacks the sweetness of that 
which a mother’s hands lay before you as the expres- 
sion and proof of her devotion. 

Among the manifold blessings I have to be thankful 
for is that neither nurse nor governess was my com- 


panion in infancy. No wonder the children of the poor 
are distinguished for the warmest affection and the 
closest adherence to family ties and are characterized 
by a filial regard far stronger than that of those who are 
mistakenly called more fortunate in life. They have 
passed the impressionable years of childhood and youth 
in constant loving contact with father and mother, to 
each they are all in all, no third person coming between. 
The child that has in his father a teacher, companion, 
and counselor, and whose mother is to him a nurse, 
seamstress, governess, teacher, companion, heroine, and 
saint all in one, has a heritage to which the child of 
wealth remains a stranger. 

There comes a time, although the fond mother can- 
not see it, when a grown son has to put his arms around 
his saint and kissing her tenderly try to explain to her 
that it would be much better were she to let him help 
her in some ways; that, being out in the world among 
men and dealing with affairs, he sometimes sees changes 
which it would be desirable to make; that the mode of 
life delightful for young boys should be changed in some 
respects and the house made suitable for their friends 
to enter. Especially should the slaving mother live the 
life of ease hereafter, reading and visiting more and en- 
_ tertaining dear friends — in short, rising to her proper 
and deserved position as Her Ladyship. 

Of course the change was very hard upon my mother, 
but she finally recognized the necessity for it, probably 
realized for the first time that her eldest son was getting 
on. *‘ Dear Mother,”’ I pleaded, my arms still around her, 
“vou have done everything for and have been every- 
thing to Tom and me, and now do let me do something 
for you; let us be partners and let us always think what 
is best for each other. The time has come for you to play 


the lady and some of these days you are to ride in your 
carriage; meanwhile do get that girl in to help you. Tom 
and I would like this.” 

The victory was won, and my mother began to go out 
with us and visit her neighbors. She had not to learn 
self-possession nor good manners, these were innate; 
and as for education, knowledge, rare good sense, and 
kindliness, seldom was she to meet her equal. I wrote 
““never’’ instead of “‘seldom”’ and then struck it out. 
Nevertheless my private opinion is reserved. 

Life at Altoona was made more agreeable for me 
through Mr. Scott’s niece, Miss Rebecca Stewart, who 
kept house for him. She played the part of elder sister to 
me to perfection, especially when Mr. Scott was called 
to Philadelphia or elsewhere. We were much together, 
often driving in the afternoons through the woods. The 
intimacy did not cease for many years, and re-reading 
some of her letters in 1906 I realized more than ever my 
indebtedness to her. She was not much beyond my own 
age, but always seemed a great deal older. Certainly 
she was more mature and quite capable of playing the 
elder sister’s part. It was to her I looked up in those days 
as the perfect lady. Sorry am I our paths parted so 
widely in later years. Her daughter married the Ear! 
of Sussex and her home in late years has been abroad. 
[July 19, 1909, Mrs. Carnegie and I found my elder- 
sister friend April last, now in widowhood, in Paris, her 
sister and also her daughter all well and happy. A great 
pleasure, indeed. There are no substitutes for the true 
friends of youth.] 

Mr. Scott remained at Altoona for about three years 
when deserved promotion came to him. In 1859 he was 
made vice-president of the company, with his office in 
Philadelphia. What was to become of me was a serious 


question. Would he take me with him or must I remain 
at Altoona with the new offieial? The thought was to me 
unbearable. To part with Mr. Scott was hard enough; 
to serve a new official in his place I did not believe pos- 
sible. The sun rose and set upon his head so far as I 
was concerned. The thought of my promotion, except 
through him, never entered my mind. 

He returned from his interview with the president 
at Philadelphia and asked me to come into the private 
room in his house which communicated with the office. 
He told me it had been settled that he should remove to 
Philadelphia. Mr. Enoch Lewis, the division superin- 
tendent, was to be his successor. I listened with great 
interest as he approached the inevitable disclosure as 
to what he was going to do with me. He said finally: 

“Now about yourself. Do you think you could man- 
age the Pittsburgh Division?” ! 

I was at an age when I thought I could manage any- 
thing. I knew nothing that I would not attempt, but it 
had never occurred to me that anybody else, much less 
Mr. Scott, would entertain the idea that I was as yet 
fit to do anything of the kind proposed. I was only 
twenty-four years old, but my model then was Lord 
John Russell, of whom it was said he would take the 
command of the Channel Fleet to-morrow. So would 
Wallace or Bruce. I told Mr. Scott I thought I could. 

“Well,” he said, ““Mr. Potts’? (who was then super- 
intendent of the Pittsburgh Division) “‘is to be pro- 
moted to the transportation department in Philadelphia 
and I recommended you to the president as his succes- 
sor. He agreed to give you a trial. What salary do you 
think you should have?” 

“Salary,” I said, quite offended; “what do I care for 
salary? I do not want the salary; I want the position. 


It is glory enough to go back to the Pittsburgh Division 
in your former place. You can make my salary just what 
you please and you need not give me any more than 
what I am getting now.” 

That was sixty-five dollars a month. 

‘“You know,” he said, “‘I received fifteen hundred 
dollars a year when I was there; and Mr. Potts is re- 
ceiving eighteen hundred. I think it would be right to 
start you at fifteen hundred dollars, and after a while 
if you succeed you will get the eighteen hundred. Would 
that be satisfactory?” 

“Oh, please,” I said, “‘don’t speak to me of money!” 

It was not a case of mere hire and salary, and then 
and there my promotion was sealed. I was to have a 
department to myself, and instead of signing “T. A. 5.” 
orders between Pittsburgh and Altoona would now be 
signed “A. C.” That was glory enough for me. 

The order appointing me superintendent of the Pitts- 
burgh Division was issued December 1, 1859. Prepara- 
tions for removing the family were made at once. The 
change was hailed with joy, for although our residence 
in Altoona had many advantages, especially as we had 
a large house with some ground about it in a pleasant 
part of the suburbs and therefore many of the pleasures 
of country life, all these did not weigh as a feather in the 
scale as against the return to old friends and associa- 
tions in dirty, smoky Pittsburgh. My brother Tom had 
learned telegraphy during his residence in Altoona and 
he returned with me and became my secretary. 

The winter following my appointment was one of 
the most severe ever known. The line was poorly con- 
structed, the equipment inefficient and totally made- 
quate for the business that was crowding upon it. The 
rails were laid upon huge blocks of stone, cast-iron chairs 


for holding the rails were used, and I have known as 
many as forty-seven of these to break in one night. No 
wonder the wrecks were frequent. The superintendent of 
_ a divisionin those days was expected torun trains by tele- 
graph at night, to go out and remove all wrecks, and 
indeed to do everything. At one time for eight days I was 
constantly upon the line, day and night, at one wreck or 
obstruction after another. I was probably the most incon- 
siderate superintendent that ever was entrusted with the 
management of a great property, for, never knowing fa- 
tigue myself, being kept up by a sense of responsibility 
probably, I overworked the men and was not careful 
enough in considering the limits of human endurance. 
I have always been able to sleep at any time. Snatches 
of half an hour at intervals during the night in a dirty 
freight car were sufficient. 

The Civil War brought such extraordinary demands 
on the Pennsylvania line that I was at last compelled to 
organize a night force; but it was with difficulty I ob- 
tained the consent of my superiors to entrust the charge 
of the line at night to a train dispatcher. Indeed, I never 
did get their unequivocal authority to do so, but upon 
my own responsibility I appointed perhaps the first 
night train dispatcher that ever acted in America — at 
least he was the first upon the Pennsylvania system. 

Upon our return to Pittsburgh in 1860 we rented a 
house in Hancock Street, now Eighth Street, and re- 
sided there for a year or more. Any accurate description 
of Pittsburgh at that time would be set down as a piece 
of the grossest exaggeration. The smoke permeated and 
penetrated everything. If you placed your hand on the 
balustrade of the stair it came away black; if you washed 
face and hands they were as dirty as ever in an hour. 
The soot gathered in the hair and irritated the skin, and 


for a time after our return from the mountain atmos- 
phere of Altoona, life was more or less miserable. We 
soon began to consider how we could get to the country, 
and fortunately at that time Mr. D. A. Stewart, then 
freight agent for the company, directed our attention 
to a house adjoining his residence at Homewood. We 
moved there at once and the telegraph was brought in, 
which enabled me to operate the division from the 
house when necessary. 

Here a new life was opened to us. There were country 
lanes and gardens in abundance. Residences had from 
five to twenty acres of land about them. The Home- 
wood Estate was made up of many hundreds of acres, 
with beautiful woods and glens and a running brook. 
We, too, had a garden and a considerable extent of 
ground around our. house. The happiest years of my 
mother’s life were spent here among her flowers and 
chickens and the surroundings of country life. Her love 
of flowers was a passion. She was scarcely ever able to 
gather a flower. Indeed I remember she once reproached 
me for pulling up a weed, saying “‘it was something 
green.”’ I have inherited this peculiarity and have often 
walked from the house to the gate intending to pull a 
flower for my button-hole and then left for town unable 
to find one I could destroy. 

With this change to the country came a whole host 
of new acquaintances. Many of the wealthy families of 
the district had their residences in this delightful sub- 
urb. It was, so to speak, the aristocratic quarter. To 
the entertainments at these great houses the young 
superintendent was invited. The young people were mu- 
sical and we had musical evenings a plenty. I heard 
subjects discussed which I had never known before, and 
I made it a rule when I heard these to learn something 


about them at once. I was pleased every day to feel that 
I was learning something new. 

It was here that I first met the Vandevort brothers, 
Benjamin and John. The latter was my traveling-com- 
panion on various trips which I took later in life. ‘‘ Dear 
Vandy”’ appears as my chum in “Round the World.” 
Our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, became more and 
more dear to us, and the acquaintance we had before 
ripened into lasting friendship. One of my pleasures is 
that Mr. Stewart subsequently embarked in business 
with us and became a partner, as “‘Vandy”’ did also. 
Greatest of all the benefits of our new home, however, 
was making the acquaintance of the leading family of 
Western Pennsylvania, that of the Honorable Judge 
Wilkins. The Judge was then approaching his eightieth 
year, tall, slender, and handsome, in full possession of 
all his faculties, with a courtly grace of manner, and the 
most wonderful store of knowledge and reminiscence of 
any man I had yet been privileged to meet. His wife, 
the daughter of George W. Dallas, Vice-President of 
the United States, has ever been my type of gracious 
womanhood in age — the most beautiful, most charm- 
ing venerable old lady I ever knew or saw. Her daughter, 
Miss Wilkins, with her sister, Mrs. Saunders, and her 
children resided in the stately mansion at Homewood, 
which was to the surrounding district what the baronial 
hall in Britain is or should be to its district — the center 
of all that was cultured, refined, and elevating. 

To me it was especially pleasing that I seemed to be 
a welcome guest there. Musical parties, charades, and 
theatricals in which Miss Wilkins took the leading parts 
furnished me with another means of self-improvement. 
The Judge himself was the first man of historical note 
whom I had ever known. I shall never forget the im- 


pression it made upon me when in the course of con- 
versation, wishing to illustrate a remark, he said: “‘ Pres- 
ident Jackson once said to me,” or, “I told the Duke 
of Wellington so and so.” The Judge in his earlier life 
(1834) had been Minister to Russia under Jackson, and 
in the same easy way spoke of his interview with the 
Czar. It seemed to me that I was touching history itself. 
The house was a new atmosphere, and my intercourse 
with the family was a powerful stimulant to the desire 
for improvement of my own mind and manners. 

The only subject upon which there was always a de- 
cided, though silent, antagonism between the Wilkins 
family and myself was politics. I was an ardent Free- 
Soiler in days when to be an abolitionist was somewhat 
akin to being a republican in Britain. The Wilkinses 
were strong Democrats with leanings toward the South, 
being closely connected with leading Southern families. 
On one occasion at Homewood, on entering the drawing- 
room, I found the family excitedly conversing about a 
terrible incident that had recently occurred. 

“What do you think!” said Mrs. Wilkins to me; 
“Dallas” (her grandson) “writes me that he has been 
compelled by the commandant of West Point to sit 
next a negro! Did you ever hear the like of that? Is it 
not disgraceful? Negroes admitted to West Point!” 

“Oh!” T said, “Mrs. Wilkins, there is something even 
worse than that. I understand that some of them have 
been admitted to heaven!” 

There was a silence that could be felt. Then dear Mrs. 
Wilkins said gravely: 

“That is a different matter, Mr. Carnegie.” 

By far the most precious gift ever received by me up 
to that time came about in this manner. Dear Mrs. 
Wilkins began knitting an afghan, and during the work 


many were the inquiries as to whom it was for. No, the 
dear queenly old lady would not tell; she kept her secret 
all the long months until, Christmas drawing near, the 
gift finished and carefully wrapped up, and her card 
with a few loving words enclosed, she instructed her 
daughter to address it to me. It was duly received in 
New York. Such a tribute from such a lady! Well, that 
afghan, though often shown to dear friends, has not been 
much used. It is sacred to me and remains among my 
precious possessions. 

I had been so fortunate as to meet Leila Addison 
while living in Pittsburgh, the talented daughter of Dr. 
Addison, who had died a short time before. I soon be- 
came acquainted with the family and record with grate- 
ful feelings the immense advantage which that acquaint- 
ance also brought to me. Here was another friendship 
formed with people who had all the advantages of the 
higher education. Carlyle had been Mrs. Addison’s 
tutor for a time, for she was an Edinburgh lady. Her 
daughters had been educated abroad and spoke French, 
Spanish, and Italian as fluently as English. It was 
through intercourse with this family that I first realized 
the indescribable yet immeasurable gulf that separates 
the highly educated from people like myself. But “the 
wee drap o’ Scotch bluid atween us” proved its potency 
as usual. 

Miss Addison became an ideal friend because she 
undertook to improve the rough diamond, if it were 
indeed a diamond at all. She was my best friend, be- 
cause my severest critic. I began to pay strict attention 
to my language, and to the English classics, which I now 
read with great avidity. I began also to notice how much 
better it was to be gentle in tone and manner, polite 
and courteous to all — in short, better behaved. Up to 


this time I had been, perhaps, careless in dress and 
rather affected it. Great heavy boots, loose collar, and 
general roughness of attire were then peculiar to the 
West and in our circle considered manly. Anything that 
could be labeled foppish was looked upon with contempt. 
I remember the first gentleman I ever saw in the service 
of the railway company who wore kid gloves. He was 
the object of derision among us who aspired to be manly 
men. I was a great deal the better in all these respects 
after we moved to Homewood, owing to the Addisons. 


N 1861 the Civil War broke out and I was at once 

summoned to Washington by Mr. Scott, who had 
been appointed Assistant Secretary of War in charge 
of the Transportation Department. I was to act as his 
assistant in charge of the military railroads and tele- 
graphs of the Government and to organize a force of 
railway men. It was one of the most important depart- 
ments of all at the beginning of the war. 

The first regiments of Union troops passing through 
Baltimore had been attacked, and the railway line cut 
between Baltimore and Annapolis Junction, destroying 
communication with Washington. It was therefore nec- 
essary for me, with my corps of assistants, to take train 
at Philadelphia for Annapolis, a point from which a 
branch line extended to the Junction, joining the main 
line to Washington. Our first duty was to repair this 
branch and make it passable for heavy trains, a work 
of some days. General Butler and several regiments of 
troops arrived a few days after us, and we were able to 
transport his whole brigade to Washington. 

I took my place upon the first engine which started 
for the Capital, and proceeded very cautiously. Some 
distance from Washington I noticed that the telegraph 
wires had been pinned to the ground by wooden stakes. 
I stopped the engine and ran forward to release them, 
but I did not notice that the wires had been pulled to 
one side before staking. When released, in their spring 
upwards, they struck me in the face, knocked me over, 


and cut a gash in my cheek which bled profusely. In 
this condition I entered the city of Washington with the 
first troops, so that with the exception of one or two 
soldiers, wounded a few days previously in passing 
through the streets of Baltimore, I can justly claim that 
I ‘‘shed my blood for my country ”’ among the first of its 
defenders. I gloried in being useful to the land that had 
done so much for me, and worked, I can truly say, night 
and day, to open communication to the South. 

I soon removed my headquarters to Alexandria,? 
Virginia, and was stationed there when the unfortunate 
battle of Bull Run was fought. We could not believe the 
reports that came to us, but it soon became evident that 
we must rush every engine and car to the front to bring 
back our defeated forces. The closest point then was 
Burke Station. I went out there and loaded up train 
after train of the poor wounded volunteers. The rebels 
were reported to be close upon us and we were finally 
compelled to close Burke Station, the operator and my- 
self leaving on the last train for Alexandria where the 
effect of panic was evident upon every side. Some of our 
railway men were missing, but the number at the mess 
on the following morning showed that, compared with 
other branches of the service, we had cause for congratu- 
lation. A few conductors and engineers had obtained 
boats and crossed the Potomac, but the great body of 

1 “When Carnegie reached Washington his first task was to establish 
aferry to Alexandria and to extend the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad track 
from the old Washington, along Maryland Avenue to and across 
the Potomac, so that locomotives and cars might be crossed for use in 
Virginia. Long Bridge, over the Potomac, had to be rebuilt, and I recall 
the fact that under the direction of Carnegie and R. F. Morley the railroad 
between Washington and Alexandria was completed in the remarkably 
short period of seven days. All hands, from Carnegie down, worked day 
and night to accomplish the task.” (Bates, Lincoln in the Telegraph Office, 
p. 22. New York, 1907.) 


the men remained, although the roar of the guns of the 
pursuing enemy was supposed to be heard in every sound 
during the night. Of our telegraphers not one was miss- 
ing the next morning. 

Soon after this I returned to Washington and made 
my headquarters in the War Building with Colonel 
Scott. As I had charge of the telegraph department, as 
well as the railways, this gave me an opportunity of 
seeing President Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Secretary Cam- 
eron, and others; and I was occasionally brought in per- 
sonal contact with these men, which was to me a source 
of great interest. Mr. Lincoln would occasionally come 
to the office and sit at the desk awaiting replies to tele- 
grams, or perhaps merely anxious for information. 

All the pictures of this extraordinary man are like 
him. He was so marked of feature that it was impossible 
for any one to paint him and not produce a likeness. He 
was certainly one of the most homely men I ever saw 
when his features were in repose; but when excited or 
telling a story, intellect shone through his eyes and il- 
luminated his face to a degree which I have seldom or 
never seen in any other. His manners were perfect be- 
cause natural; and he had a kind word for everybody, 
even the youngest boy in the office. His attentions were 
not graduated. They were the same to all, as deferential 
in talking to the messenger boy as to Secretary Seward. 
His charm lay in the total absence of manner. It was not 
so much, perhaps, what he said as the way in which he 
said it that never failed to win one. I have often regretted 
that I did not note down carefully at the time some of . 
his curious sayings, for he said even common things in 
an original way. I never met a great man who so thor- 
oughly made himself one with all men as Mr. Lincoln. 
As Secretary Hay so well says, “It is impossible to 


imagine any one a valet to Mr. Lincoln; he would have 
been his companion.’ He was the most perfect demo- 
crat, revealing in every word and act the equality of 

When Mason and Slidell in 1861 were taken from the 
British ship Trent there was intense anxiety upon the 
part of those who, like myself, knew what the right of 
asylum on her ships meant to Britain. It was certain war 
or else a prompt return of the prisoners. Secretary Cam- 
eron being absent when the Cabinet was summoned to 
consider the question, Mr. Scott was invited to attend 
as Assistant Secretary of War. I did my best to let 
him understand that upon this issue Britain would fight 
beyond question, and urged that he stand firm for sur- 
render, especially since it had been the American doc- 
trine that ships should be immune from search. Mr. 
Scott, knowing nothing of foreign affairs, was disposed 
to hold the captives, but upon his return from the meet- 
ing he told me that Seward had warned the Cabinet it 
meant war, just as I had said. Lincoln, too, was at first 
inclined to hold the prisoners, but was at last converted 
to Seward’s policy. The Cabinet, however, had decided 
to postpone action until the morrow, when Cameron and 
other absentees would be present. Mr. Scott was re- 
quested by Seward to meet Cameron on arrival and 
get him right on the subject before going to the meeting, 
for he was expected to be in no surrendering mood. This 
was done and all went well next day. 

The general confusion which reigned at Washington 
at this time had to be seen to be understood. No descrip- 
tion can convey my initial impression of it. The first 
time I saw General Scott, then Commander-in-Chief, he 
was being helped by two men across the pavement from 
his office into his carriage. He was an old, decrepit man, 


paralyzed not only in body, but in mind; and it was 
upon this noble relic of the past that the organization 
of the forces of the Republic depended. His chief com- 
missary, General Taylor, was in some degree a counter- 
part of Scott. It was our business to arrange with these, 
and others scarcely less fit, for the opening of communi- 
cations and for the transportation of men and supplies. 
They were seemingly one and all martinets who had 
passed the age of usefulness. Days would elapse before 
a decision could be obtained upon matters which re- 
quired prompt action. There was scarcely a young active 
officer at the head of any important department — at 
least I cannot recall one. Long years of peace had fos- 
silized the service. — 

The same cause had produced like results, I under- 
stood, in the Navy Department, but I was not brought 
in personal contact with it. The navy was not important 
at the beginning; it was the army that counted. Noth- 
ing but defeat was to be looked for until the heads 
of the various departments were changed, and this 
could not be done in a day. The impatience of the 
country at the apparent delay in producing an effective 
weapon for the great task thrown upon the Government 
was no doubt natural, but the wonder to me is that 
order was so soon evolved from the chaos which pre- 
vailed in every branch of the service. 

As far as our operations were concerned we had one 
great advantage. Secretary Cameron authorized Mr. 
Scott (he had been made a Colonel) to do what he 
thought necessary without waiting for the slow move- 
ments of the officials under the Secretary of War. Of 
this authority unsparing use was made, and the impor- 
tant part played by the railway and telegraph depart- 
ment of the Government from the very beginning of the 


war is to be attributed to the fact that we had the cor- 
dial support of Secretary Cameron. He was then in the 
possession of all his faculties and grasped the elements 
of the problem far better than his generals and heads 
of departments. Popular clamor compelled Lincoln to 
change him at last, but those who were behind the 
scenes well knew that if other departments had been as 
well managed as was the War Department under Cam- 
eron, all things considered, much of disaster would 
have been avoided. 

Lochiel, as Cameron liked to be called, was a man of 
sentiment. In his ninetieth year he visited us in Scot- 
land and, passing through one of our glens, sitting on 
the front seat of our four-in-hand coach, he reverently 
took off his hat and bareheaded rode through the glen, 
overcome by its grandeur. The conversation turned 
once upon the efforts which candidates for office must 
themselves put forth and the fallacy that office seeks the 
man, except in very rare emergencies. Apropos of this 
Lochiel told this story about Lincoln’s second term: 

One day at Cameron’s country home near Harris- 
burg, Pennsylvania, he received a telegram saying that 
President Lincoln would like to see him. Accordingly he 
went to Washington. Lincoln began: 

““Cameron, the people about me are telling me that 
it is my patriotic duty to become a candidate for a sec- 
ond term, that I am the only man who can save my 
country, and so on; and do you know I’m just beginning 
to be fool enough to believe them a little. What do you 
say, and how could it be managed?” 

“Well, Mr. President, twenty-eight years ago Presi- 
dent Jackson sent for me as you have now done and told 
me just the same story. His letter reached me in New 
Orleans and I traveled ten days to reach Washington. 


I told President Jackson I thought the best plan would 
be to have the Legislature of one of the States pass reso- 
lutions insisting that the pilot should not desert the 
ship during these stormy times, and so forth. If one 
State did this I thought others would follow. Mr. Jack- 
son concurred and I went to Harrisburg, and had such 
a resolution prepared and passed. Other States followed 
as I expected and, as you know, he won a second term.” 

* Well,” said Lincoln, “could you do that now?” 

“No,” said I, “I am too near to you, Mr. President; 
but if you desire I might get a friend to attend to it, I 

Well,” said President Lincoln, “I leave the matter 
with you.” 

“T sent for Foster here’? (who was his companion 
on the coach and our guest) “and asked him to look up 
the Jackson resolutions. We changed them a little to 
meet new conditions and passed them. The like result 
followed as in the case of President Jackson. Upon 
my next visit to Washington I went in the evening to 
the President’s public reception. When I entered the 
crowded and spacious East Room, being like Lincoln 
very tall, the President recognized me over the mass of 
people and holding up both white-gloved hands which 
looked like two legs of mutton, called out: ‘Two more in 
to-day, Cameron, two more.’ That is, two additional 
States had passed the Jackson-Lincoln resolutions.”’ 

Apart from the light this incident throws upon politi- 
cal life, it is rather remarkable that the same man 
should have been called upon by two presidents of the 
United States, twenty-eight years apart, under exactly 
similar circumstances and asked for advice, and that, 
the same expedient being employed, both men became 
candidates and both secured second terms. As was once 


explained upon a memorable occasion: “There’s figur- 
ing in all them things.” } 

When. in Washington I had not met General Grant, 
because he was in the West up to the time of my leaving, 
but on a journey to and from Washington he stopped 
at Pittsburgh to make the necessary arrangements for 
his removal to the East. I met him on the line upon 
both occasions and took him to dine with me in Pitts- 
burgh. There were no dining-cars then. He was the 
most ordinary-looking man of high position I had ever 
met, and the last that one would select at first glance 
as a remarkable man. I remember that Secretary of War 
Stanton said that when he visited the armies in the 
West, General Grant and his staff entered his car; he 
looked at them, one after the other, as they entered and 
seeing General Grant, said to himself, “Well, I do not 
know which is General Grant, but there is one that can- 
not be.”’ Yet this was he. [Reading this years after it was 
written, I laugh. It is pretty hard on the General, for 
I have been taken for him more than once.] 

In those days of the war much was talked about 
“strategy ’’ and the plans of the various generals. I was 
amazed at General Grant’s freedom in talking to me 
about such things. Of course he knew that I had been in 
the War Office, and was well known to Secretary Stan- 
ton,' and had some knowledge of what was going on; 
but my surprise can be imagined when he said to 
me: | 

“Well, the President and Stanton want me to go 
East and take command there, and I have agreed to 

1 Mr. Carnegie gave to Stanton’s college, Kenyon, $80,000, and on. 
April 26, 1906, delivered at the college an address on the great War Sec- 
retary. It has been published under the title Edwin M. Stanton, an Ad- 

dress by Andrew Carnegie on Stanton Memorial Day at Kenyon College. 
(New York, 1906.) 


do it. I am just going West to make the necessary ar- 

I said, “I suspected as much.” 

“J am going to put Sherman in charge,” he said. 

“That will surprise the country,” I said, “for I think 
the impression is that General Thomas should suc- 

“Yes, I know that,” he said, “‘but I know the men 
and Thomas will be the first to say that Sherman is the 
man for the work. There will be no trouble about that. 
The fact is the western end is pretty far down, and the 
next thing we must do is to push the eastern end down 
a little.” | 

That was exactly what he did. And that was Grant’s 
way of putting strategy into words. It was my privilege 
to become well acquainted with him in after years. If 
ever a man was without the slightest trace of affecta- 
tion, Grant was that man. Even Lincoln did not surpass 
him in that: but Grant was a quiet, slow man while 
Lincoln was always alive and in motion. I never heard 
Grant use a long or grand word, or make any attempt 
at “manner,” but the general impression that he was 
always reticent is a mistake. He was a surprisingly good 
talker sometimes and upon occasion liked to talk. His 
sentences were always short and to the point, and his 
observations upon things remarkably shrewd. When he 
had nothing to say he said nothing. I noticed that he 
was never tired of praising his subordinates in the war. 
He spoke of them as a fond father speaks of his children. 

The story is told that during the trials of war in the 
West, General Grant began to indulge too freely in 
liquor. His chief of staff, Rawlins, boldly ventured to 
tell him so. That this was the act of a true friend Grant 
fully recognized. 


“You do not mean that? I was wholly unconscious of 
it. I am surprised!”’ said the General. 

“Yes, I do mean it. It is even beginning to be a sub- 
ject of comment among your officers.”’ 

“Why did you not tell me before? Ill never drink a 
drop of liquor again.”’ 

He never did. Time after time in later years, dining 
with the Grants in New York, I have seen the General 
turn down the wine-glasses at his side. That indomita- 
ble will of his enabled him to remain steadfast to his 
resolve, a rare case as far as my experience goes. Some 
have refrained for a time. In one noted case one of our 
partners refrained for three years, but alas, the old 
enemy at last recaptured its victim. 

Grant, when President, was accused of being pecu- 
niarily benefited by certain appointments, or acts, of his 
administration, while his friends knew that he was so 
poor that he had been compelled to announce his inten- 
tion of abandoning the customary state dinners, each 
one of which, he found, cost eight hundred dollars — 
a sum which he could not afford to pay out of his salary. 
The increase of the presidential salary from $25,000 to 
$50,000 a year enabled him, during his second term, 
to save a little, although he cared no more about money 
than about uniforms. At the end of his first term I know 
he had nothing. Yet I found, when in Europe, that the 
impression was widespread among the highest officials 
there that there was something in the charge that Gen- 
eral Grant had benefited pecuniarily by appointments. 
We know in America how little weight to attach to these 
charges, but it would have been well for those who 
made them so recklessly to have considered what effect 
they would produce upon public opinion in other lands. 

The cause of democracy suffers more in Britain to- 


day from the generally received opinion that American 
politics are corrupt, and therefore that republicanism 
necessarily produces corruption, than from any other 
one cause. Yet, speaking with some knowledge of politics 
in both lands, I have not the slightest hesitation in say- 
ing that for every ounce of corruption of public men in 
the new land of republicanism there is one in the old 
land of monarchy, only the forms of corruption differ. 
Titles are the bribes in the monarchy, not dollars. 
Office is a common and proper reward in both. There 
is, however, this difference in favor of the monarchy; 
titles are given openly and are not considered by the 
recipients or the mass of the people as bribes. 

When I was called to Washington in 1861, it was sup- 
posed that the war would soon be over; but it was seen 
shortly afterwards that it was to be a question of years. 
Permanent officials in charge would be required. The 
Pennsylvania Railroad Company was unable to spare 
Mr. Scott, and Mr. Scott, in turn, decided that I must 
return to Pittsburgh, where my services were urgently — 
needed, owing to the demands made upon the Penn- 
sylvania by the Government. We therefore placed the 
department at Washington in the hands of others and 
returned to our respective positions. 

After my return from Washington reaction followed 
and I was taken with my first serious illness. I was 
completely broken down, and after a struggle to per- 
form my duties was compelled to seek rest. One after- 
noon, when on the railway line in Virginia, I had experi- 
enced something like a sunstroke, which gave me con- 
siderable trouble. It passed off, however, but after that 
I found I could not stand heat and had to be careful to 
keep out of the sun — a hot day wilting me completely. 
[That is the reason why the cool Highland air in sum- 


mer has been to me a panacea for many years. My phy- 
sician has insisted that I must avoid our hot American 

Leave of absence was granted me by the Pennsy]l- 
vania Railroad Company, and the long-sought oppor- 
tunity to visit Scotland came. My mother, my bosom 
friend Tom Miller, and myself, sailed in the steamship 
Etna, June 28, 1862, I in my twenty-seventh year; and 
on landing in Liverpool we proceeded at once to Dun- 
fermline. No change ever affected me so much as this 
return to my native land. I seemed to be in a dream. 
Every mile that brought us nearer to Scotland in- 
creased the intensity of my feelings. My mother was 
equally moved, and I remember, when her eyes first 
caught sight of the familiar yellow bush, she exclaimed: 

“Oh! there’s the broom, the broom!”’ 

Her heart was so full she could not restrain her tears, 
and the more I tried to make light of it or to soothe her, 
the more she was overcome. For myself, I felt as if I 
could throw myself upon the sacred soil and kiss it.! 

In this mood we reached Dunfermline. Every object 
we passed was recognized at once, but everything 
seemed so small, compared with what I had imagined it, 
that I was completely puzzled. Finally, reaching Uncle 
Lauder’s and getting into the old room where he had 
taught Dod and myself so many things, I exclaimed: 

“You are all here; everything is just as I left it, but 
you are now all playing with toys.” 

1 **Tt’s a God’s mercy I was born a Scotchman, for I do not see how I 
could ever have been contented to be anything else. The little dour deevil, 
set in her own ways, and getting them, too, level-headed and shrewd, with 
an eye to the main chance always and yet so lovingly weak, so fond, so led 
away by song or story, so easily touched to fine issues, so leal, so true. 
Ah! you suit me, Scotia, and proud am I that I am your son,” (Andrew 
Carnegie, Our Coaching Trip, p. 152, New York, 1882.) 


The High Street, which I had considered not a bad 
Broadway, uncle’s shop, which I had compared with 
some New York establishments, the little mounds 
about the town, to which we had run on Sundays to 
play, the distances, the height of the houses, all had 
shrunk. Here was a city of the Lilliputians. I could 
almost touch the eaves of the house in which I was born, 
and the sea — to walk to which on a Saturday had 
been considered quite a feat — was only three miles 
distant. The rocks at the seashore, among which I had 
gathered wilks (whelks) seemed to have vanished, and 
a tame flat shoal remained. The schoolhouse, around 
which had centered many of my schoolboy recollec- 
tions — my only Alma Mater — and the playground, 
upon which mimic battles had been fought and races 
run, had shrunk into ridiculously small dimensions. 
The fine residences, Broomhall, Fordell, and especially 
the conservatories at Donibristle, fell one after the 
other into the petty and insignificant. What I felt on a 
later occasion on a visit to Japan, with its small toy 
houses, was something like a repetition of the impression 
my old home made upon me. 

Everything was there in miniature. Even the old well 
at the head of Moodie Street, where I began my early 
struggles, was changed from what I had pictured it. But 
one object remained all that I had dreamed of it. There 
was no disappointment in the glorious old Abbey and 
its Glen. It was big enough and grand enough, and the 
memorable carved letters on the top of the tower — 
“King Robert The Bruce” — filled my eye and my heart 
as fully as of old. Nor was the Abbey bell disappointing, 
when I heard it for the first time after my return. For 
this I was grateful. It gave me a rallying point, and 
around the old Abbey, with its Palace ruins and the 


Glen, other objects adjusted themselves in their true 
proportions after a time. 

My relatives were exceedingly kind, and the oldest of 
all, my dear old Auntie Charlotte, in a moment of exul- 
tation exclaimed: | 

“Oh, you will just be coming back here some day and 
keep a shop in the High Street.” 

To keep a shop in the High Street was her idea of tri- 
umph. Her son-in-law and daughter, both my full cous- 
ins, though unrelated to each other, had risen to this 
sublime height, and nothing was too great to predict for 
her promising nephew. There is an aristocracy even in 
shopkeeping, and the family of the green grocer of the 
High Street mingles not upon equal terms with him of 
Moodie Street. 

Auntie, who had often played my nurse, liked to dwell 
upon the fact that I was a screaming infant that had to 
be fed with two spoons, as I yelled whenever one left my 
mouth. Captain Jones, our superintendent of the steel 
works at a later day, described me as having been born 
“‘with two rows of teeth and holes punched for more,” 
so insatiable was my appetite for new works and in- 
creased production. As I was the first child in our imme- 
diate family circle, there were plenty of now venerable 
relatives begging to be allowed to play nurse, my aunties 
among them. Many of my childhood pranks and words 
they told me in their old age. One of them that the 
aunties remembered struck me as rather precocious. 

I had been brought up upon wise saws and one that my 
father had taught me was soon given direct application. 
As a boy, returning from the seashore three miles dis- 
tant, he had to carry me part of the way upon his back. 
Going up a steep hill in the gloaming he remarked upon 
the heavy load, hoping probably I would propose to walk 


a bit. The response, however, which he received was: 

“Ah, faither, never mind, patience and perseverance 
make the man, ye ken.”’ 

He toiled on with his burden, but shaking with laugh- 
ter. He was hoist with his own petard, but his burden 
grew lighter all the same. I am sure of this. 

My home, of course, was with my instructor, guide, 
and inspirer, Uncle Lauder —he who had done so 
much to make me romantic, patriotic, and poetical at 
eight. Now I was twenty-seven, but Uncle Lauder still 
remained Uncle Lauder. He had not shrunk, no one 
could fill his place. We had our walks and talks con- 
stantly and I was “Naig” again to him. He had never 
had any name for me but that and never did have. 
My dear, dear uncle, and more, much more than uncle 
to me. 

I was still dreaming and so excited that I could not 
sleep and had caught cold in the bargain. The natural 
result of this was a fever. I lay in uncle’s house for six 
weeks, a part of that time in a critical condition. Scot- 
tish medicine was then as stern as Scottish theology 
(both are now much softened), and I was bled. My thin 
American blood was so depleted that when I was pro- 
nounced convalescent it was long before I could stand 
upon my feet. This illness put an end to my visit, but by 
the time I had reached America again, the ocean voyage 
had done me so much good I was able to resume work. 

I remember being deeply affected by the reception 
I met with when I returned to my division. The men 
of the eastern end had gathered together with a cannon 
and while the train passed I was greeted with a salvo. 

1 ** This uncle, who loved liberty because it is the heritage of brave souls, 
in the dark days of the American Civil War stood almost alone in his 
community for the cause which Lincoln represented.” (Hamilton Wright 
Mabie in Century Magazine, vol. 64, p. 958.) 


This was perhaps the first occasion upon which my sub- 
ordinates had an opportunity of making me the subject 
of any demonstration, and their reception made a last- 
ing impression. I knew how much I cared for them and 
it was pleasing to know that they reciprocated my feel- 
ings. Working-men always do reciprocate kindly feeling. 
If we truly care for others we need not be anxious about 
their feelings for us. Like draws to like. 


URING the Civil War the price of iron went up to 
something like $130 per ton. Even at that figure it 
was not so much a question of money as of delivery. 
The railway lines of America were fast becoming dan- 
gerous for want of new rails, and this state of affairs led 
me to organize in 1864 a rail-making concern at Pitts- 
burgh. There was no difficulty in obtaining partners and 
capital, and the Superior Rail Mill and Blast Furnaces 
were built. 

In like manner the demand for locomotives was very 
great, and with Mr. Thomas N. Miller! I organized in 
- 1866 the Pittsburgh Locomotive Works, which has been 
a prosperous and creditable concern — locomotives 
made there having obtained an enviable reputation 
throughout the United States. It sounds like a fairy tale 
to-day to record that in 1906 the one-hundred-dollar 
shares of this company sold for three thousand dollars 
— that is, thirty dollars for one. Large annual dividends 
had been paid regularly and the company had been very 
successful — sufficient proof of the policy: “‘ Make noth- 
ing but the very best.’’ We never did. 

When at Altoona I had seen in the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road Company’s works the first small bridge built of 
iron. It proved a success. I saw that it would never do 
to depend further upon wooden bridges for permanent 

1 Mr. Carnegie had previous to this — as early as 1861 — been associ- 
ated with Mr. Miller in the Sun City Forge Company, doing a small iron 


railway structures. An important bridge on the Pennsy!l- 
vania Railroad had recently burned and the traffic had 
been obstructed for eight days. Iron was the thing. I 
proposed to H. J. Linville, who had designed the iron 
bridge, and to John L. Piper and his partner, Mr. 
Schiffer, who had charge of bridges on the Pennsyl- 
vania line, that they should come to Pittsburgh and 
I would organize a company to build iron bridges. It 
was the first company of its kind. I asked my friend, 
Mr. Scott, of the Pennsylvania Railroad, to go with us 
in the venture, which he did. Each of us paid for a one 
fifth interest, or $1250. My share I borrowed from the 
bank. Looking back at it now the sum seemed very 
small, but “tall oaks from little acorns grow.” 

In this way was organized in 1862 the firm of Piper 
and Schiffler which was merged into the Keystone 
Bridge Company in 1863 — a name which I remember 
I was proud of having thought of as being most appro- 
priate for a bridge-building concern in the State of 
Pennsylvania, the Keystone State. From this beginning 
iron bridges came generally into use in America, indeed, 
in the world at large so far as I know. My letters to iron 
manufacturers in Pittsburgh were sufficient to insure 
the new company credit. Small wooden shops were 
erected and several bridge structures were undertaken. 
Cast-iron was the principal material used, but so well 
were the bridges built that some made at that day and 
since strengthened for heavier traffic, still remain in 
use upon various lines. 

The question of bridging the Ohio River at Steuben- 
ville came up, and we were asked whether we would un- 
dertake to build a railway bridge with a span of three 
hundred feet over the channel. It seems ridiculous at the 
present day to think of the serious doubts entertained 


about our ability to do this; but it must be remembered 
this was before the days of steel and almost before the 
use of wrought-iron in America. The top cords and sup- 
ports were all of cast-iron. I urged my partners to try it 
anyhow, and we finally closed a contract, but I remem- 
ber well when President Jewett! of the railway com- 
pany visited the works and cast his eyes upon the piles 
of heavy cast-iron lying about, which were parts of the 
forthcoming bridge, that he turned to me and said: 

**I don’t believe these heavy castings can be made to 
stand up and carry themselves, much less carry a train 
across the Ohio River.”’ 

The Judge, however, lived to believe differently. 
The bridge remained until recently, though strength- 
ened to carry heavier traffic. We expected to make 
quite a sum by this first important undertaking, but 
owing to the inflation of the currency, which occurred 
before the work was finished, our margin of profit was 
almost swallowed up. It is an evidence of the fairness 
of President Edgar Thomson, of the Pennsylvania, 
that, upon learning the facts of the case, he allowed an 
extra sum to secure us from loss. The subsequent posi- 
tion of affairs, he said, was not contemplated by either 
party when the contract was made. A great and a good 
man was Edgar Thomson, a close bargainer for the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, but ever mindful of the fact 
that the spirit of the law was above the letter. 

In Linville, Piper, and Schiffler, we had the best 
talent of that day — Linville an engineer, Piper a 
hustling, active mechanic, and Schiffer sure and 
steady. Colonel Piper was an exceptional man. I heard 
President Thomson of the Pennsylvania once say he 
would rather have him at a burnt bridge than all the 

1 Thomas L. Jewett, President of the Panhandle. 


engineering corps. There was one subject upon which 
the Colonel displayed great weakness (fortunately for 
us) and that was the horse. Whenever a business dis- 
cussion became too warm, and the Colonel showed 
signs of temper, which was not seldom, it was a sure 
cure to introduce that subject. Everything else would 
pass from his mind; he became absorbed in the fas- 
cinating topic of horseflesh. If he had overworked 
himself, and we wished to get him to take a holiday, we 
sent him to Kentucky to look after a horse or two that 
one or the other of us was desirous of obtaining, and for 
the selection of which we would trust no one but him- 
self. But his craze for horses sometimes brought him 
into serious difficulties. He made his appearance at the 
office one day with one half of his face as black as mud 
could make it, his clothes torn, and his hat missing, but 
still holding the whip in one hand. He explained that he 
had attempted to drive a fast Kentucky colt; one of 
reins had broken and he had lost his “steerage-way,” a 

he expressed it. 

He was a grand fellow, “Pipe” as we called him, and 
when he took a fancy to a person, as he did to me, he 
was for and with him always. In later days when I re- 
moved to New York he transferred his affections to my 
brother, whom he invariably called Thomas, instead of 
Tom. High as I stood in his favor, my brother after- 
wards stood higher. He fairly worshiped him, and any- 
thing that Tom said was law and gospel. He was ex- 
ceedingly jealous of our other establishments, in which 
he was not directly interested, such as our mills which 
supplied the Keystone Works with iron. Many a dispute 
arose between the mill managers and the Colonel as to 
quality, price, and so forth. On one occasion he came to 
my brother to complain that a bargain which he had 



made for the supply of iron for a year had not been’ 
copied correctly. The prices were “net,” and nothing 
had been said about “‘net”’ when the bargain was made. 
He wanted to know just what that word “‘net’’ meant. 

“Well, Colonel,’ said my brother, “‘it means that 
nothing more is to be added.” 

“All right, Thomas,” said the Colonel, entirely satis- 

There is much in the way one puts things. ‘“‘ Nothing 
to be deducted” might have caused a dispute. 

He was made furious one day by Bradstreet’s volume 
which gives the standing of business concerns. Never 
having seen such a book before, he was naturally anxious 
to see what rating his concern had. When he read that 
the Keystone Bridge Works were “BC,” which meant 
“Bad Credit,” it was with difficulty he was restrained 
from going to see our lawyers to have a suit brought 
against the publishers. Tom, however, explained to him 
that the Keystone Bridge Works were in bad credit be- 
cause they never borrowed anything, and he was paci- 
fied. No debt was one of the Colonel’s hobbies. Once, 
when I was leaving for Europe, when many firms were 
hard up and some failing around us, he said to me: 

“The sheriff can’t get us when you are gone if I don’t 
sign any notes, can he?” 

*“No,”’ I said, “he can’t.”’ 

“All right, we'll be here when you come back.” 

Talking of the Colonel reminds me of another un- 
usual character with whom we were brought in contact 
in these bridge-building days. This was Captain Eads, 
of St. Louis,! an original genius minus scientific knowl- 
edge to guide his erratic ideas of things mechanical. 

1 Captain James B. Eads, afterward famous for his jetty system in the 
Mississippi River. 


He was seemingly one of those who wished to have every- 
thing done upon his own original plans. That a thing 
had been done in one way before was sufficient to cause 
its rejection. When his plans for the St. Louis Bridge 
were presented to us, I handed them to the one man in 
the United States who knew the subject best— our Mr. 
Linville. He came to me in great concern, saying: 

“The bridge if built upon these plans will not stand 
up; it will not carry its own weight.” 

“Well,” I said, “‘Captain Eads will come to see you 
and in talking over matters explain this to him gently, 
get it into proper shape, lead him into the straight path 
and say nothing about it to others.” 

This was successfully accomplished; but in the con- 
struction of the bridge poor Piper was totally unable 
to comply with the extraordinary requirements of the 
Captain. At first he was so delighted with having re- 
ceived the largest contract that had yet been let that 
he was all graciousness to Captain Eads. It was not even 
“‘Captain”’ at first, but “** Colonel’ Eads, how do you do? 
Delighted to see you.” By and by matters became a 
little complicated. We noticed that the greeting became 
less cordial, but still 1t was “‘Good-morning, Captain 
Eads.” This fell till we were surprised to hear “Pipe” 
talking of ‘‘Mr. Eads.”’ Before the troubles were over, 
the ‘‘Colonel’’ had fallen to “Jim Eads,” and to tell the 
truth, long before the work was out of the shops, “Jim”’ 
was now and then preceded by a big ““D.”’ A man may 
be possessed of great ability, and be a charming, inter- 
esting character, as Captain Eads undoubtedly was, 
and yet not be able to construct the first bridge of five 
hundred feet span over the Mississippi River,! without 

1 The span was 515 feet, and at that time considered the finest metal 
arch in the world. 


availing himself of the scientific knowledge and prac- 
tical experience of others. 

When the work was finished, I had the Colonel with 
me in St. Louis for some days protecting the bridge 
against a threatened attempt on the part of others to 
take possession of it before we obtained full payment. 
When the Colonel had taken up the planks at both ends, 
and organized a plan of relieving the men who stood 
guard, he became homesick and exceedingly anxious 
to return to Pittsburgh. He had determined to take the 
night train and I was at a loss to know how to keep him 
with me until I thought of his one vulnerable point. 
I told him, during the day, how anxious I was to obtain 
a pair of horses for my sister. I wished to make her a 
present of a span, and I had heard that St. Louis was a 
noted place for them. Had he seen anything superb? 

The bait took. He launched forth into a description 
of several spans of horses he had seen and stables he had © 
visited. I asked him if he could possibly stay over and 
select the horses. I knew very well that he would wish 
to see them and drive them many times which would 
keep him busy. It happened just as I expected. He pur- 
chased a splendid pair, but then another difficulty 
occurred about transporting them to Pittsburgh. He 
would not trust them by rail and no suitable boat 
was to leave for several days. Providence was on my 
side evidently. Nothing on earth would induce that 
man to leave the city until he saw those horses fairly 
started and it was an even wager whether he would not 
insist upon going up on the steamer with them himself. 
We held the bridge. “‘ Pipe’”’ made a splendid Horatius. 
He was one of the best men and one of the most valu- 
able partners I ever was favored with, and richly deserved 
the rewards which he did so much to secure. 


The Keystone Bridge Works have always been a 
source of satisfaction to me. Almost every concern that 
had undertaken to erect iron bridges in America had 
failed. Many of the structures themselves had fallen and 
some of the worst railway disasters in America had been 
caused in that way. Some of the bridges had given way 
under wind pressure but nothing has ever happened to 
a Keystone bridge, and some of them have stood where 
the wind was not tempered. There has been no luck 
about it. We used only the best material and enough 
of it, making our own iron and later our own steel. We 
were our own severest inspectors, and would build a 
safe structure or none at all. When asked to build a 
bridge which we knew to be of insufficient strength or 
of unscientific design, we resolutely declined. Any piece 
of work bearing the stamp of the Keystone Bridge 
Works (and there are few States in the Union where 
such are not to be found) we were prepared to under- 
write. We were as proud of our bridges as Carlyle was . 
of the bridge his father built across the Annan. “An 
honest brig,’’ as the great son rightly said. 

This policy is the true secret of success. Uphill work 
it will be for a few years until your work is proven, but 
after that it is smooth sailing. Instead of objecting to in- 
spectors they should be welcomed by all manufacturing 
establishments. A high standard of excellence is easily 
maintained, and men are educated in the effort to reach 
excellence. I have never known a concern to make a 
decided success that did not do good, honest work, and 
even in these days of the fiercest competition, when 
everything would seem to be matter of price, there lies 
still at the root of great business success the very much 
more important factor of quality. The effect of atten- 
tion to quality, upon every man in the service, from the 


president of the concern down to the humblest laborer, 
cannot be overestimated. And bearing on the same 
question, clean, fine workshops and tools, well-kept 
yards and surroundings are of much greater importance 
than is usually supposed. 

I was very much pleased to hear a remark, made by 
one of the prominent bankers who visited the Edgar 
Thomson Works during a Bankers Convention held at 
Pittsburgh. He was one of a party of some hundreds of 
delegates, and after they had passed through the works 
he said to our manager: 

“Somebody appears to belong to these works.” 

He put his finger there upon one of the secrets of 
success. They did belong to somebody. The president 
of an important manufacturing work once boasted to 
me that their men had chased away the first inspector 
who had ventured to appear among them, and that 
they had never been troubled with another since. This 
was said as a matter of sincere congratulation, but I 
thought to myself: “This concern will never stand the 
strain of competition; it is bound to fail when hard 
times come.” The result proved the correctness of my 
belief. The surest foundation of a manufacturing con- 
cern is quality. After that, and a long way after, comes 

I gave a great deal of personal attention for some 
years to the affairs of the Keystone Bridge Works, and 
when important contracts were involved often went 
myself to meet the parties. On one such occasion in 
1868, I visited Dubuque, Iowa, with our engineer, 
Walter Katte. We were competing for the building of 
the most important railway bridge that had been built 
up to that time, a bridge across the wide Mississippi at 
Dubuque, to span which was considered a great under- 


taking. We found the river frozen and crossed it upon 
a sleigh drawn by four horses. 

That visit proved how much success turns upon trifles. 
We found we were not the lowest bidder. Our chief rival 
was a bridge-building concern in Chicago to which the 
board had decided to award the contract. I lingered and 
talked with some of the directors. They were delight- 
fully ignorant of the merits of cast- and wrought-iron. 
We had always made the upper cord of the bridge of 
the latter, while our rivals’ was made of cast-iron. This 
furnished my text. I pictured the result of a steamer 
striking against the one and against the other. In the 
case of the wrought-iron cord it would probably only 
bend; in the case of the cast-iron it would certainly 
break and down would come the bridge. One of the di- 
rectors, the well-known Perry Smith, was fortunately 
able to enforce my argument, by stating to the board 
that what I said was undoubtedly the case about cast- 
iron. The other night he had run his buggy in the dark 
against a lamp-post which was of cast-iron and the 
lamp-post had broken to pieces. Am I to be censured 
if I had little difficulty here in recognizing something 
akin to the hand of Providence, with Perry Smith the 
manifest agent? 

“Ah, gentlemen,” I said, “‘there is the point. A little 
more money and you could have had the indestructible ~ 
wrought-iron and your bridge would stand against any 
steamboat. We never have built and we never will build 
a cheap bridge. Ours don’t fall.” 

There was a pause; then the president of the bridge 
company, Mr. Allison, the great Senator, asked if I 
would excuse them for a few moments. I retired. Soon 
they recalled me and offered the contract, provided we 
took the lower price, which was only a few thousand 


dollars less. I agreed to the concession. That cast-iron 
lamp-post so opportunely smashed gave us one of our 
most profitable contracts and, what is more, obtained 
for us the reputation of having taken the Dubuque 
bridge against all competitors. It also laid the founda- 
tion for me of a lifelong, unbroken friendship with one of 
America’s best and most valuable public men, Senator 

The moral of that story lies on the surface. If you 
want a contract, be on the spot when it is let. A smashed 
lamp-post or something equally unthought of may se- 
cure the prize if the bidder be on hand. And if possible 
stay on hand until you can take the written contract 
home in your pocket. This we did at Dubuque, although 
it was suggested we could leave and it would be sent 
after us to execute. We preferred to remain, being 
anxious to see more of the charms of Dubuque. 

After building the Steubenville Bridge, it became a 
necessity for the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company 
to build bridges across the Ohio River at Parkersburg 
and Wheeling, to prevent their great rival, the Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad Company, from possessing a decided ad- 
vantage. The days of ferryboats were then fast passing 
away. It was in connection with the contracts for these 
bridges that I had the pleasure of making the acquaint- 
ance of a man, then of great position, Mr. Garrett, presi- 
dent of the Baltimore and Ohio. 

We were most anxious to secure both bridges and all 
the approaches to them, but I found Mr. Garrett de- 
cidedly of the opinion that we were quite unable to do 
so much work in the time specified. He wished to build 
the approaches and the short spans in his own shops, 
and asked me if we would permit him to use our patents. 
I replied that we would feel highly honored by the Bal- 


timore and Ohio doing so. The stamp of approval of 
the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad would be worth ten 
times the patent fees. He could use all, and everything, 
we had. 

There was no doubt as to the favorable impression 
that made upon the great railway magnate. He was 
much pleased and, to my utter surprise, took me into 
his private room and opened up a frank conversation 
upon matters in general. He touched especially upon 
his quarrels with the Pennsylvania Railroad people, 
with Mr. Thomson and Mr. Scott, the president and 
vice-president, whom he knew to be my special friends. 
This led me to say that I had passed through Phila- 
delphia on my way to see him and had been asked by 
Mr. Scott where I was going. 

“T told him that I was going to visit you to obtain 
the contracts for your great bridges over the Ohio 
River. Mr. Scott said it was not often that I went on a 
fool’s errand, but that I was certainly on one now; that 
Mr. Garrett would never think for a moment of giving 
me his contracts, for every one knew that I was, as a 
former employee, always friendly to the Pennsylvania 
Railroad. Well, I said, we shall build Mr. Garrett’s 

Mr. Garrett promptly replied that when the in- 
terests of his company were at stake it was the best 
always that won. His engineers had reported that our 
plans were the best and that Scott and Thomson would 
see that he had only one rule — the interests of his 
company. Although he very well knew that I was a 
Pennsylvania Railroad man, yet he felt it his one to 
award us the work. 

The negotiation was still unsatisfactory to me, be- 
cause we were to get all the difficult part of the work — 


the great spans of which the risk was then considerable 
— while Mr. Garrett was to build all the small and 
profitable spans at his own shops upon our plans and 
patents. I ventured to ask whether he was dividing 
the work because he honestly believed we could not 
open his bridges for traffic as soon as his masonry would 
permit. He admitted he was. I told him that he need 
not have any fear upon that point. 

“Mr. Garrett,” I said, “would you consider my per- 
sonal bond a good security?”’ 

“Certainly,” he said. 

“Well, now,” I replied, “bind me! I know what I am 
doing. I will take the risk. How much of a bond do 
you want me to give you that your bridges will be 
opened for traffic at the specified time if you give us the 
entire contract, provided you get your masonry ready?”’ 

“Well, I would want a hundred thousand dollars 
from you, young man.” 

“All right,” I said, “‘prepare your bond. Give us the 
work. Our firm is not going to let me lose a hundred 
thousand dollars. You know that.”’ 

“Yes,”’ he said, “I believe if you are bound for a 
hundred thousand dollars your company will work day 
and night and I will get my bridges.”’ 

This was the arrangement which gave us what were 
then the gigantic contracts of the Baltimore and Ohio 
Railroad. It is needless to say that I never had to pay 
that bond. My partners knew much better than Mr. 
Garrett the conditions of his work. The Ohio River 
was not to be trifled with, and long before his masonry 
was ready we had relieved ourselves from all responsi- 
bility upon the bond by placing the superstructure on 
the banks awaiting the completion of the substructure 
which he was still building. 


Mr. Garrett was very proud of his Scottish blood, 
and Burns having been once touched upon between us 
we became firm friends. He afterwards took me to his 
fine mansion in the country. He was one of the few 
Americans who then lived in the grand style of a 
country gentleman, with many hundreds of acres of 
beautiful land, park-like drives, a stud of thorough- 
bred horses, with cattle, sheep, and dogs, and a home 
that realized what one had read of the country life of a 
nobleman in England. 

At a later date he had fully determined that his 
railroad company should engage in the manufacture 
of steel rails and had applied for the right to use the 
Bessemer patents. This was a matter of great moment 
to us. The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company was 
one of our best customers, and we were naturally 
anxious to prevent the building of steel-rail rolling 
mills at Cumberland. It would have been a losing enter- 
prise for the Baltimore and Ohio, for I was sure it could 
buy its steel rails at a much cheaper rate than it could 
possibly make the small quantity needed for itself. I 
visited Mr. Garrett to talk the matter over with him. 
He was then much pleased with the foreign commerce 
and the lines of steamships which made Baltimore 
their port. He drove me, accompanied by several of 
his staff, to the wharves where he was to decide about 
their extension, and as the foreign goods were being dis- 
charged from the steamship side and placed in the rail- 
way cars, he turned to me and said: 

“Mr. Carnegie, you can now begin to appreciate the 
magnitude of our vast system and understand why it 
is necessary that we should make everything for our- 
selves, even our steel rails. We cannot depend upon 
private concerns to supply us with any of the princi- 


pal articles we consume. We shall be a world to our- 

“Well,” I said, “Mr. Garrett, it is all very grand, 
but really your “‘ vast system’ does not overwhelm me. 
I read your last annual report and saw that you col- 
lected last year for transporting the goods of others 
the sum of fourteen millions of dollars. The firms I con- 
_ trol dug the material from the hills, made their own 
goods, and sold them to a much greater value than 
that. You are really a very small concern compared with 
Carnegie Brothers and Company.” 

My railroad apprenticeship came in there to ad- 
vantage. We heard no more of the Baltimore and Ohio 
Railroad Company entering into competition with us. 
Mr. Garrett and I remained good friends to the end. He 
even presented me with a Scotch collie dog of his own 
rearing. That I had been a Pennsylvania Railroad man 
was drowned in the “wee drap o’ Scotch bluid atween 




HE Keystone Works have always been my pet 

as being the parent of all the other works. But 
they had not been long in existence before the ad- 
vantage of wrought- over cast-iron became manifest. 
Accordingly, to insure uniform quality, and also to 
make certain shapes which were not then to be ob- 
tained, we determined to embark in the manufacture 
of iron. My brother and I became interested with 
Thomas N. Miller, Henry Phipps, and Andrew Kloman 
in a small iron mill. Miller was the first to embark with 
Kloman and he brought Phipps in, lending him eight 
hundred dollars to buy a one-sixth interest, in Novem- 
ber, 1861. 

I must not fail to record that Mr. Muller was the 
pioneer of our iron manufacturing projects. We were 
all indebted to Tom, who still lives (July 20, 1911) 
and sheds upon us the sweetness and light of a most 
lovable nature, a friend who grows more precious as the 
years roll by. He has softened by age, and even his out- 
bursts against theology as antagonistic to true religion 
are in his fine old age much less alarming. We are all 
prone to grow philosophic in age, and perhaps this is 
well. [In re-reading this — July 19, 1912 — in our re- 
treat upon the high moors at Aultnagar, I drop a tear 
for my bosom friend, dear Tom Miller, who died in 
Pittsburgh last winter. Mrs. Carnegie and I attended 
his funeral. Henceforth life lacks something, lacks 
much — my first partner in early years, my dearest 


friend in old age. May I go where he is, wherever that 
may be.| 

Andrew Kloman had a small steel-hammer in Alle- 
gheny City. As a superintendent of the Pennsylvania 
Railroad I had found that he made the best axles. 
He was a great mechanic — one who had discovered, 
what was then unknown in Pittsburgh, that what- 
ever was worth doing with machinery was worth doing 
well. His German mind made him thorough. What he 
constructed cost enormously, but when once started 
it did the work it was intended to do from year’s end 
to year’s end. In those early days it was a question with 
axles generally whether they would run any specified 
time or break. There was no analysis of material, no 
scientific treatment of it. 

How much this German created! He was the first 
man to introduce the cold saw that cut cold iron the 
exact lengths. He invented upsetting machines to make 
bridge links, and also built the first “universal”? mill 
in America. All these were erected at our works. When 
Captain Eads could not obtain the couplings for the 
St. Louis Bridge arches (the contractors failing to make 
them) and matters were at a standstill, Kloman told us 
that he could make them and why the others had failed. 
He succeeded in making them. Up to that date they 
were the largest semicircles that had ever been rolled. 
Our confidence in Mr. Kloman may be judged from 
the fact that when he said he could make them we un- 
hesitatingly contracted to furnish them. 

I have already spoken of the intimacy between our 
family and that of the Phippses. In the early days my 
chief companion was the elder brother, John. Henry was 
several years my junior, but had not failed to attract 
my attention as a bright, clever lad. One day he asked 


his brother John to lend him a quarter of a dollar. John 
saw that he had important use for it and handed him | 
the shining quarter without inquiry. Next morning an 
advertisement appeared in the “Pittsburgh Dispatch”: 

‘fA willing boy wishes work.”’ 

This was the use the energetic and willing Harry had 
made of his quarter, probably the first quarter he had 
ever spent at one time in his life. A response came from 
the well-known firm of Dilworth and Bidwell. They 
asked the “willing boy”’ to call. Harry went and ob- 
tained a position as errand boy, and as was then the 
custom, his first duty every morning was to sweep the 
office. He went to his parents and obtained their con- 
sent, and in this way the young lad launched himself 
upon the sea of business. There was no holding back a 
boy like that. It was the old story. He soon became indis- 
pensable to his employers, obtained a small interest in a 
collateral branch of their business; and then, ever on the 
alert, it was not many years before he attracted the 
attention of Mr. Miller, who made a small investment 
for him with Andrew Kloman. That finally resulted in 
the building of the iron mill in Twenty-Ninth Street. 
He had been a schoolmate and great crony of my 
brother Tom. As children they had played together, and 
throughout life, until my brother’s death in 1886, these 
two formed, as it were, a partnership within a partner- 
ship. They invariably held equal interests in the various 
firms with which they were connected. What one did 
the other did. 

The errand boy is now one of the richest men in the 
United States and has begun to prove that he knows 
how to expend his surplus. Years ago he gave beautiful 
conservatories to the public parks of Allegheny and 
Pittsburgh. That he specified “that these should be 


open upon Sunday”’ shows that he is a man of his time. 
This clause in the gift created much excitement. Minis- 
ters denounced him from the pulpit and assemblies of 
the church passed resolutions declaring against the dese- 
cration of the Lord’s Day. But the people rose, en masse, 
against this narrow-minded contention and the Coun- 
cil of the city accepted the gift with acclamation. The 
sound common sense of my partner was well expressed 
when he said in reply to a remonstrance by ministers: 

“Tt is all very well for you, gentlemen, who work one 
day in the week and are masters of your time the other 
six during which you can view the beauties of Nature — 
all very well for you — but I think it shameful that you 
should endeavor to shut out from the toiling masses all 
that is calculated to entertain and instruct them during 
the only day which you well know they have at their 
disposal.”’ . 

These same ministers have recently been quarreling 
in their convention at Pittsburgh upon the subject of 
instrumental music in churches. But while they are 
debating whether it is right to have organs in churches, 
intelligent people are opening museums, conservatories, 
and libraries upon the Sabbath; and unless the pulpit 
soon learns how to meet the real wants of the people in 
this life (where alone men’s duties lie) much better than 
it is doing at present, these rival claimants for popular 
favor may soon empty their churches. 

Unfortunately Kloman and Phipps soon differed with 
Miller about the business and forced him out. Being 
convinced that Miller was unfairly treated, I united with 
him in building new works. These were the Cyclops 
Mills of 1864. After they were set running it became 
possible, and therefore advisable, to unite the old and 
the new works, and the Union Iron Mills were formed 


by their consolidation in 1867. I did not believe that 
Mr. Miller’s reluctance to associate again with his former 
partners, Phipps and Kloman, could not be overcome, 
because they would not control the Union Works. Mr. 
Miller, my brother, and I would hold the controlling 
interest. But Mr. Miller proved obdurate and begged 
me to buy his interest, which I reluctantly did after all 
efforts had failed to induce him to let bygones be by- 
gones. He was Irish, and the Irish blood when aroused is 
uncontrollable. Mr. Miller has since regretted (to me) 
his refusal of my earnest request, which would have 
enabled the pioneer of all of us to reap what was only 
his rightful reward — millionairedom for himself and 
his followers. 

We were young in manufacturing then and obtained 
for the Cyclops Mills what was considered at the time 
an enormous extent of land — seven acres. For some 
years we offered to lease a portion of the ground to 
others. It soon became a question whether we could con- 
tinue the manufacture of iron within so small an area. 
Mr. Kloman succeeded in making iron beams and for 
many years our mill was far in advance of any other in 
that respect. We began at the new mill by making all 
shapes which were required, and especially such as no 
other concern would undertake, depending upon an 
increasing demand in our growing country for things 
that were only rarely needed at first. What others could 
not or would not do we would attempt, and this was a 
rule of our business which was strictly adhered to. Also 
we would make nothing except of excellent quality. We 
always accommodated our customers, even although at 
some expense to ourselves, and in cases of dispute we 
gave the other party the benefit of the doubt and settled. 
These were our rules. We had no lawsuits. 


As I became acquainted with the manufacture of iron 
I was greatly surprised to find that the cost of each of 
the various processes was unknown. Inquiries made of 
the leading manufacturers of Pittsburgh proved this. 
It was a lump business, and until stock was taken and 
the books balanced at the end of the year, the manu- 
facturers were in total ignorance of results. I heard of 
men who thought their business at the end of the year 
would show a loss and had found a profit, and vice-versa. 
I felt as if we were moles burrowing in the dark, and this 
to me was intolerable. I insisted upon such a system of 
weighing and accounting being introduced throughout 
our works as would enable us to know what our cost was 
for each process and especially what each man was do- 
ing, who saved material, who wasted it, and who pro- 
duced the best results. 

To arrive at this was a much more difficult task than 
one would imagine. Every manager in the mills was 
naturally against the new system. Years were required 
before an accurate system was obtained, but eventually, 
by the aid of many clerks and the introduction of weigh- 
ing scales at various points in the mill, we began to know 
not only what every department was doing, but what 
each one of the many men working at the furnaces was 
doing, and thus to compare one with another. One of 
the chief sources of success in manufacturing is the in- 
troduction and strict maintenance of a perfect system of 
accounting so that responsibility for money or materials 
can be brought home to every man. Owners who, in the 
office, would not trust a clerk with five dollars with- 
out having a check upon him, were supplying tons of 
material daily to men in the mills without exacting 
an account of their stewardship by weighing what each 
returned in the finished form. 


The Siemens Gas Furnace had been used to some 
extent in Great Britain for heating steel and iron, but it 
was supposed to be too expensive. I well remember the 
criticisms made by older heads among the Pittsburgh 
manufacturers about the extravagant expenditure we 
were making upon these new-fangled furnaces. But in 
the heating of great masses of material, almost half the 
waste could sometimes be saved by using the new fur- 
naces. The expenditure would have been justified, even 
if it had been doubled. Yet it was many years before 
we were followed in this new departure; and in some of 
those years the margin of profit was so small that the 
most of it was made up from the savings derived from 
the adoption of the improved furnaces. 

Our strict system of accounting enabled us to detect 
the great waste possible in heating large masses of iron. 
This improvement revealed to us a valuable man in 
a clerk, William Borntraeger, a distant relative of Mr. 
Kloman, who came from Germany. He surprised us one 
day by presenting a detailed statement showing results 
for a period, which seemed incredible. All the needed 
labor in preparing this statement he had performed at 
night unasked and unknown to us. The form adapted 
was uniquely original. Needless to say, William soon 
became superintendent of the works and later a partner, 
and the poor German lad died a millionaire. He well 
deserved his fortune. | ; 

It was in 1862 that the great oil wells of Pennsylvania 
attracted attention. My friend Mr. William Coleman, 
whose daughter became, at a later date, my sister-in- 
law, was deeply interested in the discovery, and nothing 
would do but that I should take a trip with him to the 
oil regions. It was a most interesting excursion. There 
had been a rush to the oil fields and the influx was so 


great that it was impossible for all to obtain shelter. 
This, however, to the class of men who flocked thither, 
was but a slight drawback. A few hours sufficed to knock 
up a shanty, and it was surprising in how short a time 
they were able to surround themselves with many of the 
comforts of life. They were men above the average, men 
who had saved considerable sums and were able to ven- 
ture something in the search for fortune. 

What surprised me was the good humor which pre- 
vailed everywhere. It was a vast picnic, full of amusing 
incidents. Everybody was in high glee; fortunes were 
supposedly within reach; everything was booming. On 
the tops of the derricks floated flags on which strange 
mottoes were displayed. I remember looking down 
toward the river and seeing two men working their 
treadles boring for oil upon the banks of the stream, 
and inscribed upon their flag was “Hell or China.” 
They were going down, no matter how far. 

The adaptability of the American was never better 
displayed than in this region. Order was soon evolved 
out of chaos. When we visited the place not long after 
we were serenaded by a brass band the players of which 
were made up of the new inhabitants along the creek. 
It would be safe to wager that a thousand Americans 
in a new land would organize themselves, establish 
schools, churches, newspapers, and brass bands — in 
short, provide themselves with all the appliances of 
civilization — and go ahead developing their country 
before an equal number of British would have discovered 
who among them was the highest in hereditary rank and 
had the best claims to leadership owing to his grand- - 
father. There is but one rule among Americans — the 
tools to those who can use them. 

To-day Oil Creek is a town of many thousand inhabi- 


tants, as is also Titusville at the other end of the creek. 
The district which began by furnishing a few barrels of 
oil every season, gathered with blankets from the sur- 
face of the creek by the Seneca Indians, has now several 
towns and refineries, with millions of dollars of capital. 
In those early days all the arrangements were of the 
crudest character. When the oil was obtained it was 
run into flat-bottomed boats which leaked badly. Water 
ran into the boats and the oil overflowed into the river. 
The creek was dammed at various places, and upon a 
stipulated day and hour the dams were opened and upon 
the flood the oil boats floated to the Allegheny River, 
and thence to Pittsburgh. 

In this way not only the creek, but the Allegheny 
River, became literally covered with oil. The loss in- 
volved in transportation to Pittsburgh was estimated 
at fully a third of the total quantity, and before the oil 
boats started it 1s safe to say that another third was 
lost by leakage. The oil gathered by the Indians in the 
early days was bottled in Pittsburgh and sold at high 
prices as medicine — a dollar for a small vial. It had 
general reputation as a sure cure for rheumatic tend- 
encies. As it became plentiful and cheap its virtues 
vanished. What fools we mortals be! 

The most celebrated wells were upon the Storey farm. 
Upon these we obtained an option of purchase for forty 
thousand dollars. We bought them. Mr. Coleman, ever 
ready at suggestion, proposed to make a lake of oil by 
excavating a pool sufficient to hold a hundred thousand 
barrels (the waste to be made good every day by running 
streams of oil into it), and to hold it for the not far dis- 
tant day when, as we then expected, the oil supply 
would cease. This was promptly acted upon, but after 
losing many thousands of barrels waiting for the ex- 


pected day (which has not yet arrived) we abandoned 
the reserve. Coleman predicted that when the supply 
stopped, oil would bring ten dollars a barrel and there- 
fore we would have a million dollars worth in the lake. 
We did not think then of Nature’s storehouse below 
which still keeps on yielding many thousands of barrels 
per day without apparent exhaustion. 

This forty-thousand-dollar investment proved for 
us the best of all so far. The revenues from it came at the 
most opportune time.! The building of the new mill in 
Pittsburgh required not only all the capital we could 
gather, but the use of our credit, which I consider, look- 
ing backward, was remarkably good for young men. 

Having become interested in this oil venture, I made 
several excursions to the district and also, in 1864, to 
an oil field in Ohio where a great well had been struck 
which yielded a peculiar quality of oil well fitted for 
lubricating purposes. My journey thither with Mr. 
Coleman and Mr. David Ritchie was one of the strangest 
experiences I ever had. We left the railway line some 
hundreds of miles from Pittsburgh and plunged through 
a sparsely inhabited district to the waters of Duck 
Creek to see the monster well. We bought it before leav- 

It was upon our return that adventures began. The 
weather had been fine and the roads quite passable 
during our journey thither, but rain had set in during 
our stay. We started back in our wagon, but before going 
far fell into difficulties. The road had become a mass of 
soft, tenacious mud and our wagon labored fearfully. 
The rain fell in torrents, and it soon became evident that 

1 The wells on the Storey farm paid in one year a million dollars in cash 
and dividends, and the farm itself eventually became worth, on a stock 
basis, five million dollars. 


we were in for a night of it. Mr. Coleman lay at full 
length on one side of the wagon, and Mr. Ritchie on the 
other, and I, being then very thin, weighing not much 
more than a hundred pounds, was nicely sandwiched 
between the two portly gentlemen. Every now and then 
the wagon proceeded a few feet heaving up and down in 
the most outrageous manner, and finally sticking fast. 
In this fashion we passed the night. There was in front 
a seat across the wagon, under which we got our heads, 
and in spite of our condition the night was spent in 
uproarious merriment. 

By the next night we succeeded in reaching a country 
town in the worst possible plight. We saw the little 
frame church of the town lighted and heard the bell 
ringing. We had just reached our tavern when a com- 
mittee appeared stating that they had been waiting 
for us and that the congregation was assembled. It ap- 
pears that a noted exhorter had been expected who had 
no doubt been delayed as we had been. I was taken for 
the absentee minister and asked how soon I would be 
ready to accompany them to the meeting-house. I was 
almost prepared with my companions to carry out the 
joke (we were in for fun), but I found I was too ex- 
hausted with fatigue to attempt it. I had never before 
come so near occupying a pulpit. 

My investments now began to require so much of my 
personal attention that I resolved to leave the service 
of the railway company and devote myself exclusively 
to my own affairs. I had been honored a short time be- 
fore this decision by being called by President Thomson 
to Philadelphia. He desired to promote me to the office 
of assistant general superintendent with headquarters 
at Altoona under Mr. Lewis. I declined, telling him that 
I had decided to give up the railroad service altogether, 


that I was determined to make a fortune and I saw no 
means of doing this honestly at any salary the railroad 
company could afford to give, and I would not do it by 
indirection. When I lay down at night I was going to 
get a verdict of approval from the highest of all tribunals, 
the judge within. 

I repeated this in my parting letter to President 
Thomson, who warmly congratulated me upon it in his 
letter of reply. I resigned my position March 28, 1865, 
and received from the men on the railway a gold watch. 
This and Mr. Thomson’s letter I treasure among my 
most precious mementos. 

The following letter was written to the men on the 

PirtsspurGH, March 28, 1865 
To the Officers and Employees of the Pittsburgh Division 

I cannot allow my connection with you to cease without 
some expression of the deep regret felt at parting. 

Twelve years of pleasant intercourse have served to inspire 
feelings of personal regard for those who have so faithfully 
labored with me in the service of the Company. The coming 
change is painful only as I reflect that in consequence thereof 
I am not to be in the future, as in the past, intimately asso- 
ciated with you and with many others in the various de- 
partments, who have through business intercourse, become 
my personal friends. I assure you although the official rela- 
tions hitherto existing between us must soon close, I can 
never fail to feel and evince the liveliest interest in the wel- 
fare of such as have been identified with the Pittsburgh 
Division in times past, and who are, I trust, for many years 
to come to contribute to the success of the Pennsylvania 
Railroad Company, and share in its justly deserved pros- 

Thanking you most sincerely for the uniform kindness 


shown toward me, for your zealous efforts made at all times 
to meet my wishes, and asking for my successor similar sup- 
port at your hands, I bid you all farewell. 

Very respectfully 


Thenceforth I never worked for a salary. A man must 
necessarily occupy a narrow field who is at the beck and 
call of others. Even if he becomes president of a great 
corporation he is hardly his own master, unless he holds 
control of the stock. The ablest presidents are hampered 
by boards of directors and shareholders, who can know 
but little of the business. But I am glad to say that 
among my best friends to-day are those with whom I 
labored in the service of the Pennsylvania Railroad 

In the year 1867, Mr. Phipps, Mr. J. W. Vandevort, 
and myself revisited Europe, traveling extensively 
through England and Scotland, and made the tour of 
the Continent. “Vandy” had become my closest com- 
panion. We had both been fired by reading Bayard 
Taylor’s “Views Afoot.” It was in the days of the oil 
excitement and shares were going up like rockets. One 
Sunday, lying in the grass, I said to ““Vandy”’: 

“If you could make three thousand dollars would 
you spend it in a tour through Europe with me?”’ 

“Would a duck swim or an Irishman eat potatoes?” 
was his reply. 

The sum was soon made in oil stock by the investment 
of a few hundred dollars which “Vandy” had saved. 
This was the beginning of our excursion. We asked my 
partner, Harry Phipps, who was by this time quite a 
capitalist, to join the party. We visited most of the 
capitals of Europe, and in all the enthusiasm of youth 
climbed every spire, slept on mountain-tops, and carried 


our luggage in knapsacks upon our backs. We ended our 
journey upon Vesuvius, where we resolved some day 
to go around the world. ) 

This visit to Europe proved most instructive. Up to 
this time I had known nothing of painting or sculpture, 
but it was not long before I could classify the works of 
the great painters. One may not at the time justly ap- 
preciate the advantage he is receiving from examining 
the great masterpieces, but upon his return to America 
he will find himself unconsciously rejecting what before 
seemed truly beautiful, and judging productions which 
come before him by a new standard. That which is 
truly great has so impressed itself upon him that what 
is false or pretentious proves no longer attractive. 

My visit to Europe also gave me my first great treat 
in music. The Handel Anniversary was then being cele- 
brated at the Crystal Palace in London, and I had never 
up to that time, nor have I often since, felt the power 
and majesty of music in such high degree. What I heard 
at the Crystal Palace and what I subsequently heard 
on the Continent in the cathedrals, and at the opera, 
‘certainly enlarged my appreciation of music. At Rome 
the Pope’s choir and the celebrations in the churches 
at Christmas and Easter furnished, as it were, a grand 
climax to the whole. 

These visits to Europe were also of great service in a 
commercial sense. One has to get out of the swirl of the 
great Republic to form a just estimate of the velocity 
with which it spins. I felt that a manufacturing concern 
like ours could scarcely develop fast enough for the wants 
of the American people, but abroad nothing seemed to 
be going forward. If we excepted a few of the capitals 
of Europe, everything on the Continent seemed to be 
almost at a standstill, while the Republic represented 


throughout its entire extent such a scene as there must 
have been at the Tower of Babel, as pictured in the 
story-books — hundreds rushing to and fro, each more 
active than his neighbor, and all engaged in construct- 
ing the mighty edifice. 

It was Cousin “Dod” (Mr. George Lauder) to whom 
we were indebted for a new development in our mill 
operations — the first of its kind in America. He it 
was who took our Mr. Coleman to Wigan in England ~ 
and explained the process of washing and coking the 
dross from coal mines. Mr. Coleman had constantly 
been telling us how grand it would be to utilize what 
was then being thrown away at our mines, and was in- 
deed an expense to dispose of. Our Cousin “Dod” was - 
a mechanical engineer, educated under Lord Kelvin at 
Glasgow University, and as he corroborated all that 
Mr. Coleman stated, in December, 1871, I undertook to 
advance the capital to build works along the line of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad. Contracts for ten years were 
made with the leading coal companies for their dross 
and with the railway companies for transportation, and 
Mr. Lauder, who came to Pittsburgh and superintended 
the whole operation for years, began the construction of 
the first coal-washing machinery in America. He made 
a success of it — he never failed to do that in any min- 
ing or mechanical operation he undertook — and he 
soon cleared the cost of the works. No wonder that at 
a later date my partners desired to embrace the coke 
works in our general firm and thus capture not only 
these, but Lauder also. “‘Dod”’ had won his spurs. 

The ovens were extended from time to time until we 
had five hundred of them, washing nearly fifteen hun- 
dred tons of coal daily. I confess I never pass these coal 
ovens at Larimer’s Station without feeling that if he who 



makes two blades of grass grow where one grew before 
is a public benefactor and lays the race under obligation, 
those who produce superior coke from material that has 
been for all previous years thrown over the bank as worth- 
less, have great cause for self-congratulation. It is fine to 
make something out of nothing; it 1s also something to 
be the first firm to do this upon our continent. 

We had another valuable partner in a second cousin 
of mine, a son of Cousin Morrison of Dunfermline. 
Walking through the shops one day, the superintendent 
asked me if I knew I had a relative there who was 
proving an exceptional mechanic. I replied in the nega- 
tive and asked that I might speak with him on our way 
around. We met. I asked his name. 

**Morrison,”’ was the reply, “son of Robert”? — my 
cousin Bob. 

Well, how did you come here?”’ 

“I thought we could better ourselves,”’ he said. 

Who have you with you?”’ 

“My wife,” was the reply. 

“Why did n’t you come first to see your relative who 
might have been able to introduce you here?” 

“Well, I did n’t feel I needed help if I only got a 

There spoke the true Morrison, taught to depend on 
himself, and independent as Lucifer. Not long after- 
wards I heard of his promotion to the superintendency 
of our newly acquired works at Duquesne, and from 
that position he steadily marched upward. He is to-day 
a blooming, but still sensible, millionaire. We are all 
proud of Tom Morrison. [A note received from him 
yesterday invites Mrs. Carnegie and myself to be his 
guests during our coming visit of a few days at the an- 
nual celebration of the Carnegie Institute.] 


I was always advising that our iron works should be 
extended and new developments made in connection 
with the manufacture of iron and steel, which I saw 
was only in its infancy. All apprehension of its future 
development was dispelled by the action of America 
with regard to the tariff upon foreign imports. It was 
clear to my mind that the Civil War had resulted in 
a fixed determination upon the part of the American 
people to build a nation within itself, independent of 
Europe in all things essential to its safety. America had 
been obliged to import all her steel of every form and 
most of the iron needed, Britain being the chief seller. 
The people demanded a home supply and Congress 
granted the manufacturers a tariff of twenty-eight per 
cent ad valorem on steel rails — the tariff then being 
equal to about twenty-eight dollars per ton. Rails were 
selling at about a hundred dollars per ton, and other 
rates in proportion. 

Protection has played a great part in the develop- 
ment of manufacturing in the United States. Previous 
to the Civil War it was a party question, the South 
standing for free trade and regarding a tariff as favor- 
able only to the North. The sympathy shown by the 
British Government for the Confederacy, culminating 
in the escape of the Alabama and other privateers to 
prey upon American commerce, aroused hostility against 
that Government, notwithstanding the majority of her 
common people favored the United States. The tariff 
became no longer a party question, but a national pol- 
icy, approved by both parties. It had become a patriotic 
duty to develop vital resources. No less than ninety 
Northern Democrats in Congress, including the Speaker 
of the House, agreed upon that point. 

Capital no longer hesitated to embark in manufac- 


turing, confident as it was that the nation would pro- 
tect it as long as necessary. Years after the war, de- 
mands for a reduction of the tariff arose and it was my 
lot to be drawn into the controversy. It was often 
charged that bribery of Congressmen by manufacturers 
was common. So far as I know there was no foundation 
for this. Certainly the manufacturers never raised any _ 
sums beyond those needed to maintain the Iron and 
Steel Association, a matter of a few thousand dollars 
per year. They did, however, subscribe freely to a cam- 
paign when the issue was Protection versus Free 
Trade. | 

The duties upon steel were successively reduced, with 
my cordial support, until the twenty-eight dollars duty 
on rails became only one fourth or seven dollars per 
ton. [To-day (1911) the duty is only about one half of 
that, and even that should go in the next revision.| The 
effort of President Cleveland to pass a more drastic 
new tariff was interesting. It cut too deep In many 
places and its passage would have injured more than 
one manufacture. I was called to Washington, and tried 
to modify and, as I believe, improve, the Wilson Bill. 
Senator Gorman, Democratic leader of the Senate, 
Governor Flower of New York, and a number of the 
ablest Democrats were as sound protectionists in mod- 
eration as I was. Several of these were disposed to op- 
pose the Wilson Bill as being unnecessarily severe and 
certain to cripple some of our domestic industries. Sen- 
ator Gorman said to me he wished as little as I did to in- 
jure any home producer, and he thought his colleagues 
had confidence in and would be guided by me as to iron 
and steel rates, provided that large reductions were 
made and that the Republican Senators would stand 
unitedly for a bill of that character. I remember his 


words, “‘I can afford to fight the President and beat 
him, but I can’t afford to fight him and be beaten.” 

Governor Flower shared these views. There was little 
trouble in getting our party to agree to the large re- 
ductions I proposed. The Wilson-Gorman Tariff Bill 
was adopted. Meeting Senator Gorman later, he ex- 
plained that he had to give way on cotton ties to secure 
several Southern Senators. Cotton ties had to be free. 
So tariff legislation goes. 

I was not sufficiently prominent in manufacturing to 
take part in getting the tariff established immediately 
after the war, so it happened that my part has always 
been to favor reduction of duties, opposing extremes — 
the unreasonable protectionists who consider the higher 
the duties the better and declaim against any reduc- 
tion, and the other extremists who denounce all duties 
and would adopt unrestrained free trade. 

We could now (1907) abolish all duties upon steel 
and iron without injury, essential as these duties were 
at the beginning. Europe has not much surplus pro- 
duction, so that should prices rise exorbitantly here only 
a small amount could be drawn from there and this 
would instantly raise prices in Europe, so that our 
home manufacturers could not be seriously affected. 
Free trade would only tend to prevent exorbitant prices 
here for a time when the demand was excessive. Home 
iron and steel manufacturers have nothing to fear from 
free trade. [I recently (1910) stated this in evidence be- 
fore the Tariff Commission at Washington.] 


UR business continued to expand and required 
frequent visits on my part to the East, especially 
to New York, which is as London to Britain — the 
headquarters of all really important enterprises in 
America. No large concern could very well get on with- 
out being represented there. My brother and Mr. 
Phipps had full grasp of the business at Pittsburgh. 
My field appeared to be to direct the general policy of 
the companies and negotiate the important contracts. 
My brother had been so fortunate as to marry Miss 
Lucy Coleman, daughter of one of our most valued 
partners and friends. Our family residence at Home- 
wood was given over to him, and I was once more com- 
pelled to break old associations and leave Pittsburgh 
in 1867 to take up my residence in New York. The 
change was hard enough for me, but much harder for 
my mother; but she was still in the prime of life and 
we could be happy anywhere so long as we were to- 
gether. Still she did feel the leaving of our home very 
much. We were perfect strangers in New York, and at 
first took up our quarters in the St. Nicholas Hotel, then 
in its glory. I opened an office in Broad Street. 

For some time the Pittsburgh friends who came to 
New York were our chief source of happiness, and the 
Pittsburgh papers seemed necessary to our existence. 
I made frequent visits there and my mother often ac- 
companied me, so that our connection with the old 
home was still maintained. But after a time new friend- 


ships were formed and new interests awakened and 
New York began to be called home. When the pro- 
prietors of the St. Nicholas opened the Windsor Hotel 
uptown, we took up our residence there and up to the 
year 1887 that was our New York home. Mr. Hawk, the 
proprietor, became one of our valued friends and his 
nephew and namesake still remains so. 

Among the educative influences from which I de- 
rived great advantage in New York, none ranks higher 
than the Nineteenth Century Club organized by Mr. 
and Mrs. Courtlandt Palmer. The club met at their 
house once a month for the discussion of various topics 
and soon attracted many able men and women. It was 
to Madame Botta I owed my election to membership — 
a remarkable woman, wife of Professor Botta, whose 
drawing-room became more of a salon than any in the 
city, if indeed it were not the only one resembling a 
salon at that time. I was honored by an invitation one 
day to dine at the Bottas’ and there met for the first 
time several distinguished people, among them one who 
became my lifelong friend and wise counselor, Andrew 
D. White, then president of Cornell University, after- 
wards Ambassador to Russia and Germany, and our 
chief delegate to the Hague Conference. 

Here in the Nineteenth Century Club was an arena, 
indeed. Able men and women discussed the leading 
topics of the day in due form, addressing the audience 
one after another. The gatherings soon became too 
large for a private room. The monthly meetings were 
then held in the American Art Galleries. I remember the 
first evening I took part as one of the speakers the sub- 
ject was “The Aristocracy of the Dollar.’ Colonel 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson was the first speaker. 
This was my introduction to a New York audience. 


Thereafter I spoke now and then. It was excellent train- 
ing, for one had to read and study for each appearance. 

I had lived long enough in Pittsburgh to acquire the 
manufacturing, as distinguished from the speculative, 
spirit. My knowledge of affairs, derived from my posi- 
tion as telegraph operator, had enabled me to know the 
few Pittsburgh men or firms which then had dealings 
upon the New York Stock Exchange, and I watched 
their careers with deep interest. To me their operations 
seemed simply a species of gambling. I did not then know 
that the credit of all these men or firms was seriously 
impaired by the knowledge (which it is almost impossi- 
ble to conceal) that they were given tospeculation. But 
the firms were then so few that I could have counted 
them on the fingers of one hand. The Oil and Stock 
Exchanges in Pittsburgh had not as yet been founded 
and brokers’ offices with wires in connection with the 
stock exchanges of the East were unnecessary. Pitts- 
burgh was emphatically a manufacturing town. 

I was surprised to find how very different was the 
state of affairs in New York. There were few even of the 
business men who had not their ventures in Wall Street 
to a greater or less extent. I was besieged with inquiries 
from all quarters in regard to the various railway enter- 
prises with which I was connected. Offers were made to 
me by persons who were willing to furnish capital for 
investment and allow me to manage it — the supposi- 
tion being that from the inside view which I was en- 
abled to obtain I could invest for them successfully. 
Invitations were extended to me to join parties who 
intended quietly to buy up the control of certain prop- 
erties. In fact the whole speculative field was laid out 
- before me in its most seductive guise. 

All these allurements I declined. The most notable 


offer of this kind I ever received was one morning in the - 
Windsor Hotel soon after my removal to New York. 
Jay Gould, then in the height of his career, approached 
‘me and said he had heard of me and he would purchase 
control of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company and give 
me one half of all profits if I would agree to devote my- 
self to its management. I thanked him and said that, 
although Mr. Scott and I had parted company in busi- 
ness matters, I would never raise my hand against him. 
Subsequently Mr. Scott told me he had heard I had been 
selected by New York interests to succeed him. I do not 
know how he had learned this, as I had never mentioned 
it. I was able to reassure him by saying that the only 
railroad company I would be president of would be one 
IT owned. 

Strange what changes the whirligig of time brings in. 
It was my part one morning in 1900, some thirty years 
afterwards, to tell the son of Mr. Gould of his father’s 
offer and to say to him: | 

“Your father offered me control of the great Pennsyl- 
vania system. Now I offer his son in return the control 
of an international line from ocean to ocean.” 

The son and I agreed upon the first step — that was 
the bringing of his Wabash line to Pittsburgh. This was 
successfully done under a contract given the Wabash of 
one third of the traffic of our steel company. We were 
about to take up the eastern extension from Pitts- 
burgh to the Atlantic when Mr. Morgan approached | 
me in March, 1901, through Mr. Schwab, and asked 
if I really wished to retire from business. I answered 
in the affirmative and that put an end to our railway 

I have never bought or sold a share of stock specula- 
tively in my life, except one small lot of Pennsylvania 


Railroad shares that I bought early in life for invest- 
ment and for which I did not pay at the time because 
bankers offered to carry it for me at a low rate. I have 
adhered to the rule never to purchase what I did not 
pay for, and never to sell what I did not own. In those 
early days, however, I had several interests that were 
taken over in the course of business. They included 
some stocks and securities that were quoted on the New 
York Stock Exchange, and I found that when I opened 
my paper in the morning I was tempted to look first at 
the quotations of the stock market. As I had deter- 
mined to sell all my interests in every outside concern 
and concentrate my attention upon our manufacturing 
concerns in Pittsburgh, I further resolved not even to 
own any stock that was bought and sold upon any stock 
exchange. With the exception of trifling amounts which 
came to me in various ways I have adhered strictly to 
this rule. 

Such a course should commend itself to every man in 
the manufacturing business and to all professional men. 
For the manufacturing man especially the rule would 
seem all-important. His mind must be kept calm and 
free if he is to decide wisely the problems which are con- 
tinually coming before him. Nothing tells in the long 
run like good judgment, and no sound judgment can 
remain with the man whose mind is disturbed by the 
mercurial changes of the Stock Exchange. It places him 
under an influence akin to intoxication. What is not, he 
sees, and what he sees, is not. He cannot judge of rela- 
tive values or get the true perspective of things. The 
molehill seems to him a mountain and the mountain 
a molehill, and he jumps at conclusions which he should 
arrive at by reason. His mind is upon the stock quota- 
tions and not upon the points that require calm thought. 


Speculation is a parasite feeding upon values, creating 

My first important enterprise after settling in New 
York was undertaking to build a bridge across the 
Mississippi at Keokuk. Mr. Thomson, president of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, and I contracted for the whole 
structure, foundation, masonry, and superstructure, 
taking bonds and stocks in payment. The undertaking 
was a splendid success in every respect, except finan- 
cially. A panic threw the connecting railways into bank- 
ruptcy. They were unable to pay the stipulated sums. 
Rival systems built a bridge across the Mississippi at 
Burlington and a railway down the west side of the 
Mississippi to Keokuk. The handsome profits which we 
saw in prospect were never realized. Mr. Thomson and 
myself, however, escaped loss, although there was little 
margin left. 

The superstructure for this bridge was built at our 
Keystone Works in Pittsburgh. The undertaking re- 
quired me to visit Keokuk occasionally, and there I 
made the acquaintance of clever and delightful people, — 
among them General and Mrs. Reid, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Leighton. Visiting Keokuk with some English friends 
at a later date, the impression they received of society in 
the Far West, on what to them seemed the very outskirts 
of civilization, was surprising. A reception given to us 
one evening by General Reid brought together an assem- 
bly creditable to any town in Britain. More than one 
of the guests had distinguished himself during the war 
and had risen to prominence in the national councils. 

The reputation obtained in the building of the Keo- 
kuk bridge led to my being applied to by those who were 
in charge of the scheme for bridging the Mississippi at 

1 It was an iron bridge 2300 feet in length with a 380-foot span. : 


St. Louis, to which I have already referred. This was 
connected with my first large financial transaction. 
One day in 1869 the gentleman in charge of the enter- 
prise, Mr. Macpherson (he was very Scotch), called at 
my New York office and said they were trying to raise 
capital to build the bridge. He wished to know if I could 
not enlist some of the Eastern railroad companies in the 
scheme. After careful examination of the project I made: 
the contract for the construction of the bridge on behalf 
of the Keystone Bridge Works. I also obtained an option 
upon four million dollars of first mortgage bonds of the 
bridge company and set out for London in March, 1869, 
to negotiate their sale. | 

During the voyage I prepared a prospectus which 
I had printed upon my arrival in London, and, having 
upon my previous visit made the acquaintance of 
Junius S. Morgan, the great banker, I called upon him 
one morning and opened negotiations. I left with him 
a copy of the prospectus, and upon calling next day was 
delighted to find that Mr. Morgan viewed the matter 
favorably. I sold him part of the bonds with the option 
to take the remainder; but when his lawyers were called 
in for advice a score of changes were required in the 
wording of the bonds. Mr. Morgan said to me that as I 
was going to Scotland I had better go now; I could write 
the parties in St. Louis and ascertain whether they 
would agree to the changes proposed. It would be time 
enough, he said, to close the matter upon my return 
three weeks hence. 

But I had no idea of allowing the fish to play so long, 
and informed him that I would have a telegram in the 
morning agreeing to all the changes. The Atlantic cable 
had been open for some time, but it is doubtful if it had 
yet carried so long a private cable as I sent that day. 


It was an easy matter to number the lines of the bond 
and then going carefully over them to state what 
changes, omissions, or additions were required in each 
line. I showed Mr. Morgan the message before sending 
it and he said: 

“Well, young man, if you succeed in that you deserve 
a red mark.” 

When I entered the office next morning, I found on 
the desk that had been appropriated to my use in Mr. 
Morgan’s private office the colored envelope which con- 
tained the answer. There it was: “‘Board meeting last 
night; changes all approved.” “‘Now, Mr. Morgan,” 
I said, ““we can proceed, assuming that the bond is as 
your lawyers desire.’’ The papers were soon closed. 

While I was in the office Mr. Sampson, the financial 
editor of “‘ The Times,”’ came in. I had an interview with 
him, well knowing that a few words from him would go 
far in lifting the price of the bonds on the Exchange. 
American securities had recently been fiercely attacked, 
owing to the proceedings of Fisk and Gould in connec- 
tion with the Erie Railway Company, and their control 
of the judges in New York, who seemed to do their bid- 
ding. I knew this would be handed out as an objection, 
and therefore I met it at once. I called Mr. Sampson’s 
attention to the fact that the charter of the St. Louis 
Bridge Company was from the National Government. 
In case of necessity appeal lay directly to the Supreme 
Court of the United States, a body vying with their own 
high tribunals. He said he would be delighted to give 
prominence to this commendable feature. I described the 
bridge as a toll-gate on the continental highway and this 
appeared to please him. It was all plain and easy sailing, 
and when he left the office, Mr. Morgan clapped me on 
the shoulder and said: 



“Thank you, young man; you have raised the price 
of those bonds five per cent this morning.” 

“All right, Mr. Morgan,” I replied; ““now show me 
how I can raise them five per cent more for you.” 

The issue was a great success, and the money for the 
St. Louis Bridge was obtained. I had a considerable 
margin of profit upon the negotiation. This was my first 
financial negotiation with the bankers of Europe. Mr. 
Pullman told me a few days later that Mr. Morgan at 
a dinner party had told the telegraphic incident and pre- 
dicted, “That young man will be heard from.”’ 

After closing with Mr. Morgan, I visited my native © 
town, Dunfermline, and at that time made the town a 
gift of public baths. It is notable largely because it was 
the first considerable gift I had ever made. Long before 
that I had, at my Uncle Lauder’s suggestion, sent a sub- 
scription to the fund for the Wallace Monument on 
Stirling Heights overlooking Bannockburn. It was not 
much, but I was then in the telegraph office and it was 
considerable out of a revenue of thirty dollars per month 
with family expenses staring us in the face. Mother did 
not grudge it; on the contrary, she was a very proud 
woman that her son’s name was seen on the list of con- 
tributors, and her son felt he was really beginning to 
be something of a man. Years afterward my mother 
and I visited Stirling, and there unveiled, in the Wal- 
lace Tower, a bust of Sir Walter Scott, which she had 
presented to the monument committee. We had then 
made great progress, at least financially, since the early 
subscription. But distribution had not yet begun.! 

1 The ambitions of Mr. Carnegie at this time (1868) are set forth in the 

following memorandum made by him. It has only recently come to light: 
St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, December, 1868 

Thirty-three and an income of $50,000 per annum! By this time two 


So far with me it had been the age of accumulation. 

While visiting the Continent of Europe in 1867 and 
deeply interested in what I saw, it must not be thought 
that my mind was not upon affairs at home. Frequent 
letters kept me advised of business matters. The ques- 
tion of railway communication with the Pacific had 
been brought to the front by the Civil War, and Congress 
had passed an act to encourage the construction of a 
line. The first sod had just been cut at Omaha and it was 
intended that the line should ultimately be pushed 
through to San Francisco. One day while in Rome it 
struck me that this might be done much sooner than 
was then anticipated. The nation, having made up its 
mind that its territory must be bound together, might 
be trusted to see that no time was lost in accomplishing 
it. I wrote my friend Mr. Scott, suggesting that we 
should obtain the contract to place sleeping-cars upon 
the great California line. His reply contained these 
words: } 

“Well, young man, you do take time by the forelock.”’ 
years I can so arrange all my business as to secure at least $50,000 per 
annum. Beyond this never earn — make no effort to increase fortune, but 
spend the surplus each year for benevolent purposes. Cast aside business 
forever, except for others. 

Settle in Oxford and get a thorough education, making the acquaintance 
of literary men — this will take three years’ active work — pay especial 
- attention to speaking in public. Settle then in London and purchase a con- 
trolling interest in some newspaper or live review and give the general 
management of it attention, taking a part in public matters, especially 
those connected with education and improvement of the poorer classes. 

Man must have an idol — the amassing of wealth is one of the worst 
species of idolatry — no idol more debasing than the worship of money. 
Whatever I engage in I must push inordinately; therefore should I be care- 
ful to choose that life which will be the most elevating in its character. 
To continue much longer overwhelmed by business cares and with most of 
my thoughts wholly upon the way to make more money in the shortest 
time, must degrade me beyond hope of permanent recovery. I will resign 

business at thirty-five, but during the ensuing two years I wish to spend the 
afternoons in receiving instruction and in reading systematically. 


Nevertheless, upon my return to America, I pursued 
the idea. The sleeping-car business, in which I was inter- 
ested, had gone on increasing so rapidly that it was im- 
possible to obtain cars enough to supply the demand. 
This very fact led to the forming of the present Pullman 
Company. The Central Transportation Company was 
simply unable to cover the territory with sufficient 
rapidity, and Mr. Pullman beginning at the greatest 
of all railway centers in the world — Chicago — soon 
rivaled the parent concern. He had also seen that the 
Pacific Railroad would be the great sleeping-car line 
of the world, and I found him working for what I had 
started after. He was, indeed, a lion in the path. Again, 
one may learn, from an incident which I had from Mr. 
Pullman himself, by what trifles important matters are 
sometimes determined. 

The president of the Union Pacific Railway was 
passing through Chicago. Mr. Pullman called upon him 
and was shown into his room. Lying upon the table was 
a telegram addressed to Mr. Scott, saying, “‘ Your prop- 
osition for sleeping-cars is accepted.’ Mr. Pullman read 
this involuntarily and before he had time to refrain. He 
could not help seeing it where it lay. When President 
Durrant entered the room he explained this to him and 

“T trust you will not decide this matter until I have 
made a proposition to you.” 

Mr. Durrant promised to wait. A meeting of the 
board of directors of the Union Pacific Company was 
held soon after this in New York. Mr. Pullman and 
myself were in attendance, both striving to obtain the 
prize which neither he nor I undervalued. One evening 
we began to mount the broad staircase in the St. 
Nicholas Hotel at the same time. We had met before, 


but were not well acquainted. I said, however, as we 
walked up the stairs: 

‘“Good-evening, Mr. Pullman! Here we are topetiee 
and are we not making a nice couple of fools of our- 
selves?’ He was not disposed to admit anything and 

“What do you mean?” 

I explained the situation to him. We were destroying 
by our rival propositions the very advantages we de- 
sired to obtain. 

“Well,” he said, ““what do you propose to do about 

“Unite,” I said. “‘Make a joint proposition to the 
Union Pacific, your party and mine, and organize a com- 

“What would you call it?”’ he asked. 

“The Pullman Palace Car Company,” I replied. 

This suited him exactly; and it suited me equally 

“Come into my room and talk it over,”’ said the great 
sleeping-car man. 

I did so, and the result was that we obtained the con- 
tract jointly. Our company was subsequently merged 
in the general Pullman Company and we took stock in 
that company for our Pacific interests. Until compelled 
to sell my shares during the subsequent financial panic 
of 1873 to protect our iron and steel interests, I was, 
I believe, the largest shareholder in the Pullman 

This man Pullman and his career are so thoroughly 
American that a few words about him will not be out of 
place. Mr. Pullman was at first a working carpenter, but 
when Chicago had to be elevated he took a contract on 
his own account to move or elevate houses for a stipu- 


lated sum. Of course he was successful, and from this. 
small beginning he became one of the principal and best- 
known contractors in that line. If a great hotel was to be 
raised ten feet without disturbing its hundreds of guests 
or interfering in any way with its business, Mr. Pullman 
was the man. He was one of those rare characters who 
can see the drift of things, and was always to be found, 
so to speak, swimming in the main current where move- 
ment was the fastest. He soon saw, as I did, that the 
sleeping-car was a positive necessity upon the American 
continent. He began to construct a few cars at Chicago 
and to obtain contracts upon the lines centering there. 

The Eastern concern was in no condition to cope with 
that of an extraordinary man like Mr. Pullman. I soon 
recognized this, and although the original patents were 
with the Eastern company and Mr. Woodruff himself, 
the original patentee, was a large shareholder, and 
although we might have obtained damages for infringe- 
ment of patent after some years of litigation, yet the 
time lost before this could be done would have been 
sufficient to make Pullman’s the great company of the 
country. I therefore earnestly advocated that we should 
unite with Mr. Pullman, as I had united with him be- 
fore in the Union Pacific contract. As the personal rela- 
tions between Mr. Pullman and some members of the 
Eastern company were unsatisfactory, it was deemed 
best that I should undertake the negotiations, being 
upon friendly footing with both parties. We soon agreed 
that the Pullman Company should absorb our com- 
pany, the Central Transportation Company, and by 
this means Mr. Pullman, instead of being confined to 
the West, obtained control of the rights on the great 
Pennsylvania trunk line to the Atlantic seaboard. This 
placed his company beyond all possible rivals. Mr. Pull- 


man was one of the ablest men of affairs I have ever 
known, and I am indebted to him, among other things, 
for one story which carried a moral. 

Mr. Pullman, like every other man, had his difficul- 
ties and disappointments, and did not hit the mark 
every time. No one does. Indeed, I do not know any 
one but himself who could have surmounted the difficul- 
ties surrounding the business of running sleeping-cars 
in a satisfactory manner and still retained some rights 
which the railway companies were bound to respect. 
Railway companies should, of course, operate their own 
sleeping-cars. On one occasion when we were comparing 
~ notes he told me that he always found comfort in this 
story. An old man in a Western county having suffered 
from all the ills that flesh is heir to, and a great many 
more than it usually encounters, and being commiser- 
ated by his neighbors, replied: 

“Yes, my friends, all that you say is true. I have had 
a long, long life full of troubles, but there is one curi- 
ous fact about them — nine tenths of them never hap- 

True indeed; most of the troubles of humanity are 
imaginary and should be laughed out of court. It is folly 
to cross a bridge until you come to it, or to bid the Devil 
good-morning until you meet him — perfect folly. All 
is well until the stroke falls, and even then nine times out 
of ten it is not so bad as anticipated. A wise man is the 
confirmed optimist. 

Success in these various negotiations had brought me 
into some notice in New York, and my next large oper- 
ation was in connection with the Union Pacific Railway 
in 1871. One of its directors came to me saying that they 
must raise in some way a sum of six hundred thousand 
dollars (equal to many millions to-day) to carry them 


through a crisis; and some friends who knew me and were 
on the executive committee of that road had suggested 
that I might be able to obtain the money and at the 
same time get for the Pennsylvania Railroad Company 
virtual control of that important Western line. I believe 
Mr. Pullman came with the director, or perhaps it was 
Mr. Pullman himself who first came to me on the sub- 
ject. | 
I took up the matter, and it occurred to me that if the 
directors of the Union Pacific Railway would be willing 
to elect to its board of directors a few such men as the 
Pennsylvania Railroad would nominate, the traffic to be 
thus obtained for the Pennsylvania would justify that 
company in helping the Union Pacific. I went to Phila- 
delphia and laid the subject before President Thomson. 
I suggested that if the Pennsylvania Railroad Company 
would trust me with securities upon which the Union 
Pacific could borrow money in New York, we could con- 
trol the Union Pacific in the interests of the Pennsyl- 
vania. Among many marks of Mr. Thomson’s confidence 
this was up to that time the greatest. He was much more 
conservative when handling the money of the railroad 
company than his own, but the prize offered was too 
great to be missed. Even if the six hundred thousand 
dollars had been lost, it would not have been a losing 
investment for his company, and there was little danger 
of this because we were ready to hand over to him the 
securities which we obtained in return for the loan to the 
Union Pacific. 

My interview with Mr. Thomson took place at his 
house in Philadelphia, and as I rose to go he laid his 
hand upon my shoulder, saying: 

“Remember, Andy, I look to you in this matter. It is 
you I trust, and I depend on your holding all the securi- 


ties you obtain and seeing that the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road is never in a position where it can lose a dollar.” 

I accepted the responsibility, and the result was a 
triumphant success. The Union Pacific Company was 
exceedingly anxious that Mr. Thomson himself should 
take the presidency, but this he said was out of the ques- 
tion. He nominated Mr. Thomas A. Scott, vice-presi- 
dent of the Pennsylvania Railroad, for the position. 
Mr. Scott, Mr. Pullman, and myself were accordingly 
elected directors of the Union Pacific Railway Company 
in 1871. 

The securities obtained for the loan consisted of three 
millions of the shares of the Union Pacific, which were 
- locked in my safe, with the option of taking them at 
a price. As was to be expected, the accession of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad party rendered the stock of 
the Union Pacific infinitely more valuable. The shares 
advanced enormously. At this time I undertook to nego- 
tiate bonds in London for a bridge to cross the Mis- 
sour! at Omaha, and while I was absent upon this busi- 
ness Mr. Scott decided to sell our Union Pacific shares. I 
had left instructions with my secretary that Mr. Scott, 
as one of the partners in the venture, should have access 
to the vault, as it might be necessary in my absence that 
the securities should be within reach of some one; but 
the idea that these should be sold, or that our party 
should lose the splendid position we had acquired in 
connection with the Union Pacific, never entered my 

I returned to find that, instead of being a trusted 
colleague of the Union Pacific directors, I was regarded 
as having used them for speculative purposes. No 
quartet of men ever had a finer opportunity for identi- 
fying themselves with a great work than we had; and 


never was an opportunity more recklessly thrown 
away. Mr. Pullman was ignorant of the matter and as 
indignant as myself, and I believe that he at once re- 
invested his profits in the shares of the Union Pacific. 
I felt that much as I wished to do this and to repudiate 
what had been done, it would be unbecoming and per- 
haps ungrateful in me to separate myself so distinctly 
from my first of friends, Mr. Scott. 

At the first opportunity we were ignominiously but 
deservedly expelled from the Union Pacific board. It 
was a bitter dose for a young man to swallow. And the 
transaction marked my first serious difference with a 
man who up to that time had the greatest influence 
with me, the kind and affectionate employer of my 
boyhood, Thomas A. Scott. Mr. Thomson regretted the 
matter, but, as he said, having paid no attention to it 
and having left the whole control of it in the hands of 
Mr. Scott and myself, he presumed that I had thought 
best to sell out. For a time I feared I had lost a valued 
friend in Levi P. Morton, of Morton, Bliss & Co., who 
was interested in Union Pacific, but at last he found 
out that I was innocent. 

The negotiations concerning two and a half millions 
of bonds for the construction of the Omaha Bridge 
were successful, and as these bonds had been purchased 
by persons connected with the Union Pacific before I 
had anything to do with the company, it was for them 
and not for the Union Pacific Company that the nego- 
tiations were conducted. This was not explained to me 
by the director who talked with me before I left for 
London. Unfortunately, when I returned to New York 
I found that the entire proceeds of the bonds, including 
my profit, had been appropriated by the parties to pay 
their own debts, and I was thus beaten out of a hand- 


some sum, and had to credit to profit and loss my ex- 
penses and time. I had never before been cheated and 
found it out so positively and so clearly. I saw that I 
was still young and had a good deal to learn. Many men 
can be trusted, but a few need watching. 


OMPLETE success attended a negotiation which 
I conducted about this time for Colonel William 
Phillips, president of the Allegheny Valley Railway at 
Pittsburgh. One day the Colonel entered my New 
York office and told me that he needed money badly, 
but that he could get no house in America to entertain 
the idea of purchasing five millions of bonds of his 
company although they were to be guaranteed by the 
Pennsylvania Railroad Company. The old gentleman 
felt sure that he was being driven from pillar to post 
by the bankers because they had agreed among them- 
selves to purchase the bonds only upon their own terms. 
He asked ninety cents on the dollar for them, but this 
the bankers considered preposterously high. Those 
were the days when Western railway bonds were often 
sold to the bankers at eighty cents on the dollar. 
Colonel Phillips said he had come to see whether I 
could not suggest some way out of his difficulty. He 
had pressing need for two hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars, and this Mr. Thomson, of the Pennsylvania 
Railroad, could not give him. The Allegheny bonds 
were seven per cents, but they were payable, not in 
gold, but in currency, in America. They were therefore 
wholly unsuited for the foreign market. But I knew 
that the Pennsylvania Railroad Company had a large 
amount of Philadelphia and Erie Railroad six per cent 
gold bonds in its treasury. It would be a most desirable 
exchange on its part, I thought, to give these bonds 


for the seven per cent Allegheny bonds which bore its 
guarantee. | 

I telegraphed Mr. Thomson, asking if the Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad Company would take two hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars at interest and lend it to the 
Allegheny Railway Company. Mr. Thomson replied, 
“‘Certainly.’’ Colonel Phillips was happy. He agreed, 
in consideration of my services, to give me a sixty-days 
option to take his five millions of bonds at the desired 
ninety cents on the dollar. I laid the matter before Mr. 
Thomson and suggested an exchange, which that com- 
pany was only too glad to make, as it saved one per 
cent interest on the bonds. I sailed at once for London 
with the control of five millions of first mortgage Phila- 
delphia and Erie Bonds, guaranteed by the Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad Company — a magnificent security for 
which I wanted a high price. And here comes in one of 
the greatest of the hits and misses of my financial life. 

I wrote the Barings from Queenstown that I had for 
sale a security which even their house might unhesitat- 
ingly consider. On my arrival in London I found at the 
hotel a note from them requesting me to call. I did so 
the next morning, and before I had left their banking 
house I had closed an agreement by which they were to 
bring out this loan, and that until they sold the bonds 
at par, less their two and a half per cent commission, 
they would advance the Pennsylvania Railroad Com- 
pany four millions of dollars at five per cent interest. | 
The sale left me a clear profit of more than half a million 

The papers were ordered to be drawn up, but as I 
was leaving Mr. Russell Sturgis said they had just 
heard that Mr. Baring himself was coming up to town 
in the morning. They had arranged to hold a “court,” 


and as it would be fitting to lay the transaction before 
him as a matter of courtesy they would postpone the 
signing of the papers until the morrow. If I would call 
at two o'clock the transaction would be closed. 

Never shall I forget the oppressed feeling which over- 
came meas I stepped out and proceeded to the telegraph 
office to wire President Thomson. Something told me 
that I ought not to do so. I would wait till to-morrow 
when [ had the contract in my pocket. I walked from 
the banking house to the Langham Hotel — four long 
miles. When I reached there I found a messenger wait- 
ing breathless to hand me a sealed note from the Bar- 
ings. Bismarck had locked up a hundred millions in 
Magdeburg. The financial world was panic-stricken, 
and the Barings begged to say that under the cir- 
cumstances they could not propose to Mr. Baring to 
go on with the matter. There was as much chance that 
I should be struck by lightning on my way home as 
that an arrangement agreed to by the Barings should 
be broken. And yet it was. It was too great a blow to 
produce anything like irritation or indignation. I was 
meek enough to be quite resigned, and merely con- 
gratulated myself that I had not telegraphed Mr. 

I decided not to return to the Barings, and although 
J.S. Morgan & Co. had been bringing out a great many 
American securities I subsequently sold the bonds to 
them at a reduced price as compared with that agreed 
to by the Barings. I thought it best not to go to Morgan 
& Co. at first, because I had understood from Colonel 
Phillips that the bonds had been unsuccessfully of- 
fered by him to their house in America and I supposed 
that the Morgans in London might consider them- 
selves connected with the negotiations through their 


house in New York. But in all subsequent negotiations 
I made it a rule to give the first offer to Junius 8. Mor- 
gan, who seldom permitted me to leave his banking 
house without taking what I had to offer. If he could 
not buy for his own house, he placed me in communica- 
tion with a friendly house that did, he taking an interest 
in the issue. It is a great satisfaction to reflect that I 
never negotiated a security which did not to the end 
command a premium. Of course in this case I made a 
mistake in not returning to the Barings, giving them 
time and letting the panic subside, which it soon did. 
When one party to a bargain becomes excited, the other 
should keep cool and patient. - 

_ As an incident of my financial operations I remember 
saying to Mr. Morgan one day: 

“Mr. Morgan, I will give you an idea and help you 
to carry it forward if you will give me one quarter of 
all the money you make by acting upon it.” 

He laughingly said: “That seems fair, and as I have 
_ the option to act upon it, or not, certainly we ought 
to be willing to pay you a quarter of the profit.” 

I called attention to the fact that the Allegheny © 
Valley Railway bonds which I had exchanged for the 
Philadelphia and Erie bonds bore the guarantee of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad Company, and that that great 
company was always in need of money for essential 
extensions. A price might be offered for these bonds 
which might tempt the company to sell them, and 
that at the moment there appeared to be such a de- 
mand for American securities that no doubt they could 
be floated. I would write a prospectus which I thought 
would float the bonds. After examining the matter 
with his usual care he decided that he would act upon 
my suggestion. 


Mr. Thomson was then in Paris and I ran over there 
to see him. Knowing that the Pennsylvania Railroad 
_ had need for money I told him that I had recommended 
these securities to Mr. Morgan and if he would give 
me a price for them I would see if I could not sell them. 
He named a price which was then very high, but less 
than the price which these bonds have since reached. 
Mr. Morgan purchased part of them with the right to 
buy others, and in this way the whole nine or ten mil- 
lions of Allegheny bonds were marketed and the Penn- 
sylvania Railroad Company placed in funds. 

The sale of the bonds had not gone very far when the 
panic of 1873 was upon us. One of the sources of revenue 
which I then had was Mr. Pierpont Morgan. He said 
to me one day: 

**My father has cabled to ask whether you wish to 
sell out your interest in that idea you gave him.” 

I said: “ Yes, I do. In these days I will sell anything 
for money.” 

Well,’ he said, ““what would you take?”’ 

I said I believed that a statement recently rendered 
to me showed that there were already fifty thousand 
dollars to my credit, and I would take sixty thousand. 
Next morning when I called Mr. Morgan handed me 
checks for seventy thousand dollars. 

“Mr. Carnegie,” he said, “you were mistaken. You 
sold out for ten thousand dollars less than the state- 
ment showed to your credit. It now shows not fifty but 
sixty thousand to your credit, and the additional ten 
makes seventy.” 

The payments were in two checks, one for sixty 
thousand dollars and the other for the additional ten 
thousand. I handed him back the ten-thousand-dollar 
check, saying: 


“Well, that is something worthy of you. Will you 
please accept these ten thousand with my best wishes?” _ 

“No, thank you,” he said, “I cannot do that.” . 

Such acts, showing a nice sense of honorable under- 
standing as against mere legal rights, are not so un- 
common in business as the uninitiated might believe. 
And, after that, it is not to be wondered at if I deter- 
mined that so far as lay in my power neither Morgan, 
father or son, nor their house, should suffer through 
me. They had in me henceforth a firm friend. 

A great business is seldom if ever built up, except 
on lines of the strictest integrity. A reputation for “ cute- 
ness”? and sharp dealing is fatal in great affairs. Not 
the letter of the law, but the spirit, must be the rule. 
The standard of commercial morality is now very high. 
A mistake made by any one in favor of the firm 1s cor- 
rected as promptly as if the error were in favor of the 
other party. It is essential to permanent success that a 
house should obtain a reputation for being governed by 
what is fair rather than what is merely legal. A rule 
which we adopted and adhered to has given greater 
returns than one would believe possible, namely: always 
give the other party the benefit of the doubt. This, of 
course, does not apply to the speculative class. An en- 
tirely different atmosphere pervades that world. Men 
are only gamblers there. Stock gambling and honorable 
business are incompatible. In recent years it must be 
admitted that the old-fashioned “banker,” like Junius 
S. Morgan of London, has become rare. 

Soon after being deposed as president of the Union 
Pacific, Mr. Scott ! resolved upon the construction of 

1 Colonel Thomas A. Scott left the Union Pacific in 1872. The same 
year he became president of the Texas Pacific, and in 1874 president of the 



the Texas Pacific Railway. He telegraphed me one day 
in New York to meet him at Philadelphia without fail. 
T met him there with several other friends, among them 
Mr. J. N. McCullough, vice-president of the Pennsy]- 
vania Railroad Company at Pittsburgh. A large loan 
for the Texas Pacific had fallen due in London and its 
renewal was agreed to by Morgan & Co., provided I 
would join the other parties to the loan. I declined. I 
was then asked whether I would bring them all to ruin 
by refusing to stand by my friends. It was one of the 
most trying moments of my whole life. Yet I was not 
tempted for a moment to entertain the idea of involving 
myself. The question of what was my duty came first 
and prevented that. All my capital was in manufac- 
turing and every dollar of it was required. I was the 
capitalist (then a modest one, indeed) of our concern. 
All depended upon me. My brother with his wife and 
family, Mr. Phipps and his family, Mr. Kloman and 
his family, all rose up before me and claimed protec- 

I told Mr. Scott that I had done my best to prevent 
him from beginning to construct a great railway before 
he had secured the necessary capital. I had insisted that 
thousands of miles of railway lines could not be con- 
structed by means of temporary loans. Besides, I had 
_ paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash for 
an interest in it, which he told me upon my return from 
Europe he had reserved for me, although I had never 
approved the scheme. But nothing in the world would 
ever induce me to be guilty of endorsing the paper of 
that construction company or of any other concern than 
our own firm. 

I knew that it would be impossible for me to pay the 
Morgan loan in sixty days, or even to pay my propor- 


tion of it. Besides, it was not that loan by itself, but 
the half-dozen other loans.that would be required there- 
after that had to be considered. This marked another 
step in the total business separation which had to come 
between Mr. Scott and myself. It gave more pain than 
all the financial trials to which I had been subjected up 
to that time. 

It was not long after this meeting that the disaster 
came and the country was startled by the failure of 
those whom it had regarded as its strongest men. I fear 
Mr. Scott’s premature death ! can measurably be attrib- 
uted to the humiliation which he had to bear. He was a 
sensitive rather than a proud man, and his seemingly 
impending failure cut him to the quick. Mr. McManus 
and Mr. Baird, partners in the enterprise, also soon 
passed away. These two men were manufacturers like 
myself and in no position to engage in railway con- 
struction. | 

The business man has no rock more dangerous to 
encounter in his career than this very one of endorsing 
commercial paper. It can easily be avoided if he asks 
himself two questions: Have I surplus means for all 
possible requirements which will enable me to pay with- 
out inconvenience the utmost sum for which I am liable 
under this endorsement? Secondly: Am I willing to lose 
this sum for the friend for whom I endorse? If these 
two questions can be answered in the affirmative he 
may be permitted to oblige his friend, but not otherwise, 
if he be a wise man. And if he can answer the first 
question in the affirmative it will be well for him to 
consider whether it would not be better then and there 
to pay the entire sum for which his name is asked. I am 
sure it would be. A man’s means are a trust to be 

1 Died May 21, 1881. 


sacredly held for his own creditors as long as he has 
debts and obligations. 

Notwithstanding my refusal to endorse the Morgan 
renewal, I was invited to accompany the parties to New 
York next morning in their special car for the purpose 
of consultation. This I was only too glad to do. Anthony 
Drexel was also called in to accompany us. During the 
journey Mr. McCullough remarked that he had been 
looking around the car and had made up his mind that 
there was only one sensible man in it; the rest had all 
been “‘fools.’’ Here was “Andy” who had paid for his 
shares and did not owe a dollar or have any responsi- 
bility in the matter, and that was the position they all 
ought to have been in. 

Mr. Drexel said he would like me to explain how I 
had been able to steer clear of these unfortunate troubles. 
I answered: by strict adherence to what I believed to be 
my duty never to put my name to anything which I 
knew I could not pay at maturity; or, to recall the fa- 
miliar saying of a Western friend, never to go in where 
you could n’t wade. This water was altogether too deep 
for me. 

Regard for this rule has kept not only myself but my 
partners out of trouble. Indeed, we had gone so far in 
our partnership agreement as to prevent ourselves 
from endorsing or committing ourselves in any way be- 
yond trifling sums, except for the firm. This I also gave 
as a reason why I could not endorse. 

During the period which these events cover I had 
made repeated journeys to Europe to negotiate various 
securities, and in all I sold some thirty millions of dol- 
lars worth. This was at a time when the Atlantic cable 
had not yet made New York a part of London financially 
considered, and when London bankers would lend their 


balances to Paris, Vienna, or Berlin for a shadow of dif- 
ference in the rate of interest rather than to the United 
States at a higher rate. The Republic was considered 
less safe than the Continent by these good people. My 
brother and Mr. Phipps conducted the iron business so 
successfully that 1 could leave for weeks at a time with- 
out anxiety. There was danger lest I should drift away 
from the manufacturing to the financial and banking 
business. My successes abroad brought me tempting 
opportunities, but my preference was always for manu- 
facturing. I wished to make something tangible and 
sell it and I continued to invest my profits in extending 
the works at Pittsburgh. 

The small shops put up originally for the Keystone 
Bridge Company had been leased for other purposes 
and ten acres of ground had been secured in Lawrence- 
ville on which new and extensive shops were erected. 
Repeated additions to the Union Iron Mills had made 
them the leading mills in the United States for all sorts 
of structural shapes. Business was promising and all the 
surplus earnings I was making in other fields were re- 
quired to expand the iron business. I had become inter- 
ested, with my friends of the Pennsylvania Railroad 
Company, in building some railways in the Western 
States, but gradually withdrew from all such enter- 
prises and made up my mind to go entirely contrary to 
the adage not to put all one’s eggs in one basket. I de- 
termined that the proper policy was “to put all good 
eggs in one basket and then watch that basket.” 

I believe the true road to preéminent success in any 
line is to make yourself master in that line. I have no 
faith in the policy of scattering one’s resources, and in 
my experience I have rarely if ever met a man who 
achieved preéminence in money-making — certainly 


never one in manufacturing — who was interested in 
many concerns. The men who have succeeded are men 
who have chosen one line and stuck to it. It is surprising 
how few men appreciate the enormous dividends deriv- 
able from investment in their own business. There is 
scarcely a manufacturer in the world who has not in 
his works some machinery that should be thrown out 
and replaced by improved appliances; or who does not 
for the want of additional machinery or new methods 
lose more than sufficient to pay the largest dividend ob- 
tainable by investment beyond his own domain. And 
yet most business men whom I have known invest in 
bank shares and in far-away enterprises, while the true 
gold mine lies right in their own factories. 

I have tried always to hold fast to this important 
fact. It has been with me a cardinal doctrine that I could 
manage my own capital better than any other person, 
much better than any board of directors. The losses men 
encounter during a business life which seriously em- 
barrass them are rarely in their own business, but in 
enterprises of which the investor is not master. My ad- 
vice to young men would be not only to concentrate 
their whole time and attention on the one business in 
life in which they engage, but to put every dollar of 
their capital into it. If there be any business that will 
not bear extension, the true policy is to invest the sur- 
plus in first-class securities which will yield a moderate 
but certain revenue if some other growing business can- 
not be found. As for myself my decision was taken early. 
I would concentrate upon the manufacture of iron and 
steel and be master in that. 

My visits to Britain gave me excellent opportunities 
to renew and make acquaintance with those prominent 
in the iron and steel business — Bessemer in the front, 


Sir Lothian Bell, Sir Bernard Samuelson, Sir -Windsor 
Richards, Edward Martin, Bingley, Evans, and the 
whole host of captains in that industry. My election to 
the council, and finally to the presidency of the British 
Iron and Steel Institute soon followed, I being the first 
president who was not a British subject. That honor was 
highly appreciated, although at first declined, because 
I feared that I could not give sufficient time to its duties, 
owing to my residence in America. 

As we had been compelled to engage in the manu- 
facture of wrought-iron in order to make bridges and 
other structures, so now we thought it desirable to 
manufacture our own pig iron. And this led to the erec- 
tion of the Lucy Furnace in the year 1870 — a venture 
which would have been postponed had we fully appre- 
ciated its magnitude. We heard from time to time the 
ominous predictions made by our older brethren in the 
manufacturing business with regard to the rapid growth 
and extension of our young concern, but we were not 
deterred. We thought we had sufficient capital and 
credit to justify the building of one blast furnace. 

The estimates made of its cost, however, did not 
cover more than half the expenditure. It was an ex- 
periment with us. Mr. Kloman knew nothing about 
blast-furnace operations. But even without exact knowl- 
edge no serious blunder was made. The yield of the 
Lucy Furnace (named after my bright sister-in-law) 
exceeded our most sanguine expectations and the then 
unprecedented output of a hundred tons per day was 
made from one blast furnace, for one week — an output 
that the world had never heard of before. We held the 
record and many visitors came to marvel at the marvel. 

It was not, however, all smooth sailing with our iron 
business. Years of panic came at intervals. We had 


passed safely through the fall in values following the 
war, when iron from nine cents per pound dropped to 
three. Many failures occurred and our financial manager 
had his time fully occupied in providing funds to meet 
emergencies. Among many wrecks our firm stood with 
credit unimpaired. But the manufacture of pig iron 
gave us more anxiety than any other department of 
our business so far. The greatest service rendered us 
in this branch of manufacturing was by Mr. Whitwell, 
of the celebrated Whitwell Brothers of England, whose 
blast-furnace stoves were so generally used. Mr. Whit- 
well was one of the best-known of the visitors who came 
to marvel at the Lucy Furnace, and I laid the difficulty 
we then were experiencing before him. He said immedi- 

“That comes from the angle of the bell being wrong.” 

He explained how it should be changed. Our Mr. 
Kloman was slow to believe this, but I urged that a 
small glass-model furnace and two bells be made, one 
as the Lucy was and the other as Mr. Whitwell advised 
it should be. This was done, and upon my next visit 
experiments were made with each, the result being just 
as Mr. Whitwell had foretold. Our bell distributed the 
large pieces to the sides of the furnace, leaving the 
center a dense mass through which the blast could only 
partially penetrate. The Whitwell bell threw the pieces 
to the center leaving the circumference dense. This made 
all the difference in the world. The Lucy’s troubles were 

What a kind, big, broad man was Mr. Whitwell, with 
no narrow jealousy, no withholding his knowledge! We 
had in some departments learned new things and were 
able to be of service to his firm in return. At all events, 
after that everything we had was open to the Whitwells. 


[To-day, as I write, I rejoice that one of the two still 
is with us and that our friendship is still warm. He was 
my predecessor in the presidency of the British Iron and 
Steel Institute. | 


OOKING back to-day it seems incredible that only 
Bu forty years ago (1870) chemistry in the United 
States was an almost unknown agent in connection 
with the manufacture ‘of pig iron. It was the agency, 
above all others, most needful in the manufacture of 
iron and steel. The blast-furnace manager of that day 
was usually a rude bully, generally a foreigner, who in 
addition to his other acquirements was able to knock 
down a man now and then as a lesson to the other un- 
ruly spirits under him. He was supposed to diagnose the 
condition of the furnace by instinct, to possess some 
almost supernatural power of divination, like his con- 
gener in the country districts who was reputed to be 
able to locate an oil well or water supply by means of 
a hazel rod. He was a veritable quack doctor who ap- 
plied whatever remedies occurred to him for the troubles 
of his patient. 

The Lucy Furnace was out of one trouble and into an- 
other, owing to the great variety of ores, limestone, and 
coke which were then supplied with little or no regard 
to their component parts. This state of affairs became in- 
tolerable to us. We finally decided to dispense with the 
rule-of-thumb-and-intuition manager, and to place a 
young man in charge of the furnace. We had a young 
shipping clerk, Henry M. Curry, who had distinguished 
himself, and it was resolved to make him manager. 

Mr. Phipps had the Lucy Furnace under his special 
charge. His daily visits to it saved us from failure there. 
Not that the furnace was not doing as well as other fur- 


naces in the West as to money-making, but being so 
much larger than other furnaces its variations entailed 
much more serious results. I am afraid my partner had 
something to answer for in his Sunday morning visits 
to the Lucy Furnace when his good father and sister 
left the house for more devotional duties. But even if 
he had gone with them his real earnest prayer could not 
but have had reference at times to the precarious con- 
dition of the Lucy Furnace then absorbing his thoughts. 

The next step taken was to find a chemist as Mr. 
Curry’s assistant and guide. We found the man in a 
learned German, Dr. Fricke, and great secrets did the 
doctor open up to us. Iron stone from mines that had 
a high reputation was now found to contain ten, fifteen, 
and even twenty per cent less iron than it had been 
credited with. Mines that hitherto had a poor reputa- 
tion we found to be now yielding superior ore. The good 
was bad and the bad was good, and everything was 
topsy-turvy. Nine tenths of all the uncertainties of 
pig-iron making were dispelled under the burning sun 
of chemical knowledge. 

At a most critical period when it was necessary for the 
credit of the firm that the blast furnace should make its 
best product, it had been stopped because an exceed- 
ingly rich and pure ore had been substituted for an 
inferior ore — an ore which did not yield more than 
two thirds of the quantity of iron of the other. The fur- 
nace had met with disaster because too much lime had 
been used to flux this exceptionally pure ironstone. The 
very superiority of the materials had involved us in 
serious losses. 

What fools we had been! But then there was this con- 
solation: we were not as great fools as our competitors. 
It was years after we had taken chemistry to guide us 


that it was said by the proprietors of some other fur- 
naces that they could not afford to employ a chemist. 
Had they known the truth then, they would have 
known that they could not afford to be without one. 
Looking back it seems pardonable to record that we 
were the first to employ a chemist at blast furnaces — 
something our competitors pronounced extravagant. 

The Lucy Furnace became the most profitable branch 
of our business, because we had almost the entire monop- 
oly of scientific management. Having discovered the 
secret, it was not long (1872) before we decided to erect 
an additional furnace. Thiswas done with great economy 
as compared with our first experiment. The mines which 
had no reputation and the products of which many 
firms would not permit to be used in their blast fur- 
naces found a purchaser in us. Those mines which were 
able to obtain an enormous price for their products, 
owing to a reputation for quality, we quietly ignored. 
A curious illustration of this was the celebrated Pilot 
Knob mine in Missouri. Its product was, so to speak, 
under a cloud. A small portion of it only could be used, 
it was said, without obstructing the furnace. Chemistry 
told us that it was low in phosphorus, but very high in 
silicon. There was no better ore and scarcely any as rich, 
if it were properly fluxed. We therefore bought heavily 
of this and received the thanks of the proprietors for 
rendering their property valuable. 

‘It is hardly believable that for several years we were 
able to dispose of the highly phosphoric cinder from the 
puddling furnaces at a higher price than we had to pay 
for the pure cinder from the heating furnaces of our 
competitors — a cinder which was richer in iron than the 
puddled cinder and much freer from phosphorus. Upon 
some occasion a blast furnace had attempted to smelt 


the flue cinder, and from its greater purity the furnace 
did not work well with a mixture intended for an im- 
purer article; hence for years it was thrown over the 
banks of the river at Pittsburgh by our competitors as 
worthless. In some cases we were even able to exchange 
a poor article for a good one and obtain a bonus. 

But it is still more unbelievable that a prejudice, 
equally unfounded, existed against putting into the 
blast furnaces the roll-scale from the mills which was 
pure oxide of iron. This reminds me of my dear friend 
and fellow-Dunfermline townsman, Mr. Chisholm, of 
Cleveland. We had many pranks together. One day, 
when I was visiting his works at Cleveland, I saw men 
wheeling this valuable roll-scale into the yard. I asked 
Mr. Chisholm where they were going with it, and he 

“To throw it over the bank. Our managers have 
always complained that they had bad luck when they 
attempted to remelt it in the blast furnace.” 

I said nothing, but upon my return to Pittsburgh I 
set about having a joke at his expense. We had then a 
young man in our service named Du Puy, whose father 
was known as the inventor of a direct process in iron- 
making with which he was then experimenting in Pitts- 
burgh. I recommended our people to send Du Puy to 
Cleveland to contract for all the roll-seale of my friend’s 
establishment. He did so, buying it for fifty cents per 
ton and having it shipped to him direct. This continued 
for some time. I expected always to hear of the joke 
being discovered. The premature death of Mr. Chis- 
holm occurred before I could apprise him of it. His suc- 
cessors soon, however, followed our example. 

I had not failed to notice the growth of the Bessemer 
process. If this proved successful I knew that iron was 


destined to give place to steel; that the Iron Age would 
pass away and the Steel Age take its place. My friend, 
John A. Wright, president of the Freedom Iron Works 
at Lewiston, Pennsylvania, had visited England pur- 
posely to investigate the new process. He was one of our 
best and most experienced manufacturers, and his de- 
cision was so strongly in its favor that he induced his 
company to erect Bessemer works. He was quite right, 
but just a little in advance of his time. The capital re- 
quired was greater than he estimated. More than this, 
it was not to be expected that a process which was even 
then in somewhat of an experimental stage in Britain 
could be transplanted to the new country and operated 
successfully from the start. The experiment was certain 
_ to be long and costly, and for this my friend had not 
made sufficient allowance. 

At a later date, when the process had become estab- 
lished in England, capitalists began to erect the present 
Pennsylvania Steel Works at Harrisburg. These also 
had to pass through an experimental stage and at a 
critical moment would probably have been wrecked 
but for the timely assistance of the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road Company. It required a broad and able man like 
President Thomson, of the Pennsylvania Railroad, to 
recommend to his board of directors that so large a sum 
as six hundred thousand dollars should be advanced to 
a manufacturing concern on his road, that steel rails 
might be secured for the line. The result fully justified 
his action. 

The question of a substitute for iron rails upon the 
Pennsylvania Railroad and other leading lines had be- 
come a very serious one. Upon certain curves at Pitts- 
burgh, on the road connecting the Pennsylvania with 
the Fort Wayne, I had seen new iron rails placed every 


six weeks or two months. Before the Bessemer process 
was known I had called President Thomson’s attention 
to the efforts of Mr. Dodds in England, who had car- 
bonized the heads of iron rails with good results. I went 
to England and obtained control of the Dodds patents 
and recommended President Thomson to appropriate 
twenty thousand dollars for experiments at Pittsburgh, 
which he did. We built a furnace on our grounds 
at the upper mill and treated several hundred tons of 
rails for the Pennsylvania Railroad Company and with 
remarkably good results as compared with iron rails. 
These were the first hard-headed rails used in America. 
_ We placed them on some of the sharpest curves and their 
superior service far more than compensated for the 
advance made by Mr. Thomson. Had the Bessemer 
process not been successfully developed, I verily believe 
that we should ultimately have been able to improve the 
Dodds process sufficiently to make its adoption general. 
But there was nothing to be compared with the solid 
steel article which the Bessemer process produced. 

Our friends of the Cambria Iron Company at Johns- 
town, near Pittsburgh — the principal manufacturers of 
rails in America — decided to erect a Bessemer plant. 
In England I had seen it demonstrated, at least to my 
satisfaction, that the process could be made a grand suc- 
cess without undue expenditure of capital or great risk. 
Mr. William Coleman, who was ever alive to new meth- 
ods, arrived at the same conclusion. It was agreed we 
should enter upon the manufacture of steel rails at 
Pittsburgh. He became a partner and also my dear 
friend Mr. David McCandless, who had so kindly 
offered aid to my mother at my father’s death. The 
latter was not forgotten. Mr. John Scott and Mr. David 
A. Stewart, and others joined me; Mr. Edgar Thomson 


and Mr. Thomas A. Scott, president and vice-president 
of the Pennsylvania Railroad, also became stockholders, 
anxious to encourage the development of steel. The 
steel-rail company was organized January 1, 1873. 

The question of location was the first to engage our 
serious attention. I could not reconcile myself to any 
location that was proposed, and finally went to Pitts- 
burgh to consult with my partners about it. The subject 
was constantly in my mind and in bed Sunday morning 
the site suddenly appeared to me. I rose and called to 
my brother: 

“Tom, you and Mr. Coleman are right about the 
location; right at Braddock’s, between the Pennsyl- 
vania, the Baltimore and Ohio, and the river, is the best 
situation in America; and let’s call the works after our 
dear friend Edgar Thomson. Let us go over to Mr. Cole- 
man’s and drive out to Braddock’s.”’ 

We did so that day, and the next morning Mr. Cole- 
man was at work trying to secure the property. Mr. 
McKinney, the owner, had a high idea of the value of 
his farm. What we had expected to purchase for five or 
six hundred dollars an acre cost us two thousand. But 
since then we have been compelled to add to our original 
purchase at a cost of five thousand dollars per acre. 

There, on the very field of Braddock’s defeat, we be- 
gan the erection of our steel-rail mills. In excavating for 
the foundations many relics of the battle were found — 
bayonets, swords, and the like. It was there that the 
then provost of Dunfermline, Sir Arthur Halkett, and 
his son were slain. How did they come to be there will 
very naturally be asked. It must not be forgotten that, 
in those days, the provosts of the cities of Britain were 
members of the aristocracy — the great men of the dis- 
trict who condescended to enjoy the honor of the po- 


sition without performing the duties. No one in trade 
was considered good enough for the provostship. We 
have remnants of this aristocratic notion throughout 
Britain to-day. There is scarcely any hfe assurance or 
railway company, or in some cases manufacturing com- 
pany but must have at its head, to enjoy the honors of 
the presidency, some titled person totally ignorant of 
the duties of the position. So it was that Sir Arthur 
Halkett, as a gentleman, was Provost of Dunfermline, 
but by calling he followed the profession of arms and was 
killed on this spot. It was a coincidence that what had 
been the field of death to two native-born citizens of 
Dunfermline should be turned into an industrial hive 
by two others. 

Another curious fact has recently been discover 
Mr. John Morley’s address, in 1904 on Founder’s Day 
at the Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh, referred to the 
capture of Fort Duquesne by General Forbes and his 
writing Prime Minister Pitt that he had rechristened it 
‘““Pittsburgh”’ for him. This General Forbes was then 
Laird of Pittencrieff and was born in the Glen which 
I purchased in 1902 and presented to Dunfermline for 
a public park. So that two Dunfermline men have been 
Lairds of Pittencrieff whose chief work was in Pitts- 
burgh. One named Pittsburgh and the other labored for 
its development. 

In naming the steel mills as we did the desire was to 
honor my friend Edgar Thomson, but when I asked per- 
mission to use his name his reply was significant. He 
said that as far as American steel rails were concerned, 
he did not feel that he wished to connect his name with 
them, for they had proved to be far from creditable. 
Uncertainty was, of course, inseparable from the ex- 
perimental stage; but, when I assured him that it was 


now possible to make steel rails in America as good in 
every particular as the foreign article, and that we in- 
tended to obtain for our rails the reputation enjoyed by 
the Keystone bridges and the Kloman axles, he con- 

He was very anxious to have us purchase land upon 
the Pennsylvania Railroad, as his first thought was 
always for that company. This would have given the 
Pennsylvania a monopoly of our traffic. When he visited 
Pittsburgh a few months later and Mr. Robert Pitcairn, 
my successor as superintendent of the Pittsburgh Divi- 
sion of the Pennsylvania, pointed out to him the situa- 
tion of the new works at Braddock’s Station, which 
gave us not only a connection with his own line, but 
also with the rival Baltimore and Ohio line, and with 
a rival in one respect greater than either — the Ohio 
River — he said, with a twinkle of his eye to Robert, as 
Robert told me: 

“Andy should have located his works a few miles 
farther east.’”’ But Mr. Thomson knew the good and 
sufficient reasons which determined the selection of the 
unrivaled site. 

The works were well advanced when the financial 
panic of September, 1873, came upon us. I then entered 
upon the most anxious period of my business life. All 
was going well when one morning in our summer cottage, 
in the Allegheny Mountains at Cresson, a telegram 
came announcing the failure of Jay Cooke & Co. Almost 
every hour after brought news of some fresh disaster. 
House after house failed. The question every morning 
was which would go next. Every failure depleted the 
resources of other concerns. Loss after loss ensued, until 
a total paralysis of business set in. Every weak spot was 
discovered and houses that otherwise would have been 


strong were borne down largely because our country 
lacked a proper banking system. 

We had not much reason to be anxious about our 
debts. Not what we had to pay of our own debts could 
give us much trouble, but rather what we might have to 
pay for our debtors. It was not our bills payable but our 
bills receivable which required attention, for we soon 
had to begin meeting both. Even our own banks had to 
beg us not to draw upon our balances. One incident will 
shed some light upon the currency situation. One of our 
pay-days was approaching. One hundred thousand dol- 
lars in small notes were absolutely necessary, and to 
obtain these we paid a premium of twenty-four hundred 
~ dollars in New York and had them expressed to Pitts- 
burgh. It was impossible to borrow money, even upon 
the best collaterals; but by selling securities, which 
I had in reserve, considerable sums were realized — the 
company undertaking to replace them later. 

It happened that some of the railway companies 
whose lines centered in Pittsburgh owed us large sums 
for material furnished — the Fort Wayne road being 
the largest debtor. I remember calling upon Mr. Thaw, 
the vice-president of the Fort Wayne, and telling him we 
must have our money. He replied: 

“You ought to have your money, but we are not pay- 
ing anything these days that is not protestable.” 

“Very good,” I said, “your freight bills are in that 
category and we shall follow your excellent example. 
Now I am going to order that we do not pay you one 
dollar for freight.” 

“Well, if you do that,” he said, “we will stop your 

I said we would risk that. The railway company could 
not proceed to that extremity. And as a matter of fact 

THE PANIC OF 1873 191 

we ran for some time without paying the freight bills. 
It was simply impossible for the manufacturers of Pitts- 
burgh to pay their accruing liabilities when their cus- 
tomers stopped payment. The banks were forced to 
renew maturing paper. They behaved splendidly to 
us, as they always have done, and we steered safely 
through. But in a critical period like this there was one 
thought uppermost with me, to gather more capital and 
keep it in our business so that come what would we 
should never again be called upon to endure such nights 
and days of racking anxiety. 

Speaking for myself in this great crisis, I was at first 
the most excited and anxious of the partners. I could 
scarcely control myself. But when I finally saw the 
strength of our financial position I became philosophi- 
cally cool and found myself quite prepared, if necessary, 
to enter the directors’ rooms of the various banks with 
which we dealt, and lay our entire position before their 
_ boards. I felt that this could result in nothing discredit- 
able to us. No one interested in our business had lived 
extravagantly. Our manner of life had been the very 
reverse of this. No money had been withdrawn from 
the business to build costly homes, and, above all, not 
one of us had made speculative ventures upon the stock 
exchange, or invested in any other enterprises than 
those connected .with the main business. Neither had 
we exchanged endorsements with others. Besides this 
we could show a prosperous business that was making 
money every year. 

I was thus enabled to laugh away the fears of my 
partners, but none of them rejoiced more than I did that 
the necessity for opening our lips to anybody about our 
finances did not arise. Mr. Coleman, good friend and 
true, with plentiful means and splendid credit, did not 


fail to volunteer to give us his endorsements. In this 
we stood alone; William Coleman’s name, a tower of 
strength, was for us only. How the grand old man comes 
before me as I write. His patriotism knew no bounds. 
Once when visiting his mills, stopped for the Fourth of 
July, as they always were, he found a corps of men at 
work repairing the boilers. He called the manager to 
him and asked what this meant. He ordered all work 

“Work on the Fourth of July!” he exclaimed, “when 
there’s plenty of Sundays for repairs!’’ He was furious. 

When the cyclone of 1873 struck us we at once be- 
gan to reef sail in every quarter. Very reluctantly did 
we decide that the construction of the new steel works 
must cease for a time. Several prominent persons, who 
had invested in them, became unable to meet their 
payments and I was compelled to take over their in- 
terests, repaying the full cost to all. In that way con- 
trol of the company came into my hands. 

The first outburst of the storm had affected the finan- 
cial world connected with the Stock Exchange. It was 
some time before it reached the commercial and manu- 
facturing world. But the situation grew worse and 
worse and finally led to the crash which involved my 
friends in the Texas Pacific enterprise, of which I have 
- already spoken. This was to me the severest blow of all. 
People could, with difficulty, believe that occupying 
such intimate relations as I did with the Texas group, 
I could by any possibility have kept myself clear of 
their financial obligations. 

Mr. Schoenberger, president of the Exchange Bank 
at Pittsburgh, with which we conducted a large busi- 
ness, was in New York when the news reached him of 
the embarrassment of Mr. Scott and Mr. Thomson. He 


hastened to Pittsburgh, and at a meeting of his board 
next morning said it was simply impossible that I was 
not involved with them. He suggested that the bank 
should refuse to discount more of our bills receivable. 
He was alarmed to find that the amount of these 
bearing our endorsement and under discount, was so 
large. Prompt action on my part was necessary to pre- 
vent serious trouble. I took the first train for Pitts- 
burgh, and was able to announce there to all concerned 
that, although I was a shareholder in the Texas enter- 
prise, my interest was paid for. My name was not upon 
one dollar of their paper or of any other outstanding 
paper. I stood clear and clean without a financial obliga- 
tion or property which I did not own and which was not 
fully paid for. My only obligations were those connected 
with our business; and I was prepared to pledge for it 
every dollar I owned, and to endorse every obligation 
the firm had outstanding. 

Up to this time I had the reputation in business of 
being a bold, fearless, and perhaps a somewhat reck- 
less young man. Our operations had been extensive, our 
growth rapid and, although still young, I had been han- 
dling millions. My own career was thought by the elderly 
ones of Pittsburgh to have been rather more brilliant 
than substantial. I know of an experienced one who 
declared that if “Andrew Carnegie’s brains did not 
carry him through his luck would.” But I think nothing 
could be farther from the truth than the estimate thus 
suggested. I am sure that any competent judge would 
be surprised to find how little I ever risked for myself 
or my partners. When I did big things, some large cor- 
poration like the Pennsylvania Railroad Company was 
behind me and the responsible party. My supply of 
Scotch caution never has been small; but I was appar- 


ently something of a dare-devil now and then to the - 
manufacturing fathers of Pittsburgh. They were old and 
I was young, which made all the difference. 

The fright which Pittsburgh financial institutions 
had with regard to myself and our enterprises rapidly 
gave place to perhaps somewhat unreasoning confi- 
dence. Our credit became unassailable, and thereafter 
in times of financial pressure the offerings of money to us 
increased rather than diminished, just as the deposits 
of the old Bank of Pittsburgh were never so great as 
when the deposits in other banks ran low. It was the 
only bank in America which redeemed its circulation in 
gold, disdaining to take refuge under the law and pay 
its obligations in greenbacks. It had few notes, and I 
doubt not the decision paid as an advertisement. 

In addition to the embarrassment of my friends Mr. 
Scott, Mr. Thomson, and others, there came upon us 
later an even severer trial in the discovery that our 
partner, Mr. Andrew Kloman, had been led by a party 
of speculative people into the Escanaba Iron Company. 
He was assured that the concern was to be made a stock 
company, but before this was done his colleagues had 
succeeded in creating an enormous amount of liabili- 
ties — about seven hundred thousand dollars. There 
was nothing but bankruptcy as a means of reinstating 
Mr. Kloman. | 

This gave us more of a shock than all that had pre- 
ceded, because Mr. Kloman, being a partner, had no 
right to invest in another iron company, or in any other 
company involving personal debt, without informing 
his partners. There is one imperative rule for men in 
business — no secrets from partners. Disregard of this 
rule involved not only Mr. Kloman himself, but our 
company, in peril; coming, as it did, atop of the difficul- 


ties of my Texas Pacific friends with whom I had been 
intimately associated. The question for a time was 
whether there was anything really sound. Where could 
we find bedrock upon which we could stand? 

Had Mr. Kloman been a business man it would have 
been impossible ever to allow him to be a partner with us 
again after this discovery. He was not such, however, 
but the ablest of practical mechanics with some business 
ability. Mr. Kloman’s ambition had been to be in the 
office, where he was worse than useless, rather than in 
the mill devising and running new machinery, where he © 
was without a peer. We had some difficulty in placing 
him in his proper position and keeping him there, which 
may have led him to seek an outlet elsewhere. He was 
perhaps flattered by men who were well known in the 
community; and in this case he was led by persons who 
knew how to reach him by extolling his wonderful busi- 
ness abilities in addition to his mechanical genius — 
abilities which his own partners, as already suggested, 
but faintly recognized. 

After Mr. Kloman had passed through the bank- 
ruptcy court and was again free, we offered him a ten 
per cent interest in our business, charging for it only 
the actual capital invested, with nothing whatever for 
good-will. This we were to carry for him until the profits 
paid for it. We were to charge interest only on the cost, 
and he was to assume no responsibility. The offer was 
accompanied by the condition that he should not enter 
into any other business or endorse for others, but give 
his whole time and attention to the mechanical and not 
the business management of the mills. Could he have 
been persuaded to accept this, he would have been a 
multimillionaire; but his pride, and more particularly 
that of his family, perhaps, would not permit this. He 


would go into business on his own account, and, not- 
withstanding the most urgent appeals on my part, and 
that of my colleagues, he persisted in the determination 
to start a new rival concern with his sons as business 
managers. The result was failure and premature death. 

How foolish we are not to recognize what we are best 
fitted for and can perform, not only with ease but with 
pleasure, as masters of the craft. More than one able 
man I have known has persisted in blundering in an 
office when he had great talent for the mill, and has 
worn himself out, oppressed with cares and anxieties, his 
life a continual round of misery, and the result at last 
failure. I never regretted parting with any man so 
‘much as Mr. Kloman. His was a good heart, a great 
mechanical brain, and had he been left to himself I be- 
lieve he would have been glad to remain with us. Offers 
of capital from others — offers which failed when needed 
— turned his head, and the great mechanic soon proved 
the poor man of affairs.' 

1 Long after the circumstances here recited, Mr. Isidor Straus called 
upon Mr. Henry Phipps and asked him if two statements which had been 
publicly made about Mr. Carnegie and his partners in the steel company 
were true. Mr. Phipps replied they were not. Then said Mr. Straus: 

“Mr. Phipps, you owe it to yourself and also to Mr. Carnegie to say so 
publicly.” . 

This Mr. Phipps did in the New York Herald, January 30, 1904, in the 
following handsome manner and without Mr. Carnegie’s knowledge: 

Question: “In a recent publication mention was made of Mr. Carnegie’s 
not having treated Mr. Miller, Mr. Kloman, and yourself properly during 
your early partnership, and at its termination. Can you tell me anything 
about this?” 

Answer: “Mr. Miller has already spoken for himself in this matter, and 
I can say that the treatment received from Mr. Carnegie during our part- 
nership, so far as I was concerned, was always fair and liberal. 

“My association with Mr. Kloman in business goes back forty-three 
years. Everything in connection with Mr. Carnegie’s partnership with Mr. 
Kloman was of a pleasant nature. 

**At a much more recent date, when the firm of Carnegie, Kloman and 
Company was formed, the partners were Andrew Carnegie, Thomas M. 


Carnegie, Andrew Kloman, and myself. The Carnegies held the controlling 

‘After the partnership agreement was signed, Mr. Kloman said to me 
that the Carnegies, owning the larger interest, might be too enterprising in 
making improvements, which might lead us into serious trouble; and he 
thought that they should consent to an article in the partnership agree- 
ment requiring the consent of three partners to make effective any vote for 
improvements. I told him that we could not exact what he asked, as their 
larger interest assured them control, but I would speak to them. When the 
subject was broached, Mr. Carnegie promptly said that if he could not 
carry Mr. Kloman or myself with his brother in any improvements he 
would not wish them made. Other matters were arranged by courtesy 
during our partnership in the same manner.” 

Question: ““What you have told me suggests the question, why did Mr. 
Kloman leave the firm?” 

Answer: “During the great depression which followed the panic of 1873, 
Mr. Kloman, through an unfortunate partnership in the Escanaba Furnace 
Company, lost his means, and his interest in our firm had to be disposed of. 
We bought it at book value at a time when manufacturing properties were 
selling at ruinous prices, often as low as one third or one half their cost. 

“After the settlement had been made with the creditors of the Escanaba 
Company, Mr. Kloman was offered an interest by Mr. Carnegie of 
$100,000 in our firm, to be paid only from future profits. This Mr. Kloman 
declined, as he did not feel like taking an interest which formerly had been 
much larger. Mr. Carnegie gave him $40,000 from the firm to make a new 
start. This amount was invested in a rival concern, which soon closed. 

**T knew of no disagreement during this early period with Mr. Carnegie, 
and their relations continued pleasant as long as Mr. Kloman lived. Har- 
mony always marked their intercourse, and they had the kindliest feeling 
one for the other.” 


HEN Mr. Kloman had severed his connection 

with us there was no hesitation in placing William 
Borntraeger in charge of the mills. It has always been 
with especial pleasure that I have pointed to the career 
of William. He came direct from Germany — a young 
man who could not speak English, but being distantly 
connected with Mr. Kloman was employed in the mills, 
at first in a minor capacity. He promptly learned Eng- 
lish and became a shipping clerk at six dollars per week. 
He had not a particle of mechanical knowledge, and yet 
such was his unflagging zeal and industry for the inter- 
ests of his employer that he soon became marked for 
being everywhere about the mill, knowing everything, 
and attending to everything. 

William was a character. He never got over his Ger- 
man idioms and his inverted English made his remarks 
very effective. Under his superintendence the Union 
Iron Mills became a most profitable branch of our busi- 
ness. He had overworked himself after a few years’ ap- 
plication and we decided to give him a trip to Europe. 
He came to New York by way of Washington. When he 
called upon me in New York he expressed himself as 
more anxious to return to Pittsburgh than to revisit 
Germany. In ascending the Washington Monument he 
had seen the Carnegie beams in the stairway and also at 
other points in public buildings, and as he expressed it: 

**It yust make me so broud dat I want to go right 
back and see dat everyting is going right at de mill.” 

Early hours in the morning and late in the dark hours 


at night William was in the mills. His life was there. He 
was among the first of the young men we admitted to 
partnership, and the poor German lad at his death was 
in receipt of an income, as I remember, of about $50,000 
a year, every cent of which was deserved. Stories about 
him are many. At adinner of our partners to celebrate 
the year’s business, short speeches were in order from 
every one. William summed up his speech thus: 

“What we haf to do, shentlemens, is to get brices up 
and costs down and efery man stand on his own bottom.” 
There was loud, prolonged, and repeated laughter. 

Captain Evans (“Fighting Bob’’) was at one time 
government inspector at our mills. He was a severe one. 
William was sorely troubled at times and finally of- 
fended the Captain, who complained of his behavior. 
We tried to get William to realize the importance of 
pleasing a government official. William’s reply was: 

“But he gomes in and smokes my cigars”’ (bold Cap- 
tain! William reveled in one-cent Wheeling tobies) “‘and 
then he goes and contems my iron. What does you tinks 
of a man like dat? But I apologize and dreat him Hea 

The Captain was assured William had agreed to make 
due amends, but he laughingly told us afterward that 
William’s apology was: 

“Vell, Captain, I hope you vas all right dis morning. 
I haf noting against you, Captain,” holding out his 
hand, which the Captain finally took and all was well. 

William once sold to our neighbor, the pioneer steel- 
maker of Pittsburgh, James Park, a large lot of old rails 
which we could not use. Mr. Park found them of a very 
bad quality. He made claims for damages and William 
was told that he must go with Mr. Phipps to meet Mr. 
Park and settle. Mr. Phipps went into Mr. Park’s office, 


while William took a look around the works im search 
of the condemned material, which was nowhere to be 
seen. Well did William know where to look. He finally 
entered the office, and before Mr. Park had time to say 
a word William began: 

“Mr. Park, I vas glad to hear dat de old rails what I 
sell you don’t suit for steel. I will buy dem all from you 
back, five dollars ton profit for you.” Well did William 
know that they had all been used. Mr. Park was non- 
plussed, and the affair ended. William had triumphed. 

Upon one of my visits to Pittsburgh William told 
me he had something “‘particular’’ he wished to tell me 
— something he could n't tell any one else. This was 
- upon his return from the trip to Germany. There he had 
been asked to visit for a few days a former schoolfellow, 
who had risen to be a professor: 

“Well, Mr. Carnegie, his sister who kept his house 
was very kind to me, and ven I got to Hamburg I tought 
I sent her yust a little present. She write me a letter, 
then I write her a letter. She write me and I write her, 
and den I ask her would she marry me. She was very 
educated, but she write yes. Den I ask her to come to 
New York, and I meet her dere, but, Mr. Carnegie, dem 
people don’t know noting about business and de mills. 
Her bruder write me dey want me to go dere again and 
marry her in Chairmany, and I can go away not again 
from de mills. I tought I yust ask you aboud it.” 

“Of course you can go again. Quite right, William, 
you should go. I think the better of her people for feel- 
ing so. You go over at once and bring her home. I'll 
arrange it.’? Then, when parting, I said: “ William, I 
suppose your sweetheart is a beautiful, tall, ‘peaches- 
and-cream’ kind of German young lady.” 

“Vell, Mr. Carnegie, she is a leetle stout. If I had the 


rolling of her I give her yust one more pass.” All William’s 
illustrations were founded on mill practice. [I find my- 
self bursting into fits of laughter this morning (June, 
1912) as I re-read this story. But I did this also when 
reading that ““Every man must stand on his own bot- 

Mr. Phipps had been head of the commercial depart- 
ment of the mills, but when our business was enlarged, 
he was required for the steel business. Another young 
man, William L. Abbott, took his place. Mr. Abbott’s 
history is somewhat akin to Borntraeger’s. He came to 
us as a clerk upon a small salary and was soon assigned 
to the front in charge of the business of the iron mills. 
He was no less successful than was William. He became 
a partner with an interest equal to William’s, and finally 
was promoted to the presidency of the company. 

Mr. Curry had distinguished himself by this time in 
his management of the Lucy Furnaces, and he took his 
place among the partners, sharing equally with the 
others. There is no way of making a business successful 
that can vie with the policy of promoting those who 
render exceptional service. We finally converted the 
firm of Carnegie, McCandless & Co. into the Edgar 
Thomson Steel Company, and included my brother and 
Mr. Phipps, both of whom had declined at first to go 
into the steel business with their too enterprising senior. 
But when I showed them the earnings for the first year 
and told them if they did not get into steel they would 
find themselves in the wrong boat, they both recon- 
sidered and came with us. It was fortunate for them as 
for us. 

My experience has been that no partnership of new 
men gathered promiscuously from various fields can 
prove a good working organization as at first consti- 


tuted. Changes are required. Our Edgar Thomson 
Steel Company was no exception to this rule. Even 
before we began to make rails, Mr. Coleman became 
dissatisfied with the management of a railway official 
who had come to us with a great and deserved reputa- 
tion for method and ability. I had, therefore, to take 
over Mr. Coleman’s interest. It was not long, however, 
before we found that his judgment was correct. The new 
man had been a railway auditor, and was excellent in 
accounts, but it was unjust to expect him, or any other 
office man, to be able to step into manufacturing and be 
successful from the start. He had neither the knowledge 
nor the training for this new work. This does not mean 
that he was not a splendid auditor. It was our own 
blunder in expecting the impossible. 

The mills were at last about ready to begin! and an 
organization the auditor proposed was laid before me 
for approval. I found he had divided the works into two 
departments and had given control of one to Mr. Ste- 
venson, a Scotsman who afterwards made a fine record 
as a manufacturer, and control of the other to a Mr. 
Jones. Nothing, I am certain, ever affected the success 
of the steel company more than the decision which I 
gave upon that proposal. Upon no account could two 
men be in the same works with equal authority. An 
army with two commanders-in-chief, a ship with two 
captains, could not fare more disastrously than a manu- 
facturing concern with two men in command upon the 
same ground, even though in two different departments. 
I said: 

“This will not do. I do not know Mr. Stevenson, nor 
do I know Mr. Jones, but one or the other must be 
made captain and he alone must report to you.” 

1 ‘The steel-rail mills were ready and rails were rolled in 1874. 


The decision fell upon Mr. Jones and in this way we 
obtained “The Captain,’ who afterward made his name 
famous wherever the manufacture of Bessemer steel is 

The Captain was then quite young, spare and active, 
bearing traces of his Welsh descent even in his stature, 
for he was quite short. He came to us as a two-dollar-a- 
day mechanic from the neighboring works at Johnstown. 
We soon saw that he was a character. Every movement 
told it. He had volunteered as a private during the 
Civil War and carried himself so finely that he became 
captain of a company which was never known to flinch. 
Much of the success of the Edgar Thomson Works 
belongs to this man. 

In later years he declined an interest in the firm which 
would have made him a millionaire. I told him one day 
that some of the young men who had been given an in- 
terest were now making much more than he was and 
we had voted to make him a partner. This entailed no 
financial responsibility, as we always provided that the 
cost of the interest given was payable only out of 

“No,” he said, “‘I don’t want to have my thoughts 
running on business. I have enough trouble looking 
after these works. Just give me a h—I1 of a salary if you 
think I’m worth it.” 

** All right, Captain, the salary of the President of the 
United States is yours.” 

*“’That’s the talk,” said the little Welshman. ! 

1 The story is told that when Mr. Carnegie was selecting his younger 
partners he one day sent for a young Scotsman, Alexander R. Peacock, and 
asked him rather abruptly: 

“Peacock, what would you give to be made a millionaire?” 

**A liberal discount for cash, sir,” was the answer. 

He was a partner owning a two per cent interest when the Carnegie 
Steel Company was merged into the United States Steel Corporation. 


Our competitors in steel were at first disposed to ig- 
nore us. Knowing the difficulties they had in starting 
their own steel works, they could not believe we would 
be ready to deliver rails for another year and declined 
to recognize us as competitors. The price of steel rails 
when we began was about seventy dollars per ton. We 
sent our agent through the country with instructions 
to take orders at the best prices he could obtain; and 
before our competitors knew it, we had obtained a large 
number — quite sufficient to justify us in making a 
start. haa 

So perfect was the machinery, so admirable the plans, 
so skillful were the men selected by Captain Jones, and 
so great a manager was he himself, that our success was 
phenomenal. I think I place a unique statement on 
record when I say that the result of the first month’s 
operations left a margin of profit of $11,000. It is also 
remarkable that so perfect was our system of accounts 
that we knew the exact amount of the profit. We had 
learned from experience in our iron works what exact 
accounting meant. There is nothing more profitable 
than clerks to check up each transfer of material from 
one department to another in process of manufacture. 

The new venture in steel having started off so prom- 
isingly, I began to think of taking a holiday, and my 
long-cherished purpose of going around the world came 
to the front. Mr. J. W. Vandevort (“Vandy’’) and I 
accordingly set out in the autumn of 1878. I took with 
me several pads suitable for penciling and began to make 
a few notes day by day, not with any intention of pub- 
lishing a book; but thinking, perhaps, I might print a 
few copies of my notes for private circulation. The 
sensation which one has when he first sees his remarks 

in the form of a printed book is great. When the package 


came from the printers I re-read the book trying to 
decide whether it was worth while to send copies to my 
friends. I came to the conclusion that upon the whole 
it was best to do so and await the verdict. 

The writer of a book designed for his friends has no 
reason to anticipate an unkind reception, but there is 
always some danger of its being damned with faint 
praise. The responses in my case, however, exceeded 
expectations, and were of such a character as to satisfy 
me that the writers really had enjoyed the book, or 
meant at least a part of what they said about it. Every 
author is prone to believe sweet words. Among the first 
that came were in a letter from Anthony Drexel, Phila- 
delphia’s great banker, complaining that I had robbed 
him of several hours of sleep. Having begun the book he 
could not lay it down and retired at two o’clock in the 
morning after finishing. Several similar letters were 
received. | remember Mr. Huntington, president of the 
Central Pacific Railway, meeting me one morning and 
saying he was going to pay me a great compliment. 

What is it?”’ I asked. 

“Oh, I read your book from end to end.” 

“Well,” I said, “‘that is not such a great compliment. 
Others of our mutual friends have done that.” 

“Oh, yes, but probably none of your friends are like 
me. I have not read a book for years except my ledger 
and I did not intend to read yours, but when I began 
it I could not lay it down. My ledger is the only book I 
have gone through for five years.” 

I was not disposed to credit all that my friends said, 
but others who had obtained the book from them were 
pleased with it and I lived for some months under in- 
toxicating, but I trust not perilously pernicious, flat- 
tery. Several editions of the book were printed to meet 


the request for copies. Some notices of it and extracts 
got into the papers, and finally Charles Scribner’s Sons 
asked to publish it for the market. So “Round the 
World’”’! came before the public and I was at last “an 

A new horizon was opened up to me by this voyage. 
It quite changed my intellectual outlook. Spencer and 
Darwin were then high in the zenith, and I had become 
deeply interested in their work. I began to view the 
various phases of human life from the standpoint of 
the evolutionist. In China I read Confucius; in India, 
Buddha and the sacred books of the Hindoos; among 
the Parsees, in Bombay, I studied Zoroaster. The re- 
sult of my journey was to bring a certain mental peace. 
Where there had been chaos there was now order. My 
mind was at rest. I had a philosophy at last. The words 
of Christ “The Kingdom of Heaven is within you,” had 
a new meaning for me. Not in the past or in the future, 
but now and here is Heaven within us. All our duties 
lie in this world and in the present, and trying impa- 
tiently to peer into that which lies beyond is as vain as 

All the remnants of theology in which I had been 
born and bred, all the impressions that Swedenborg had 
made upon me, now ceased to influence me or to occupy 
my thoughts. I found that no nation had all the truth 
in the revelation it regards as divine, and no tribe is so 
low as to be left without some truth; that every people 
has had its great teacher; Buddha for one; Confucius 
for another; Zoroaster for a third; Christ for a fourth. 
The teachings of all these I found ethically akin so that 
I could say with Matthew Arnold, one I was so proud 
to call friend: : 

1 Round the World, by Andrew Carnegie. New York and London, 1884. 


“Children of men! the unseen Power, whose eye 
For ever doth accompany mankind 
Hath looked on no religion scornfully 
That men did ever find. 

Which has not taught weak wills how much they can? 
Which has not fall’n in the dry heart like rain? 
Which has not cried to sunk, self-weary man, 

Thou must be born again.” 

“The Light of Asia,”” by Edwin Arnold, came out at 
this time and gave me greater delight than any similar 
poetical work I had recently read. I had just been in 
India and the book took me there again. My apprecia- 
tion of it reached the author’s ears and later having 
made his acquaintance in London, he presented me 
with the original manuscript of the book. It is one of my 
most precious treasures. Every person who can, even at 
a sacrifice, make the voyage around the world should 
do so. All other travel compared to it seems incomplete, 
gives us merely vague impressions of parts of the whole. 
When the circle has been completed, you feel on your 
return that you have seen (of course only in the mass) 
all there is to be seen. The parts fit into one symmetrical 
whole and you see humanity wherever it is placed work- 
ing out a destiny tending to one definite end. 

The world traveler who gives careful study to the bibles 
of the various religions of the East will be well repaid. 
The conclusion reached will be that the inhabitants of 
each country consider their own religion the best of all. 
They rejoice that their lot has been cast where it is, and 
are disposed to pity the less fortunate condemned to live 
beyond their sacred limits. The masses of all nations are 
usually happy, each mass certain that: 

** East or West 
Home is best.” 


Two illustrations of this from our ‘“‘ Round the World”’ 
trip may be noted: 

Visiting the tapioca workers in the woods near Singapore, 
we found them busily engaged, the children running about 
stark naked, the parents clothed in the usual loose rags. Our 
party attracted great attention. We asked our guide to tell 
the people that we came from a country where the water in 
such a pond as that before us would become solid at this sea- 
son of the year and we could walk upon it and that sometimes 
it would be so hard horses and wagons crossed wide rivers 
on the ice. They wondered and asked why we did n’t come and 
live among them. They really were very happy. 


On the way to the North Cape we visited a reindeer camp 
of the Laplanders. A sailor from the ship was deputed to go 
with the party. I walked homeward with him, and as we ap- 
proached the fiord looking down and over to the opposite 
shore we saw a few straggling huts and one two-story house 
under construction. What is that new building for? we asked. 

“That is to be the home of a man born in Tromso who has 
made a great deal of money and has now come back to spend 
his days there. He is very rich.”’ 

*“You told me you had travelled all over the world. You 
have seen London, New York, Calcutta, Melbourne, and 
other places. If you made a fortune like that man what place 
would you make your home in old age?”’ His eye glistened 
as he said: 

**Ah, there’s no place like Tromso.”’ This is in the arctic 
circle, six months of night, but he had been born in Tromso. 
Home, sweet, sweet home! 

Among the conditions of life or the laws of nature, 
some of which seem to us faulty, some apparently un- 
just and merciless, there are many that amaze us by 
their beauty and sweetness. Love of home, regardless 
of its character or location, certainly is one of these. 
And what a pleasure it is to find that, instead of the 


Supreme Being confining revelation to one race or na- 
tion, every race has the message best adapted for it in 
its present stage of development. The Unknown Power 
has neglected none. 


HE Freedom of my native town (Dunfermline) was 
conferred upon me July 12, 1877, the first Freedom 
and the greatest honor I ever received. I was over- 
whelmed. Only two signatures upon the roll came be- 
tween mine and Sir Walter Scott’s, who had been made 
a Burgess. My parents had seen him one day sketch- 
ing Dunfermline Abbey and often told me about his 
appearance. My speech in reply to the Freedom was 
the subject of much concern. I spoke to my Uncle 
Bailie Morrison, telling him I just felt like saying so 
and so, as this really was in my heart. He was an ora- 
tor himself and he spoke words of wisdom to me then. 
“Just say that, Andra; nothing like saying just what 
you really feel.” 

It was a lesson in public speaking which I took to 
heart. There is one rule I might suggest for youthful 
orators. When you stand up before an audience reflect 
that there are before you only men and women. You 
should speak to them ‘as you speak to other men and 
women in daily intercourse. If you are not trying to be 
something different from yourself, there is no more oc- 
casion for embarrassment than if you were talking in 
your office to a party of your own people — none what- 
ever. It is trying to be other than one’s self that unmans 
one. Be your own natural self and go ahead. I once 
asked Colonel Ingersoll, the most effective public 
speaker I ever heard, to what he attributed his power. 
*“Avoid elocutionists like snakes,’ he said, “and be 
yourself.”’ - 



I spoke again at Dunfermline, July 27, 1881, when 
my mother laid the foundation stone there of the first 
free library building I ever gave. My father was one of 
five weavers who founded the earliest library in the 
town by opening their own books to their neighbors. 
Dunfermline named the building I gave “Carnegie — 
Library.” The architect asked for my coat of arms. I 
informed him I had none, but suggested that above the 
door there might be carved a rising sun shedding its 
rays with the motto: “Let there be light.” This he 
adopted. ) 

We had come up to Dunfermline with a coaching 
party. When walking through England in the year 1867 
with George Lauder and Harry Phipps I had formed 
the idea of coaching from Brighton to Inverness with a 
party of my dearest friends. The time had come for the 
long-promised trip, and in the spring of 1881 we sailed 
from New York, a party of eleven, to enjoy one of the 
happiest excursions of my life. It was one of the holi- 
days from business that kept me young and happy — 
worth all the medicine in the world. 

All the notes I made of the coaching trip were a few 
lines a day in twopenny pass-books bought before we 
started. As with ““Round the World,” I thought that 
I might some day write a magazine article, or give some 
account of my excursion for those who accompanied 
me; but one wintry day I decided that it was scarcely 
worth while to go down to the New York office, three 
miles distant, and the question was how I should oc- 
cupy the spare time. I thought of the coaching trip, and 
decided to write a few lines just to see how I should get 
on. The narrative flowed freely, and before the day was 
over I had written between three and four thousand 
words. I took up the pleasing task every stormy day 


when it was unnecessary for me to visit the office, and 
in exactly twenty sittings I had finished a book. I 
handed the notes to Scribner’s people and asked them 
to print a few hundred copies for private circulation. 
The volume pleased my friends, as “‘ Round the World”’ 
had done. Mr. Champlin one day told me that Mr. Scrib- 
ner had read the book and would like very much to pub- 
lish it for general circulation upon his own account, 
subject to a royalty. 

The vain author is easily persuaded that what he has 
done is meritorious, and I consented. [Every year this 
still nets me a small sum in royalties. And thirty years 
have gone by, 1912.] The letters I received upon the 
publication ! of it were so numerous and some so gush- 
ing that my people saved them and they are now bound 
together in scrapbook form, to which additions are made 
from time to time. The number of invalids who have 
been pleased to write me, stating that the book had 
brightened their lives, has been gratifying. Its reception 
in Britain was cordial; the “Spectator”’ gave it a favor- 
able review. But any merit that the book has comes, I 
am sure, from the total absence of effort on my part to 
make an impression. I wrote for my friends; and what 
one does easily, one does well. I reveled in the writing 
of the book, as I had in the journey itself. 

The year 1886 ended in deep gloom for me. My life 
as a happy careless young man, with every want looked 
after, was over. I was left alone in the world. My mother 
and brother passed away in November, within a few 
days of each other, while I lay in bed under a severe 
attack of typhoid fever, unable to move and, perhaps 

1 Published privately in 1882 under the title Our Coaching Trip, 

Brighton to Inverness. Published by the Scribners in 1883 under the title of 
An American Four-in-Hand in Britain. 


fortunately, unable to feel the full weight of the catas- 
trophe, being myself face to face with death. 

I was the first stricken, upon returning from a visit 
in the East to our cottage at Cresson Springs on top of 
the Alleghanies where my mother and I spent our happy 
summers. I had been quite unwell for a day or two be- 
fore leaving New York. A physician being summoned, 
my trouble was pronounced typhoid fever. Professor 
Dennis was called from New York and he corroborated 
the diagnosis. An attendant physician and trained nurse 
were provided at once. Soon after my mother broke 
down and my brother in Pittsburgh also was reported 

I was despaired of, I was so low, and then my whole 
nature seemed to change. I became reconciled, indulged 
in pleasing meditations, was without the slightest pain. 
My mother’s and brother’s serious condition had not 
been revealed to me, and when I was informed that both 
had left me forever it seemed only natural that I should 
follow them. We had never been separated; why should 
we be now? But it was decreed otherwise. 

I recovered slowly and the future began to occupy 
my thoughts. There was only one ray of hope and com- 
fort in it. Toward that my thoughts always turned. For 
several years I had known Miss Louise Whitfield. Her 
mother permitted her to ride with me in the Central 
Park. We were both very fond of riding. Other young 
ladies were on my list. I had fine horses and often rode 
in the Park and around New York with one or the other 
of the circle. In the end the others all faded into ordinary 
beings. Miss Whitfield remained alone as the perfect 
one beyond any I had met. Finally I began to find and 
admit to myself that she stood the supreme test I had 
applied to several fair ones in my time. She alone did so 


of all I had ever known. I could recommend young 
men to apply this test before offering themselves. If 
they can honestly believe the following lines, as I did, 
then all is well: 

“Full many a lady 
I’ve eyed with best regard: for several virtues 
Have I liked several women, never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, 
And put it to the foil; but you, O you, 
So perfect and so peerless are created 
Of every creature’s best.” ! 

In my soul I could echo those very words. To-day, after 
twenty years of life with her, if I could find stronger 
words I could truthfully use them. 

My advances met with indifferent success. She was 
not without other and younger admirers. My wealth 
and future plans were against me. I was rich and had 
everything and she felt she could be of little use or bene- 
fit to me. Her ideal was to be the real helpmeet of a 
young, struggling man to whom she could and would be 
indispensable, as her mother had been to her father. The 
care of her own family had largely fallen upon her after 
her father’s death when she was twenty-one. She was 
now twenty-eight; her views of life were formed. At 
times she seemed more favorable and we corresponded. 
Once, however, she returned my letters saying she felt 
she must put aside all thought of accepting me. 

Professor and Mrs. Dennis took me from Cresson to 
their own home in New York, as soon as I could be re- » 
moved, and I lay there some time under the former’s 
personal supervision. Miss Whitfield called to see me, 
for I had written her the first words from Cresson I was 

1 Ferdinand to Miranda in The Tempest. 

ABOUT 1878) 


able to write. She saw now that I needed her. I was left 
alone in the world. Now she could be in every sense the 
“helpmeet.” Both her heart and head were now willing 
and the day was fixed. We were married in New York 
April 22, 1887, and sailed for our honeymoon which was 
passed on the Isle of Wight. 

Her delight was intense in finding the wild flowers. 
She had read of Wandering Willie, Heartsease, Forget- 
me-nots, the Primrose, Wild Thyme, and the whole list 
of homely names that had been to her only names till 
now. Everything charmed her. Uncle Lauder and one 
of my cousins came down from Scotland and visited us, 
and then we soon followed to the residence at Kilgras- 
ton they had selected for us in which to spend the sum- 
mer. Scotland captured her. There was no doubt about 
that. Her girlish reading had been of Scotland — Scott’s 
novels and “Scottish Chiefs’’ being her favorites. She 
soon became more Scotch than I. All this was fulfilling 
my fondest dreams. 

We spent some days in Dunfermline and enjoyed 
them much. The haunts and incidents of my boyhood 
were visited and recited to her by all and sundry. She 
got nothing but flattering accounts of her husband which 
gave me a good start with her. - 

I was presented with the Freedom of Edinburgh as 
we passed northward — Lord Rosebery making the 
speech. The crowd in Edinburgh was great. I addressed 
the working-men in the largest hall and received a pres- 
ent from them as did Mrs. Carnegie also — a brooch 
she values highly. She heard and saw the pipers in all 
their glory and begged there should be one at our home 
— a piper to walk around and waken us in the morning 
and also to play us in to dinner. American as she is to 
the core, and Connecticut Puritan at that, she declared 


that if condemned to live upon a lonely island and al- 
lowed to choose only one musical instrument, it would 
be the pipes. The piper was secured quickly enough. 
One called and presented credentials from Cluny Mc- 
Pherson. We engaged him and were preceded by him 
playing the pipes as we entered our Kilgraston house. 

We enjoyed Kilgraston, although Mrs. Carnegie still 
longed for a wilder and more Highland home. Mat- 
thew Arnold visited us, as did Mr. and Mrs. Blaine, 
Senator and Mrs. Eugene Hale, and many friends. 
Mrs. Carnegie would have my relatives up from Dun- 
fermline, especially the older uncles and aunties. She 
charmed every one. They expressed their surprise to 
me that she ever married. me, but I told them I was 
equally surprised. The match had evidently been pre- 

We took our piper with us when we returned to New 
York, and also our housekeeper and some of the serv- 
ants. Mrs. Nicoll remains with us still and is now, 
after twenty years’ faithful service, as a member of the 
family. George Irvine, our butler, came to us a year later 
and is also as one of us. Maggie Anderson, one of the 

1 John Hay, writing to his friend Henry Adams under daie of London, 
August 25, 1887, has the following to say about the party at Kilgraston: 
*‘After that we went to Andy Carnegie in Perthshire, who is keeping his 
honeymoon, having just married a pretty girl. . . . The house is thronged 
with visitors — sixteen when we came away — we merely stayed three 
days: the others were there for a fortnight. Among them were your friends 
Blaine and Hale of Maine. Carnegie likes well he is going to do it 
every summer and is looking at all the great estates in the County with a 
view of renting or purchasing. We went with him one day to Dupplin — 
Castle, where I saw the most beautiful trees I ever beheld in my wander- 
ing life. The old Earl of is miserably poor — not able to buy a bottle 
of seltzer — with an estate worth millions in the hands of his creditors, and 
sure to be sold one of these days to some enterprising Yankee or British 
Buttonmaker. I wish you or Carnegie would buy it. I would visit you fre- 
quently.” (Thayer, Life and Letters of John Hay, vol. u, p. 74.) 


servants, is the same. They are devoted people, of high 
character and true loyalty.! 

The next year we were offered and took Cluny Castle. 
Our piper was just the man to tell us all about it. He 
had been born and bred there and perhaps influenced 
our selection of that residence where we spent several 

On March 30, 1897, there came to us our daughter. 
As I first gazed upon her Mrs. Carnegie said, 

“Her name is Margaret after your mother. Now one 
request I have to make.” 

** What is it, Lou?”’ 

“We must get a summer home since this little one has 
been given us. We cannot rent one and be obliged to go 
in and go out at a certain date. It should be our home.” 

“Yes,” I agreed. 

*T make only one condition.” 

What is that?” I asked. 

“It must be in the Highlands of Scotland.” 

“Bless you,’ was my reply. “That suits me. You 
know I have to keep out of the sun’s rays, and where 
can we do that so surely as among the heather? I’ll be 
a committee of one to inquire and report.” 

Skibo Castle was the result. 

It is now twenty years since Mrs. Carnegie entered 
and changed my life, a few months after the passing of 
my mother and only brother left me alone in the world. — 
My life has been made so happy by her that I cannot 
imagine myself living without her guardianship. I 
thought I knew her when she stood Ferdinand’s test,? 
but it was only the surface of her qualities I had seen 

1 “No man is a true gentleman who does not inspire the affection and 
devotion of his servants.” (Problems of To-day, by Andrew Carnegie. New 
York, 1908, p. 59.) 

2 The reference is to the quotation from The Tempest on page 214. 


and felt. Of their purity, holiness, wisdom, I had not 
sounded the depth. In every emergency of our active, 
changing, and in later years somewhat public life, in all 
her relations with others, including my family and her 
own, she has proved the diplomat and peace-maker. 
Peace and good-will attend her footsteps wherever her 
blessed influence extends. In the rare instances de- 
manding heroic action it is she mue first realizes this 
and plays the part. 

The Peace-Maker has never had a quarrel in all her 
life, not even with a schoolmate, and there does not 
live a soul upon the earth who has met her who has the 
slightest cause to complain of neglect. Not that she 
does not welcome the best and gently avoid the un- 
desirable — none is more fastidious than she — but 
neither rank, wealth, nor social position affects her one 
iota. She is incapable of acting or speaking rudely; all 
is in perfect good taste. Still, she never lowers the 
standard. Her intimates are only of the best. She is 
always thinking how she can do good to those around 
her — planning for this one and that in case of need 
and making such judicious arrangements or presents as 
‘surprise those codperating with her. 

I cannot imagine myself going through these twenty 
years without her. Nor can I endure the thought of liv- 
ing after her. In the course of nature I have not that 
to meet; but then the thought of what will be cast upon 
her, a woman left alone with so much requiring atten- 
tion and needing a man to decide, gives me intense pain 
and I sometimes wish I had this to endure for her. But 
then she will have our blessed daughter in her life and 
perhaps that will keep her patient. Besides, Margaret 
needs her more than she does her father. 

Why, oh, why, are we compelled to leave the heaven 



we have found on earth and go we know not where! For 
I can say with Jessica: 
“It is very meet 
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth.” 


HE one vital lesson in iron and steel that I learned 

in Britain was the necessity for owning raw ma- 
terials and finishing the completed article ready for its 
purpose. Having solved the steel-rail problem at the 
Edgar Thomson Works, we soon proceeded to the next 
step. The difficulties and uncertainties of obtaining reg- 
ular supplies of pig iron compelled us to begin the erec- 
tion of blast furnaces. Three of these were built, one, 
however, being a reconstructed blast furnace purchased 
from the Escanaba Iron Company, with which Mr. Klo- 
man had been connected. As is usual in such cases, the 
furnace cost us as much as a new one, and it never was 
as good. There is nothing so unsatisfactory as purchases 
of inferior plants. 

But although this purchase was a mistake, directly 
considered, it proved, at a subsequent date, a source of 
great profit because it gave us a furnace small enough 
for the manufacture of spiegel and, at a later date, of 
ferro-manganese. We were the second firm in the United 
States to manufacture our own spiegel, and the first, 
and for years the only, firm in America that made ferro- 
manganese. We had been dependent upon foreigners 
for a supply of this indispensable article, paying as high 
as eighty dollars a ton for it. The manager of our blast 
furnaces, Mr. Julian Kennedy, is entitled to the credit 
of suggesting that with the ores within reach we could 
make ferro-manganese in our small furnace. The experi- 
ment was worth trying and the result was a great suc- 
cess. We were able to supply the entire American de- 


mand and prices fell from eighty to fifty dollars per ton 
as a consequence. 

While testing the ores of Virginia we found that these 
were being quietly purchased by Europeans for ferro- 
manganese, the owners of the mine being led to believe 
that they were used for other purposes. Our Mr. Phipps 
at once set about purchasing that mine. He obtained 
an option from the owners, who had neither capital nor 
skill to work it efficiently. A high price was paid to them 
for their interests, and (with one of them, Mr. Davis, a 
very able young man) we became the owners, but not 
until a thorough investigation of the mine had proved 
that there was enough of manganese ore in sight to re- 
pay us. All this was done with speed; not a day was lost 
when the discovery was made. And here lies the great 
advantage of a partnership over a corporation. The 
president of the latter would have had to consult a 
board of directors and wait several weeks and perhaps 
months for their decision. By that time the mine would 
probably have become the property of others. 

We continued to develop our blast-furnace plant, 
every new one being a great improvement upon the 
preceding, until at last we thought we had arrived at a 
standard furnace. Minor improvements would no doubt 
be made, but so far as we could see we had a perfect 
plant and our capacity was then fifty thousand tons 
per month of pig iron. 

The blast-furnace department was no sooner added 
than another step was seen to be essential to our inde- 
pendence and success. The supply of superior coke was 
a fixed quantity — the Connellsville field being defined. 
We found that we could not get on without a sup- 
ply of the fuel essential to the smelting of pig iron; and 
a very thorough investigation of the question led us 


to the conclusion that the Frick Coke Company had 
not only the best coal and coke property, but that it 
had in Mr. Frick himself a man with a positive genius 
for its management. He had proved his ability by start- 
ing as a poor railway clerk and succeeding. In 1882 we 
purchased one half of the stock of this company, and by 
subsequent purchases from other holders we became 
owners of the great bulk of the shares. 

There now remained to be acquired only the supply 
of iron stone. If we could obtain this we should be 
in the position occupied by only two or three of the 
European concerns. We thought at one time we had 
succeeded in discovering in Pennsylvania this last 
remaining link in the chain. We were misled, however, 
in our investment in the Tyrone region, and lost con- 
siderable sums as the result of our attempts to mine and 
use the ores of that section. They promised well at the 
edges of the mines, where the action of the weather for 
ages had washed away impurities and enriched the ore, 
but when we penetrated a small distance they proved 
too “lean” to work. 

Our chemist, Mr. Prousser, was then sent to a Penn- 
sylvania furnace among the hills which we had leased, 
with instructions to analyze all the materials brought 
to him from the district, and to encourage people to 
bring him specimens of minerals. A striking example of 
the awe inspired by the chemist in those days was that 
only with great difficulty could he obtain a man or a 
boy to assist him in the laboratory. He was suspected 
of illicit intercourse with the Powers of Evil when he 
undertook to tell by his suspicious-looking apparatus 
what a stone contained. I believe that at last we had to 
send him a man from our office at Pittsburgh. 

One day he sent us a report of analyses of ore re- 


markable for the absence of phosphorus. It was really 
an ore suitable for making Bessemer steel. Such a dis- 
covery attracted our attention at once. The owner of 
the property was Moses Thompson, a rich farmer, pro- 
prietor of seven thousand acres of the most beautiful 
agricultural land in Center County, Pennsylvania. An 
appointment was made to meet him upon the ground 
from which the ore had been obtained. We found the 
mine had been worked for a charcoal blast furnace fifty 
or sixty years before, but it had not borne a good repu- 
tation then, the reason no doubt being that its product 
was so much purer than other ores that the same 
amount of flux used caused trouble in smelting. It was 
so good it was good for nothing in those days of old. 

We finally obtained the right to take the mine over 
at any time within six months, and we therefore be- 
gan the work of examination, which every purchaser of 
mineral property should make most carefully. We ran 
lines across the hillside fifty feet apart, with cross-lines 
at distances of a hundred feet apart, and at each point 
of intersection we put a shaft down through the ore. 
I believe there were eighty such shafts in all and the ore 
was analyzed at every few feet of depth, so that before 
we paid over the hundred thousand dollars asked we 
knew exactly what there was of ore. The result hoped 
for was more than realized. Through the ability of my 
cousin and partner, Mr. Lauder, the cost of mining and 
washing was reduced to a low figure, and the Scotia ore 
made good all the losses we had incurred in the other 
mines, paid for itself, and left a profit besides. In this 
case, at least, we snatched victory from the jaws of 
defeat. We trod upon sure ground with the chemist as 
our guide. It will be seen that we were determined to 
get raw materials and were active in the pursuit. 


We had lost and won, but the escapes in business 
affairs are sometimes very narrow. Driving with Mr. 
Phipps from the mills one day we passed the National 
Trust Company office on Penn Street, Pittsburgh. I 
noticed the large gilt letters across the window, “‘Stock- 
holders individually liable.” That very morning in look- 
ing over a statement of our affairs I had noticed twenty 
shares “National Trust Company ”’ on the list of assets. 
I said to Harry: 

“Tf this is the concern we own shares in, won’t you 
please sell them before you return to the office this 
afternoon?” 7 

He saw no need for haste. It would be done in good 

“No, Harry, oblige me by doing it instantly.” 

He did so and had it transferred. Fortunate, indeed, — 
was this, for in a short time the bank failed with an 
enormous deficit. My cousin, Mr. Morris, was among 
the ruined shareholders. Many others met the same 
fate. Times were panicky, and had we been individ- 
ually liable for all the debts of the National Trust Com- 
pany our credit would inevitably have been seriously 
imperiled. It was a narrow escape. And with only twenty 
shares (two thousand dollars’ worth of stock), taken to 
oblige friends who wished our name on their list of 
shareholders! The lesson was not lost. The sound rule 
in business is that you may give money freely when you 
have a surplus, but your name never — neither as en- 
dorser nor as member of a corporation with individual 
lability. A trifling investment of a few thousand dol- 
lars, a mere trifle—yes, but a trifle possessed of deadly 
explosive power. 

The rapid substitution of steel for iron in the im- 
mediate future had become obvious to us. Even in our 


Keystone Bridge Works, steel was being used more 
and more in place of iron. King Iron was about to be 
deposed by the new King Steel, and we were becoming 
more and more dependent upon it. We had about con- 
cluded in 1886 to build alongside of the Edgar Thomson 
Mills new works for the manufacture of miscellaneous 
shapes of steel when it was suggested to us that the five 
or six leading manufacturers of Pittsburgh, who had 
combined to build steel mills at Homestead, were will- 
ing to sell their mills to us. 

These works had been built originally by a syndicate 
of manufacturers, with the view of obtaining the neces- 
sary supplies of steel which they required in their vari- 
ous concerns, but the steel-rail business, being then in 
one of its booms, they had been tempted to change 
plans and construct a steel-rail mill. They had been 
able to make rails as long as prices remained high, but, 
as the mills had not been specially designed for this 
purpose, they were without the indispensable blast fur- 
naces for the supply of pig iron, and had no coke lands 
for the supply of fuel. They were in no condition to 
compete with us. 

It was advantageous for us to purchase these works. 
I felt there was only one way we could deal with their 
owners, and that was to propose a consolidation with 
Carnegie Brothers & Co. We offered to do so on equal 
_ terms, every dollar they had invested to rank against our 
dollars. Upon this basis the negotiation was promptly 
concluded. We, however, gave to all parties the option 
to take cash, and most fortunately for us, all elected to 
do so except Mr. George Singer, who continued with 
us to his and our entire satisfaction. Mr. Singer told 
us afterwards that his associates had been greatly exer- 
cised as to how they could meet the proposition I was 


to lay before them. They were much afraid of being 
overreached but when I proposed equality all around, 
dollar for dollar, they were speechless. 

This purchase led to the reconstruction of all our 
firms. The new firm of Carnegie, Phipps & Co. was 
organized in 1886 to run the Homestead Mills. The 
firm of Wilson, Walker & Co. was embraced in the firm 
of Carnegie, Phipps & Co., Mr. Walker being elected 
chairman. My brother was chairman of Carnegie Broth- 
ers & Co. and at the head of all. A further extension of 
our business was the establishing of the Hartman Steel 
Works at Beaver Falls, designed to work into a hundred 
various forms the product of the Homestead Mills. So 
now we made almost everything in steel from a wire nail 
up to a twenty-inch steel girder, and it was then not 
thought probable that we should enter into any new 
field. , 

It may ke interesting here to note the progress of our 
works during the decade 1888 to 1897. In 1888 we had 
twenty millions of dollars invested; in 1897 more than 
double or over forty-five millions. The 600,000 tons of 
pig iron we made per annum in 1888 was trebled; we 
made nearly 2,000,000. Our product of iron and steel 
was in 1888, say, 2000 tons per day; it grew to exceed 
6000 tons. Our coke works then embraced about 5000 
ovens; they were trebled in number, and our capacity, 
then 6000 tons, became 18,000 tons per day. Our Frick 
Coke Company in 1897 had 42,000 acres of coal land, 
more than two thirds of the true Connellsville vein. 
Ten years hence increased production may be found to 
have been equally rapid. It may be accepted as an axiom 
that a manufacturing concern in a growing country like 
ours begins to decay when it stops extending. 

To make a ton of steel one and a half tons of iron 


stone has to be mined, transported by rail a hundred 
miles to the Lakes, carried by boat hundreds of miles, 
transferred to cars, transported by rail one hundred 
and fifty miles to Pittsburgh; one and a half tons of 
coal must be mined and manufactured into coke and 
carried fifty-odd miles by rail; and one ton of limestone 
mined and carried one hundred and fifty miles to Pitts- 
burgh. How then could steel be manufactured and sold 
without loss at three pounds for two cents? This, I con- 
fess, seemed to me incredible, and little less than mirac- 
ulous, but it was so. 

America is soon to change from being the dearest 
steel manufacturing country to the cheapest. Already 
the shipyards of Belfast are our customers. This 1s but 
the beginning. Under present conditions America can 
produce steel as cheaply as any other land, notwith- 
standing its higher-priced labor. There is no labor so 
cheap as the dearest in the mechanical field, provided 
it is free, contented, zealous, and reaping reward as it 
renders service. And here America leads. 

One great advantage which America will have in 
competing in the markets of the world is that her manu- 
facturers will have the best home market. Upon this 
they can depend for a return upon capital, and the 
surplus product can be exported with advantage, even 
when the prices received for it do not more than cover 
actual cost, provided the exports be charged with their 
proportion of all expenses. The nation that has the best 
home market, especially if products are standardized, 
as ours are, can soon outsell the foreign producer. The 
phrase I used in Britain in this connection was: “The 
Law of the Surplus.’ It afterward came into general use 
in commercial discussions. 


Wo upon the subject of our manufacturing 
interests, I may record that on July 1, 1892, dur- 
ing my absence in the Highlands of Scotland, there 
occurred the one really serious quarrel with our work- 
men in our whole history. For twenty-six years I had 
been actively in charge of the relations between our- 
selves and our men, and it was the pride of my life to 
think how delightfully satisfactory these had been and 
were. I hope I fully deserved what my chief partner, 
Mr. Phipps, said in his letter to the “‘ New York Herald,”’ 
January 30, 1904, in reply to one who had declared 
I had remained abroad during the Homestead strike, 
instead of flying back to support my partners. It was 
to the effect that “I was always disposed to yield to 
the demands of the men, however unreasonable’’; hence 
one or two of my partners did not wish me to return.! 
Taking no account of the reward that comes from feel- 

1 The full statement of Mr. Phipps is as follows: 

Question: “‘It was stated that Mr. Carnegie acted in a cowardly manner 
in not returning to America from Scotland and being present when the strike 
was in progress at Homestead.” 

Answer: ‘‘When Mr. Carnegie heard of the trouble at Homestead he 
immediately wired that he would take the first ship for America, but his 
partners begged him not to appear, as they were of the opinion that the 
welfare of the Company required that he should not be in this country at 
the time. They knew of his extreme disposition to always grant the de- 
mands of labor, however unreasonable. 

“‘T have never known of any one interested in the business to make any 
complaint about Mr. Carnegie’s absence at that time, but all the partners 
rejoiced that they were permitted to manage the affair in their own way.” 
(Henry Phipps in the New York Herald, January 30, 1904.) 


ing that you and your employees are friends and judg- 
ing only from economical results, I believe that higher 
wages to men who respect their employers and are happy 
and contented are a good investment, yielding, indeed, 
big dividends. 

The manufacture of steel was revolutionized by the 
Bessemer open-hearth and basic inventions. The ma- 
chinery hitherto employed had become obsolete, and 
our firm, recognizing this, spent several millions at Home- 
stead reconstructing and enlarging the works. The new 
machinery made about sixty per cent more steel than 
the old. Two hundred and eighteen tonnage men (that 
is, men who were paid by the ton of steel produced) 
were working under a three years’ contract, part of the 
last year being with the new machinery. Thus their earn- 
ings had increased almost sixty per cent before the end 
of the contract. 

The firm offered to divide this sixty per cent with 
them in the new scale to be made thereafter. That is to 
say, the earnings of the men would have been thirty 
per cent greater than under the old scale and the other 
thirty per cent would have gone to the firm to recom- 
pense it for its outlay. The work of the men would not 
have been much harder than it had been hitherto, as 
the improved machinery did the work. This was not 
only fair and liberal, it was generous, and under ordi- 
nary circumstances would have been accepted by the 
men with thanks. But the firm was then engaged in 
making armor for the United States Government, which 
we had declined twice to manufacture and which was 
urgently needed. It had also the contract to furnish 
material for the Chicago Exhibition. Some of the leaders 
of the men, knowing these conditions, insisted upon de- 
manding the whole sixty per cent, thinking the firm 


would be compelled to give it. The firm could not agree, 
nor should it have agreed to such an attempt as this to 
take it by the throat and say, “Stand and deliver.” It 
very rightly declined. Had I been at home nothing 
would have induced me to yield to this unfair attempt 
to extort. 

Up to this point all had been right enough. The pol- 
icy I had pursued in cases of difference with our men 
was that of patiently waiting, reasoning with them, 
and showing them that their demands were unfair; but 
never attempting to employ new men in their places — 
never. The superintendent of Homestead, however, was 
assured by the three thousand men who were not con- 
cerned in the dispute that they could run the works, and 
were anxious to rid themselves of the two hundred 
and eighteen men who had banded themselves into a 
union and into which they had hitherto refused to admit 
those in other departments — only the “‘heaters”’ and 
“‘rollers”’ of steel being eligible. 

My partners were misled by this superintendent, who 
was himself misled. He had not had great experience in 
such affairs, having recently been promoted from a sub- 
ordinate position. The unjust demands of the few union 
men, and the opinion of the three thousand non-union 
men that they were unjust, very naturally led him 
into thinking there would be no trouble and that the 
workmen would do as they had promised. There were 
many men among the three thousand who could take, 
and wished to take, the places of the two hundred and 
eighteen — at least so it was reported to me. 

It is easy to look back and say that the vital step of 
opening the works should never have been taken. All 
the firm had to do was to say to the men: “There is a 
labor dispute here and you must settle it between your- 


selves. The firm has made you a most liberal offer. The 
works will run when the dispute is adjusted, and not 
till then. Meanwhile your places remain open to you.”’ 
Or, it might have been well if the superintendent had 
said to the three thousand men, “All right, if you will 
come and run the works without protection,” thus 
throwing upon them the responsibility of protecting 
themselves — three thousand men as against two hun- 
dred and eighteen. Instead of this it was thought advis- 
able (as an additional precaution by the state officials, 
I understand) to have the sheriff with guards to protect 
the thousands against the hundreds. The leaders of the 
latter were violent and aggressive men; they had guns 
and pistols, and, as was soon proved, were able to in- 
timidate the thousands. 

I quote what I once laid down in writing as our rule: 
“My idea is that the Company should be known as 
determined to let the men at any works stop work; that 
it will confer freely with them and wait patiently until 
they decide to return to work, never thinking of trying 
new men — never.”’ The best men as men, and the best 
workmen, are not walking the streets looking for work. 
Only the inferior class as a rule is idle. The kind of men 
we desired are rarely allowed to lose their jobs, even in 
dull times. It is impossible to get new men to run suc- 
cessfully the complicated machinery of a modern steel 
plant. The attempt to put in new men converted the 
thousands of old men who desired to work, into luke- 
warm supporters of our policy, for workmen can always 
be relied upon to resent the employment of new men. 
Who can blame them? 

If I had been at home, however, I might have been 
persuaded to open the works, as the superintendent de- 
sired, to test whether our old men would go to work as 


‘they had promised. But it should be noted that the 
works were not opened at first by my partners for new 
men. On the contrary, it was, as I was informed upon 
my return, at the wish of the thousands of our old men 
that they were opened. This is a vital point. My partners 
were in no way blamable for making the trial so recom- 
mended by the superintendent. Our rule never to em- 
ploy new men, but to wait for the old to return, had 
not been violated so far. In regard to the second opening 
of the works, after the strikers had shot the sheriff’s 
officers, it is also easy to look back and say, ““How much 
better had the works been closed until the old men voted 
to return’; but the Governor of Pennsylvania, with 
eight thousand troops, had meanwhile taken charge of 
the situation. 

I was traveling in the Highlands of Scotland when the 
trouble arose, and did not hear of it until two days after. 
Nothing I have ever had to meet in all my life, before 
or since, wounded me so deeply. No pangs remain of © 
any wound received in my business career save that of 
Homestead. It was so unnecessary. The men were out- 
rageously wrong. The strikers, with the new machinery, 
would have made from four to nine dollars a day under. 
the new scale — thirty per cent more than they were 
making with the old machinery. While in Scotland I 
received the following cable from the officers of the 
union of our workmen: 

“Kind master, tell us what you wish us to do and we 
shall do it for you.” 

This was most touching, but, alas, too late. The mis- 
chief was done, the works were in the hands of the 
Governor; it was too late. 

I received, while abroad, numerous kind messages 
from friends conversant with the circumstances, who 


imagined my unhappiness. The following from Mr. 
Gladstone was greatly appreciated: 

My pear Mr. CARNEGIE, 

My wite has long ago offered her thanks, with my own, 
for your most kind congratulations. But I do not forget that 
you have been suffering yourself from anxieties, and have 
been exposed to imputations in connection with your gallant 
efforts to direct rich men into a course of action more en- 
lightened than that which they usually follow. I wish I could 
relieve you from these imputations of journalists, too often 
rash, conceited or censorious, rancorous, ill-natured. I wish 
to do the little, the very little, that is in my power, which is 
simply to say how sure I am that no one who knows you will 
be prompted by the unfortunate occurrences across the water 
(of which manifestly we cannot know the exact merits) to 
qualify in the slightest degree either his confidence in your 
generous views or his admiration of the good and great 
work you have already done. 

Wealth is at present like a monster threatening to swallow 
up the moral life of man; you by precept and by example 
have been teaching him to disgorge. I for one thank you. 

Believe me 

Very faithfully yours 
(Signed) W. E. GLADSTONE 

I insert this as giving proof, if proof were needed, 
of Mr. Gladstone’s large, sympathetic nature, alive 
and sensitive to everything transpiring of a nature to 
arouse sympathy — Neapolitans, Greeks, and Bulga- 
rians one day, or a stricken friend the next. 

The general public, of course, did not know that I 
was in Scotland and knew nothing of the initial trouble 
at Homestead. Workmen had been killed at the Carne- 
gie Works, of which I was the controlling owner. That 
was sufficient to make my name a by-word for years. 
But at last some satisfaction came. Senator Hanna was 


president of the National Civic Federation, a body com- 
posed of capitalists and workmen which exerted a benign 
influence over both employers and employed, and the 
Honorable Oscar Straus, who was then vice-president, 
invited me to dine at his house and meet the officials of 
the Federation. Before the date appointed Mark Hanna, 
its president, my lifelong friend and former agent at 
Cleveland, had suddenly passed away. I attended the 
dinner. At its close Mr. Straus arose and said that the 
question of a successor to Mr. Hanna had been consid- 
ered, and he had to report that every labor organization 
heard from had favored me for the position. There were 
present several of the labor leaders who, one after 
- another, arose and corroborated Mr. Straus. 

I do not remember so complete a surprise and, I shall 
confess, one so grateful to me. That I deserved well from 
labor I felt. I knew myself to be warmly sympathetic 
with the working-man, and also that I had the regard 
of our own workmen; but throughout the country it 
was naturally the reverse, owing to the Homestead riot. ’ 
The Carnegie Works meant to the public Mr. Carnegie’s 
war upon labor’s just earnings. 

I arose to explain to the officials at the Straus dinner 
that I could not possibly accept the great honor, because 
I had to escape the heat of summer and the head of the 
Federation must be on hand at all seasons ready to grap- 
ple with an outbreak, should one occur. My embarrass- 
ment was great, but I managed to let all understand 
that this was felt to be the most welcome tribute I could 
have received — a balm to the hurt mind. I closed by 
saying that if elected to my lamented friend’s place 
upon the Executive Committee I should esteem it an 
honor to serve. To this position I was elected by unani- 
mous vote. I was thus relieved from the feeling that I 


was considered responsible by labor generally, for the 
Homestead riot and the killing of workmen. 

I owe this vindication to Mr. Oscar Straus, who had 
read my articles and speeches of early days upon labor 
questions, and who had quoted these frequently to 
workmen. The two labor leaders of the Amalgamated 
Union, White and Schaeffer from Pittsburgh, who were 
at this dinner, were also able and anxious to enlighten 
their fellow-workmen members of the Board as to my 
record with labor, and did not fail to do so. 

A mass meeting of the workmen and their wives was 
afterwards held in the Library Hall at Pittsburgh to 
greet me, and I addressed them from both my head and 
my heart. The one sentence I remember, and always 
shall, was to the effect that capital, labor, and employer 
were a three-legged stool, none before or after the 
others, all equally indispensable. Then came the cordial 
hand-shaking and all was well. Having thus rejoined 
hands and hearts with our employees and their wives, 
I felt that a great weight had been effectually lifted, but 
I had had a terrible experience although thousands of 
miles from the scene. 

An incident flowing from the Homestead trouble is 
told by my friend, Professor John C. Van Dyke, of 
Rutgers College. 

In the spring of 1900, I went up from Guaymas, on the Gulf 
of California, to the ranch of a friend at La Noria Verde, 
thinking to have a week’s shooting in the mountains of 
Sonora. The ranch was far enough removed from civilization, 
and I had expected meeting there only a few Mexicans and 
many Yaqui Indians, but much to my surprise I found an 
English-speaking man, who proved to be an American. I 
did not have long to wait in order to find out what brought 
him there, for he was very lonesome and disposed to talk. 
His name was McLuckie, and up to 1892 he had been a skilled 


mechanic in the employ of the Carnegie Steel Works at 
Homestead. He was what was called a “top hand,” received 
large wages, was married, and at that time had a home and 
considerable property. In addition, he had been honored by 
his fellow-townsmen and had been made burgomaster of 

When the strike of 1892 came McLuckie naturally sided 
with the strikers, and in his capacity as burgomaster gave 
the order to arrest the Pinkerton detectives who had come 
to Homestead by steamer to protect the works and preserve 
order. He believed he was fully justified in doing this. As he 
explained it to me, the detectives were an armed force invad- 
ing his bailiwick, and he had a right to arrest and disarm 
them. The order led to bloodshed, and the conflict was begun 
in real earnest. 

The story of the strike is, of course, well known to all. The 
strikers were finally defeated. As for McLuckie, he was in- 
dicted for murder, riot, treason, and I know not what other 
offenses. He was compelled to flee from the State, was 
wounded, starved, pursued by the officers of the law, and 
obliged to go into hiding until the storm blew over. Then he 
found that he was blacklisted by all the steel men in the 
United States and could not get employment anywhere. 
His money was gone, and, as a final blow, his wife died and his 
home was broken up. After many vicissitudes he resolved to 
go to Mexico, and at the time I met him he was trying to get 
employment in the mines about fifteen miles from La Noria 
Verde. But he was too good a mechanic for the Mexicans, 
who required in mining the cheapest kind of unskilled peon 
labor. He could get nothing to do and had no money. He was 
literally down to his last copper. Naturally, as he told the 
story of his misfortunes, I felt very sorry for him, especially 
as he was a most intelligent person and did no unnecessary 
whining about his troubles. 

I do not think I told him at the time that I knew Mr. 
Carnegie and had been with him at Cluny in Scotland shortly 
after the Homestead strike, nor that I knew from Mr. Carne- 
gie the other side of the story. But McLuckie was rather 
careful not to blame Mr. Carnegie, saying to me several times 
that if ““Andy” had been there the trouble would never have 



arisen. He seemed to think “the boys” could get on very 
well with “Andy” but not so well with some of his partners. 

I was at the ranch for a week and saw a good deal of Mc- 
Luckie in the evenings. When I left there, I went directly 
to Tucson, Arizona, and from there I had occasion to write to 
Mr. Carnegie, and in the letter I told him about meeting 
with McLuckie. I added that I felt very sorry for the man 
and thought he had been treated rather badly. Mr. Carnegie 
answered at once, and on the margin of the letter wrote in 
lead pencil: “‘Give McLuckie all the money he wants, but 
don’t mention my name.” I wrote to McLuckie immediately, 
offering him what money he needed, mentioning no sum, but 
giving him to understand that it would be sufficient to put 
him on his feet again. He declined it. He said he would fight 
it out and make his own way, which was the right-enough 
American spirit. I could not help but admire it in him. 

As I remember now, I spoke about him later to a friend, 
Mr. J. A. Naugle, the general manager of the Sonora Rail- 
way. At any rate, McLuckie got a job with the railway at 
driving wells, and made a great success of it. A year later, 
or perhaps it was in the autumn of the same year, I again 
met him at Guaymas, where he was superintending some 
repairs on his machinery at the railway shops. He was much 
changed for the better, seemed happy, and to add to his con- 
tentment, had taken unto himself a Mexican wife. And now . 
that his sky was cleared, I was anxious to tell him the truth 
about my offer that he might not think unjustly of those who 
had been compelled to fight him. So before I left him, I said, 

*McLuckie, I want you to know now that the money I of- 
fered you was not mine. That was Andrew Carnegie’s money. 
It was his offer, made through me.” 

McLuckie was fairly stunned, and all he could say was: 

“Well, that was damned white of Andy, was n’t it?” 

I would rather risk that verdict of McLuckie’s as a 
passport to Paradise than all the theological dogmas in- 
vented by man. I knew McLuckie well as a good fellow. 
It was said his property in Homestead was worth thirty 
thousand dollars, He was under arrest for the shooting 


of the police officers because he was the burgomaster, 
and also the chairman of the Men’s Committee of 
Homestead. He had to fly, leaving all behind him. 

After this story got into print, the following skit ap- 
peared in the newspapers because I had declared I’d 
rather have McLuckie’s few words on my tombstone 
than any other inscription, for it indicated I had been 
kind to one of our workmen: 



Oh! hae ye heared what Andy’s spiered to hae upo’ his tomb, 

When a’ his gowd is gie’n awa an’ Death has sealed his doom! 

Nae Scriptur’ line wi’ tribute fine that dealers aye keep handy, 

But juist this irreleegious screed — “That’s damned white of 

The gude Scot laughs at epitaphs that are but meant to flatter, 
But never ane was sae profane, an’ that’s nae laughin’ matter. 
Yet, gin he gies his siller all awa, mon, he’s a dandy, 

An’ we’ll admit his right to it, for “That’s damned white of Andy!” 

There’s not to be a “big, big D,” an’ then a dash thereafter, 

For Andy would na spoil the word by trying to make it safter; 

He’s not the lad to juggle terms, or soothing speech to bandy. 

A blunt, straightforward mon is he — an’ “‘That’s damned white of 

Sae when he’s deid, we’ll gie good heed, an’ write it as he askit; 

We'll carve it on his headstone an’ we’ll stamp it on his casket: 

“Wha dees rich, dees disgraced,” says he, an’ sure’s my name is 

°T wull be nae rich man that he’ll dee — an’ “‘ That’s damned white 
of Andy!’ ! 

1 Mr. Carnegie was very fond of this story because, being human, he was 
fond of applause and, being a Robert Burns radical, he preferred the ap- 
plause of Labor to that of Rank. That one of his men thought he had acted 
“white” pleased him beyond measure, He stopped short with that tribute 


and never asked, never knew, why or how the story happened to be told. 
Perhaps this is the time and place to tell the story of the story. 

Sometime in 1901 over a dinner table in New York, I heard a statement 
regarding Mr. Carnegie that he never gave anything without the require- 
ment that his name be attached to the gift. The remark came from a 
prominent man who should have known he was talking nonsense. It rather 
angered me. I denied the statement, saying that I, personally, had given 
away money for Mr. Carnegie that only he and I knew about, and that he 
had given many thousands im this way through others. By way of illustra- 
tion I told the story about McLuckie. A Pittsburgh man at the table car- 
ried the story back to Pittsburgh, told it there, and it finally got into the 
newspapers. Of course the argument of the story, namely, that Mr. Car- 
negie sometimes gave without publicity, was lost sight of and only the 
refrain, “It was damned white of Andy,” remained. Mr. Carnegie never 
knew that there was an argument. He liked the refrain. Some years after- 
ward at Skibo (1906), when he was writing this Autobiography, he asked 
me if I would not write out the story for him. I did so. I am now glad of 
the chance to write an explanatory note about it... . John C. Van Dyke. 


SHOULD like to record here some of the labor dis- 
putes I have had to deal with, as these may point a 
- moral to both capital and labor. 

The workers at the blast furnaces in our steel-rail 
works once sent in a “ round-robin ”’ stating that unless 
the firm gave them an advance of wages by. Monday 
afternoon at four o’clock they would leave the furnaces. 
Now, the scale upon which these men had agreed to 
work did not lapse until the end of the year, several 
months off. I felt if men would break an agreement 
there was no use in making a second agreement with 
them, but nevertheless I took the night train from New 
York and was at the works early in the morning. 

I asked the superintendent to call together the three 
committees which governed the works — not only the 
blast-furnace committee that was alone involved, but 
the mill and the converting works committees as well. 
They appeared and, of course, were received by me with | 
great courtesy, not because it was good policy to be 
courteous, but because I have always enjoyed meeting 
our men. I am bound to say that the more I know of 
working-men the higher I rate their virtues. But it is 
with them as Barrie says with women: “ Dootless the 
Lord made a’ things weel, but he left some michty queer 
kinks in women.”’ They have their prejudices and “red 
rags,’ which have to be respected, for the main root of 
trouble is ignorance, not hostility. The committee sat 
in a semicircle before me, all with their hats off, of 



course, as mine was also; and really there was the ap- 
pearance of a model assembly. . 

Addressing the chairman of the mill committee, I said: 

Mr. Mackay” (he was an old gentleman and wore 
spectacles), “have we an agreement with you covering 
the remainder of the year?”’ 

Taking the spectacles off slowly, and holding them in 
his hand, he said: 

“Yes, sir, you have, Mr. Carnegie, and you have n’t 
got enough money to make us break it either.” 

“There spoke the true American workman,” I said. 
“T am proud of you.” 

“Mr. Johnson”? (who was chairman of the rail con- 
verters’ committee), “have we a similar agreement 
with you?”’ 

Mr. Johnson was a small, spare man; he spoke very 
deliberately : 

“Mr. Carnegie, when an agreement is presented to 
me to sign, I read it carefully, and if it don’t suit me, I 
don’t sign it, and if it does suit me, I do sign it, and 
when I sign it I keep it.”’ 

“There again speaks the self-respecting American 
workman,” I said. 

Turning now to the chairman of the blast-furnaces 
committee, an Irishman named Kelly, I addressed the 
same question to him: 

“Mr. Kelly, have we an agreement with you cover- 
ing the remainder of this year?” 

Mr. Kelly answered that he could n’t say exactly. 
There was a paper sent round and he signed it, but 
did n’t read it over carefully, and did n’t understand 
just what was in it. At this moment our superintendent, 
Captain Jones, excellent manager, but impulsive, ex- 
claimed abruptly: 


“Now, Mr. Kelly, you know I read that over twice 
and discussed it with you!” | | 

‘Order, order, Captain! Mr. Kelly is entitled to give 
his explanation. I sign many a paper that I do not read 
— documents our lawyers and partners present to me 
to sign. Mr. Kelly states that he signed this document 
under such circumstances and his statement must be 
received. But, Mr. Kelly, I have always found that the 
best way is to carry out the provisions of the agreement 
one signs carelessly and resolve to be more careful next 
time. Would it not be better for you to continue four 
months longer under this agreement, and then, when 
- you sign the next one, see that you understand it?” 

There was no answer to this, and I arose and said: 

“Gentlemen of the Blast-Furnace Committee, you 
have threatened our firm that you will break your agree- 
ment and that you will leave these blast furnaces (which 
means disaster) unless you get a favorable answer to 
your threat by four o’clock to-day. It is not yet three, 
but your answer is ready. You may leave the blast fur- 
naces. The grass will grow around them before we yield 
to your threat. The worst day that labor has ever seen 
in this world is that day in which it dishonors itself by 
breaking its agreement. You have your answer.” 

The committee filed out slowly and there was silence 
among the partners. A stranger who was coming in on 
business met the committee in the passage and he re- 

*“As I came in, a man wearing spectacles pushed up 
alongside of an Irishman he called Kelly, and he said: 
“You fellows might just as well understand it now as 
later. There’s to be no d——d monkeying round these 
works.’ ”’ 

That meant business. Later we heard from one of our 


clerks what took place at the furnaces. Kelly and his 
committee marched down to them. Of course, the men 
were waiting and watching for the committee and a 
crowd had gathered. When the furnaces were reached, 
Kelly called out to them: 

“Get to work, you spalpeens, what are you doing 
here? Begorra, the little boss just hit from the shoulder. 
He won't fight, but he says he has sat down, and begorra, 
we all know he'll be a skeleton afore he rises. Get to 
work, ye spalpeens.”’ 

The Irish and Scotch-Irish are queer, but the easiest 
and best fellows to get on with, if you only know how. 
That man Kelly was my stanch friend and admirer ever 
afterward, and he was before that one of our most vio- 
lent men. My experience is that you can always rely 
upon the great body of working-men to do what is right, 
provided they have not taken up a position and prom- 
ised their leaders to stand by them. But their loyalty 
to their leaders even when mistaken, is something to 
make us proud of them. Anything can be done with 
men who have this feeling of loyalty within them. They 
only need to be treated fairly. 

The way a strike was once broken at our steel-rail 
mills is interesting. Here again, I am sorry to say, one 
hundred and thirty-four men in one department had 
bound themselves under secret oath to demand in- 
creased wages at the end of the year, several months 
away. The new year proved very unfavorable for busi- 
ness, and other iron and steel manufacturers throughout 
the country had effected reductions in wages. Never- 
theless, these men, having secretly sworn months pre- 
viously that they would not work unless they got in- 
creased wages, thought themselves bound to insist upon 
their demands. We could not advance wages when our 


competitors were reducing them, and the works were 
stopped in consequence. Every department of the works 
was brought to a stand by these strikers. The blast fur- 
naces were abandoned a day or two before the time | 
agreed upon, and we were greatly troubled in conse- 

I went to Pittsburgh and was surprised to find the 
furnaces had been banked, contrary to agreement. I 
was to meet the men in the morning upon arrival at 
Pittsburgh, but a message was sent to me from the 
works stating that the men had “left the furnaces and 
would meet me to-morrow.” Here was a nice reception! 
My reply was: 

“No they won't. Tell them I atl not be here to- 
morrow. Anybody can stop work; the trick is to start it 
again. Some fine day these men will want the works 
started and will be looking around for somebody who 
can start them, and I will tell them then just what I do 
now: that the works will never start except upon a 
sliding scale based upon the prices we get for our prod- 
ucts. That scale will last three years and it will not be 
submitted by the men. They have submitted many 
scales to us. It is our turn now, and we are going to sub- 
mit a scale to them. 

“Now,” I said to my partners, “I am going back to 
New York in the afternoon. Nothing more is to be done.” 

A short time after my message was received by the 
men they asked if they could come in and see me that 
afternoon before I left. 

I answered: “‘Certainly!”’ 

They came in and I said to them: 

“Gentlemen, your chairman here, Mr. Bennett, as- 
sured you that I would make my appearance and settle 
with you in some way or other, as I always have settled. 


That is true. And he told you that I would not fight, 
which is also true. He is a true prophet. But he told you 
something else in which he was slightly mistaken. He 
said I could not fight. Gentlemen,”’ looking Mr. Bennett 
straight in the eye and closing and raising my fist, ““he 
forgot that I was Scotch. But I will tell you something; 
I will never fight you. I know better than to fight labor. 
I will not fight, but I can beat any committee that was 
ever made at sitting down, and I have sat down. These 
works will never start until the men vote by a two- 
thirds majority to start them, and then, as I told you 
this morning, they will start on our Suan scale. I have 
nothing more to say.” 

They retired. It was about two weeks afterwards that 
one of the house servants came to my library in New 
York with a card, and I found upon it the names of two 
of our workmen, and also the name of a reverend gentle- 
man. The men said they were from the works at Pitts- 
burgh and would like to see me. 

** Ask if either of these gentlemen belongs to the blast- 
furnace workers who banked the furnaces contrary to 

The man returned and said “No.” I replied: “In that 
case go down and tell them that I shall be pleased to 
have them come up.” 

Of course they were received with genuine warmth and 
cordiality and we sat and talked about New York, for 
some time, this being their first visit. 

“Mr. Carnegie, we really came to talk about the 
trouble at the works,” the minister said at last. 

*“Oh, indeed!’’ I answered. “‘Have the men voted?” 

“No,” he said. 

My rejoinder was: 

**You will have to excuse me from entering upon that 


subject; I said I never would discuss it until they voted 
by a two-thirds majority to start the mills. Gentlemen, 
you have never seen New York. Let me take you out 
and show you Fifth Avenue and the Park, and we shall 
come back here to lunch at half-past one.”’ 

This we did, talking about everything except the one 
thing that they wished to talk about. We had a good 
time, and I know they enjoyed their lunch. There is one 
great difference between the American working-man 
and the foreigner. The American is a man; he sits down 
at lunch with people as if he were (as he generally is) a 
gentleman born. It is splendid. 

They returned to Pittsburgh, not another word hay- 
ing been said about the works. But the men soon voted 
(there were very few votes against starting) and I went 
again to Pittsburgh. I laid before the committee the 
scale under which they were to work. It was a sliding 
scale based on the price of the product. Such a scale 
really makes capital and labor partners, sharing pros- 
perous and disastrous times together. Of course it has a 
minimum, so that the men are always sure of living 
wages. As the men had seen these scales, it was unneces- 
sary to go over them. The chairman said: 

“Mr. Carnegie, we will agree to everything. And 
now, he said hesitatingly, ““we have one favor to ask 
of you, and we hope you will not refuse it.”’ 

‘Well, gentlemen, if it be reasonable I shall surely 
grant it.” 

‘Well, it is this: That you permit the officers of the 
union to sign these papers for the men.” 

“Why, certainly, gentlemen! With the greatest pleas- 
ure! And then I have a small favor to ask of you, which 
I hope you will not refuse, as I have granted yours. 
Just to please me, after the officers have signed, let 


every workman sign also for himself. You see, Mr. 
Bennett, this scale lasts for three years, and some man, 
or body of men, might dispute whether your president 
of the union had authority to bind them for so long, but 
if we have his signature also, there cannot be any mis- 
understanding. ”’ 

There was a pause; then one man at his side whis- 
pered to Mr. Bennett (but I heard him perfectly): 

“By golly, the jig’s up!” 

So it was, but it was not by direct attack, but by a 
flank movement. Had I not allowed the union officers to 
sign, they would have had a grievance and an excuse for 
war. As it was, having allowed them to do so, how could 
they refuse so simple a request as mine, that each free 
and independent American citizen should also sign for 
himself. My recollection is that as a matter of fact the 
officers of the union never signed, but they may have 
done so. Why should they, if every man’s signature was 
required? Besides this, the workmen, knowing that the 
union could do nothing for them when the scale was 
adopted, neglected to pay dues and the union was de- 
serted. We never heard of it again. [That was in 1889, 
now twenty-seven years ago. The scale has never been 
changed. The men would not change it if they could; it 
works for their benefit, as I told them it would.] 

Of all my services rendered to labor the introduction 
of the sliding scale is chief. It is the solution of the capi- 
tal and labor problem, because it really makes them 
partners — alike in prosperity and adversity. There 
was a yearly scale in operation in the Pittsburgh dis- 
trict in the early years, but it is not a good plan because 
men and employers at once begin preparing for a strug- 
gle which is almost certain to come. It is far better for 
both employers and employed to set no date for an 


agreed-upon scale to end. It should be subject to six 
months’ or a year’s notice on either side, and in that 
way might and probably would run on for years. 

To show upon what trifles a contest between capital 
and labor may turn, let me tell of two instances which 
were amicably settled by mere incidents of seemingly 
little consequence. Once when I went out to meet a 
men’s committee, which had in our opinion made un- 
fair demands, I was informed that they were influenced 
by a man who secretly owned a drinking saloon, al- 
though working in the mills. He was a great bully. The 
sober, quiet workmen were afraid of him, and the drink- 
ing men were his debtors. He was the real instigator of 

~ the movement. 

We met in the usual friendly fashion. I was glad to see 
the men, many of whom I had long known and could 
call by name. When we sat down at the table the 
leader’s seat was at one end and mine at the other. We 
therefore faced each other. After I had laid our proposi- 
tion before the meeting, I saw the leader pick up his hat 
from the floor and slowly put it on his head, intimating 
that he was about to depart. Here was my chance. 

“Sir, you are in the presence of gentlemen! Please be 
so good as to take your hat off or leave the room!” 

My eyes were kept full upon him. There was a silence 
that could be felt. The great bully hesitated, but I knew 
whatever he did, he was beaten. If he left 1t was because 
he had treated the meeting discourteously by keeping 
his hat on, he was no gentleman; if he remained and 
took off his hat, he had been crushed by the rebuke. I 
did n’t care which course he took. He had only two and 
either of them was fatal. He had delivered himself into 
my hands. He very slowly took off the hat and put it on 
the floor. Not a word did he speak thereafter in that 


conference. I was told afterward that he had to leave 
the place. The men rejoiced in the episode and a settle- 
ment was harmoniously effected. 

When the three years’ scale was proposed to the men, 
a committee of sixteen was chosen by them to confer 
with us. Little progress was made at first, and I an- 
nounced my engagements compelled me to return the 
next day to New York. Inquiry was made as to whether 
we would meet a committee of thirty-two, as the men 
wished others added to the committee — a sure sign of 
division in their ranks. Of course we agreed. The com- 
mittee came from the works to meet me at the office in 
Pittsburgh. The proceedings were opened by one of our 
best men, Billy Edwards (I remember him well; he rose 
to high position afterwards), who thought that the total 
offered was fair, but that the scale was not equable. 
Some departments were all right, others were not 
fairly dealt with. Most of the men were naturally of 
this opinion, but when they came to indicate the under- 
paid, there was a difference, as was to be expected. No 
two men in the different departments could agree. Billy 

“Mr. Carnegie, we agree that the total sum per 
ton to be paid is fair, but we think it is not properly 
distributed among us. Now, Mr. Carnegie, you take my 
job —” 

“Order, order!’’ I cried. “None of that, Billy. Mr. 
Carnegie ‘takes no man’s job.’ Taking another’s job is 
an unpardonable offense among high-classed workmen.” 

There was loud laughter, followed by applause, and 
then more laughter. I laughed with them. We had 
scored on Billy. Of course the dispute was soon settled. 
It is not solely, often it is not chiefly, a matter of dol- 
lars with workmen. Appreciation, kind treatment, a fair 


deal — these are often the potent forces with the 
American workmen. 

Employers can do so many desirable things for their 
men at little cost. At one meeting when I asked what 
we could do for them, I remember this same Billy Ed- 
wards rose and said that most of the men had to run in 
debt to the storekeepers because they were paid monthly. 
Well I remember his words: 

“T have a good woman for wife who manages well. 
We go into Pittsburgh every fourth Saturday afternoon 
and buy our supplies wholesale for the next month and 
save one third. Not many of your men can do this. 
Shopkeepers here charge so much. And another thing, 
they charge very high for coal. If you paid your men 
every two weeks, instead of monthly, it would be as good 
for the careful men as a raise in wages of ten per cent or 
more.” | 

“Mr. Edwards, that shall be done,” I replied. 

It involved increased labor and a few more clerks, but 
that was a small matter. The remark about high prices 
charged set me to thinking why the men could not open 
a codperative store. This was also arranged — the firm 
agreeing to pay the rent of the building, but insisting 
that the men themselves take the stock and manage it. 
Out of that came the Braddock’s Codperative Society, 
a valuable institution for many reasons, not the least 
of them that it pe the men that business had its 

The coal trouble was cured effectively by our agree- 
ing that the company sell all its men coal at the net 
cost price to us (about half of what had been charged 
by coal dealers, so I was told) and arranging to deliver 
it at the men’s houses — the buyer paying only actual 
cost of cartage. 


There was another matter. We found that the men’s 
savings caused them anxiety, for little faith have the 
prudent, saving men in banks and, unfortunately, our 
Government at that time did not follow the British 
in having post-office deposit banks. We offered to take 
the actual savings of each workman, up to two thousand 
dollars, and pay six per cent interest upon them, to en- 
courage thrift. Their money was kept separate from the 
business, in a trust fund, and lent to such as wished to 
build homes for themselves. I consider this one of the 
best things that can be done for the saving workman. 

It was such concessions as these that proved the most 
profitable investments ever made by the company, 
even from an economical standpoint. It pays to go be- 
yond the letter of the bond with your men. Two of my 
partners, as Mr. Phipps has put it, “knew my extreme 
disposition to always grant the demands of labor, how- 
ever unreasonable,” but looking back upon my failing 
in this respect, I wish it had been greater — much 
greater. No expenditure returned such dividends as 
the friendship of our workmen. 

We soon had a body of workmen, I truly believe, 
wholly unequaled — the best workmen and the best 
men ever drawn together. Quarrels and strikes became 
things of the past. Had the Homestead men been our 
own old men, instead of men we had to pick up, it is 
scarcely possible that the trouble there in 1892 could 
have arisen. The scale at the steel-rail mills, introduced 
in 1889, has been running up to the present time (1914), 
and I think there never has been a labor grievance at 
the works since. The men, as I have already stated, dis- 
solved their old union because there was no use paying 
dues to a union when the men themselves had a three 
years’ contract. Although their labor union is dissolved 


another and a better one has taken its place — a cordial 
union between the employers and their men, the best 
union of all for both parties. 

It is for the interest of the employer that his men 
shall make good earnings and have steady work. The 
sliding scale enables the company to meet the market; 
and sometimes to take orders and keep the works run- 
ning, which is the main thing for the working-men. 
High wages are well enough, but they are not to be 
compared with steady employment. The Edgar Thom- 
son Mills are, in my opinion, the ideal works in respect 
to the relations of capital and labor. I am told the men 
in our day, and even to this day (1914) prefer two to 
three turns, but three turns are sure to come. Labor’s 
hours are to be shortened as we progress. Eight hours 
will be the rule — eight for work, eight for sleep, and 
eight for rest and recreation. 

There have been many incidents in my business life 
proving that labor troubles are not solely founded upon 
wages. I believe the best preventive of quarrels to be 
recognition of, and sincere interest in, the men, satisfying — 
them that you really care for them and that you rejoice 
in their success. This I can sincerely say — that I al- 
ways enjoyed my conferences with our workmen, which 
were not always in regard to wages, and that the better 
I knew the men the more I liked them. They have usu- 
ally two virtues to the employer’s one, and they are 
certainly more generous to each other. 

Labor is usually helpless against capital. The em- 
ployer, perhaps, decides to shut up the shops; he ceases 
to make profits for a short time. There is no change in 
his habits, food, clothing, pleasures — no agonizing fear 
of want. Contrast this with his workman whose lessen- 
ing means of subsistence torment him. He has few com- 


forts, scarcely the necessities for his wife and children 
in health, and for the sick little ones no proper treatment. 
It is not capital we need to guard, but helpless labor. If 
I returned to business to-morrow, fear of labor troubles 
would not enter my mind, but tenderness for poor and 
sometimes misguided though well-meaning laborers 
would fill my heart and soften it; and thereby soften 

Upon my return to Pittsburgh in 1892, after the 
Homestead trouble, I went to the works and met many 
of the old men who had not been concerned in the riot. 
They expressed the opinion that if I had been at home 
the strike would never have happened. I told them that 
the company had offered generous terms and beyond its 
offer I should not have gone; that before their cable 
reached me in Scotland, the Governor of the State had 
appeared on the scene with troops and wished the law 
vindicated; that the question had then passed out of 
my partners’ hands. I added: 

“You were badly advised. My partners’ offer should 
have been accepted. It was very generous. I don’t know 
that I would have offered so much.” 

To this one of the rollers said to me: 

“Oh, Mr. Carnegie, it was n’t a question of dollars. 
The boys would have let you kick ’em, but they would 
n’t let that other man stroke their hair.”’ 

So much does sentiment count for in the practical 
affairs of life, even with the laboring classes. This is not 
generally believed by those who do not know them, but 
I am certain that disputes about wages do not account 
for one half the disagreements between capital and 
labor. There is lack of due appreciation and of kind 
treatment of employees upon the part of the employers. 

Suits had been entered against many of the strikers, 


but upon my return these were promptly dismissed. All 
the old men who remained, and had not been guilty of 
violence, were taken back. I had cabled from Scotland 
urging that Mr. Schwab be sent back to Homestead. He 
had been only recently promoted to the Edgar Thomson 
Works. He went back, and “Charlie,”’ as he was affec- 
tionately called, soon restored order, peace, and har- 
mony. Had he remained at the Homestead Works, in 
all probability no serious trouble would have arisen. 
‘Charlie’? liked his workmen and they liked him; but 
there still remained at Homestead an unsatisfactory ele- 
ment in the men who had previously been discarded 
from our various works for good reasons and had found 
~ employment at the new works before we purchased 


FTER my book, “The Gospel of Wealth,” ! was 
published, it was inevitable that I should live up 
to its teachings by ceasing to struggle for more wealth. I 
resolved to stop accumulating and begin the infinitely 
more serious and difficult task of wise distribution. Our 
profits had reached forty millions of dollars per year and 
the prospect of increased earnings before us was amaz- 
ing. Our successors, the United States Steel Corpora- 
tion, soon after the purchase, netted sixty millions in 
one year. Had our company continued in business and 
adhered to our plans of extension, we figured that sev- 
enty millions in that year might have been earned. 
Steel had ascended the throne and was driving away 
all inferior material. It was clearly seen that there was 
a great future ahead; but so far as I was concerned I 
knew the task of distribution before me would tax me 
in my old age to the utmost. As usual, Shakespeare had 
placed his talismanic touch upon the thought and framed 
the sentence — 

**So distribution should undo excess, 
And each man have enough.” 

At this juncture—that is March, 1901— Mr. Schwab 

1 The Gospel of Wealth (Century Company, New York, 1900) contains 
various magazine articles written between 1886 and 1899 and published 
in the Youth’s Companion, the Century Magazine, the North American 
Review, the Forum, the Contemporary Review, the Fortnightly Review, 
the Nineteenth Century, and the Scottish Leader. Gladstone asked that 
the article in the North American Review be printed in England. It was 
published in the Pall Mall Budget and christened the “Gospel of Wealth.” 
Gladstone, Cardinal Manning, Rev. Hugh Price, and Rev. Dr. Hermann 
Adler answered it, and Mr. Carnegie replied to them. 


told me Mr. Morgan had said to him he should really 
like to know if I wished to retire from business; if so 
he thought he could arrange it. He also said he had 
consulted our partners and that they were disposed to 
sell, being attracted by the terms Mr. Morgan had 
offered. I told Mr. Schwab that if my partners were 
desirous to sell I would concur, and we finally sold.» 

There had been so much deception by speculators 
buying old iron and steel mills and foisting them upon 
innocent purchasers at inflated values — hundred-dollar 
shares in some cases selling for a trifle — that I de- 
clined to take anything for the common stock. Had I 
done so, it would have given me just about one hundred 
millions more of five per cent bonds, which Mr. Morgan 
said afterwards I could have obtained. Such was the 
prosperity and such the money value of our steel busi- 
ness. Events proved I should have been quite justified 
in asking the additional sum named, for the common 
stock has paid five per cent continuously since.! But 
I had enough, as has been proved, to keep me busier 
than ever before, trying to distribute it. 

My first distribution was to the men in the mills. The 
following letters and papers will explain the gift: 

New York, N.Y., March 12, 1901 

I make this first use of surplus wealth, four millions of first 
mortgage 5% Bonds, upon retiring from business, as an ac- 

1 The Carnegie Steel Company was bought by Mr. Morgan at Mr. 
Carnegie’s own price. There was some talk at the time of his holding out 
for a higher price than he received, but testifying before a committee of 
the House of Representatives in January, 1912, Mr. Carnegie said: “I con- 
sidered what was fair: and that is the option Morgan got. Schwab went 
down and arranged it. I never saw Morgan on the subject or any man con- 
nected with him. Never a word passed between him and me. I gave my 
memorandum and Morgan saw it was eminently fair. I have been told 
many times since by insiders that I should have asked $100,000,000 more 
and could have got it easily. Once for all, I want to put a stop to all this 
talk about Mr. Carnegie ‘ forcing high prices for anything.’” 



knowledgment of the deep debt which I owe to the work- 
men who have contributed so greatly to my success. It is 
designed to relieve those who may suffer from accidents, and 
provide small pensions for those needing help in old age. 

In addition I give one million dollars of such bonds, the 
proceeds thereof to be used to maintain the libraries and 
halls I have built for our workmen. 

In return, the Homestead workmen presented the 
following address: | 
Munhall, Pa., Feb’y 23, 1903 

New York, N.Y. 

Dear SIR: 

We, the employees of the Homestead Steel Works, desire 
by this means to express to you through our Committee our 
great appreciation of your benevolence in establishing the 
*“Andrew Carnegie Relief Fund,”’ the first annual report of 
its operation having been placed before us during the past 

The interest which you have always shown in your work- 
men has won for you an appreciation which cannot be ex- 
pressed by mere words. Of the many channels through which 
you have sought to do good, we believe that the “Andrew 
Carnegie Relief Fund” stands first. We have personal knowl- 
edge of cares lightened and of hope and strength renewed in 
homes where human prospects seemed dark and discouraging. 

Respectfully yours 
Harry F. Rosr, Roller 
JOHN Betz, Jr., Blacksmith 
Committee J. A. Horton, Timekeeper 
Water A. Greta, Electric Foreman 
Harry Cusack, Yardmaster 

The Lucy Furnace men presented me with a beau- 
tiful silver plate and inscribed upon it the following 



Lucy FuRNAcEs 

Whereas, Mr. Andrew Carnegie, in his munificent phi- 
lanthropy, has endowed the ‘‘Andrew Carnegie Relief Fund” 
for the benefit of employees of the Carnegie Company, 
Therefore be it 

Resolved, that the employees of the Lucy Furnaces, in 
special meeting assembled, do convey to Mr. Andrew Carne- 
gie their sincere thanks for and appreciation of his unexcelled 
and bounteous endowment, and furthermore be it 

Resolved, that it is their earnest wish and prayer that. his 
life may be long spared to enjoy the fruits of his works. 

JAMES Scort, Chairman 
Louis A. Hutcuison, Secretary 
Committee R. C. Taytor 

I sailed soon for Europe, and as usual some of my 
partners did not fail to accompany me to the steamer 
and bade me good-bye. But, oh! the difference to me! 
Say what we would, do what we would, the solemn 
change had come. This I could not fail to realize. The 
wrench was indeed severe and there was pain in the 
good-bye which was also a farewell. 

Upon my return to New York some months later, 
I felt myself entirely out of place, but was much cheered 
by seeing several of “‘the boys”’ on the pier to welcome 
me — the same dear friends, but so different. I had lost 
my partners, but not my friends. This was something; 
it was much. Still a vacancy was left. I had now to take 
up my self-appointed task of wisely disposing of surplus 
wealth. That would keep me deeply interested. 

One day my eyes happened to see a line in that most 


valuable paper, the “Scottish American,” in which I 
had found many gems. This was the line: 
©The gods send thread for a web begun.” 

It seemed almost as if it had been sent directly to me. 
This sank into my heart, and I resolved to begin at 
once my first web. True enough, the gods sent thread 
in the proper form. Dr. J. S. Billings, of the New York 
Public Libraries, came as their agent, and of dollars, five 
and a quarter millions went at one stroke for sixty-eight 
branch libraries, promised for New York City. Twenty 
more libraries for Brooklyn followed. 

My father, as I have stated, had been one of the five 
pioneers in Dunfermline who combined and gave access 
to their few books to their less fortunate neighbors. I 
had followed in his footsteps by giving my native town 
a library — its foundation stone laid by my mother — 
so that this public library was really my first gift. It 
was followed by giving a public library and hall to 
Allegheny City — our first home in America. President 
Harrison kindly accompanied me from Washington and 
opened these buildings. Soon after this, Pittsburgh 
asked for a library, which was given. This developed, 
in due course, into a group of buildings embracing a 
museum, a picture gallery, technical schools, and the 
Margaret Morrison School for Young Women. This 
group of buildings I opened to the public November 
5, 1895. In Pittsburgh I had made my fortune and in 
the twenty-four millions already spent on this group,! 
she gets back only a small part of what she gave, and to 
which she is richly entitled. 

The second large gift was to found the Carnegie 
Institution of Washington. The 28th of January, 1902, 

1 The total gifts to the Carnegie Institute at Pittsburgh amounted to 
about twenty-eight million dollars, 


I gave ten million dollars in five per cent bonds, to 
which there has been added sufficient to make the total 
cash value twenty-five millions of dollars, the additions 
being made upon record of results obtained. I natu- 
rally wished to consult President Roosevelt upon the 
matter, and if possible to induce the Secretary of State, 
Mr. John Hay, to serve as chairman, which he readily 
agreed to do. With him were associated as directors 
my old friend Abram 8. Hewitt, Dr. Billings, William 
K. Dodge, Elihu Root, Colonel Higginson, D. O. Mills, 
Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, and others. | 

When I showed President Roosevelt the list of the 
distinguished men who had agreed to serve, he re- 
marked: “‘You could not duplicate it.” He strongly 
favored the foundation, which was incorporated by an 
act of Congress April 28, 1904, as follows: 

To encourage in the broadest and most liberal manner in- 
vestigations, research and discovery, and the application of 
knowledge to the improvement of mankind; and, in particu- 
lar, to conduct, endow and assist investigation in any depart- 
ment of science, literature or art, and to this end to coéper- 
ate with governments, universities, colleges, technical schools, 
learned societies, and individuals. 

I was indebted to Dr. Billings as my guide, in select- 
ing Dr. Daniel C. Gilman as the first President. He 
passed away some years later. Dr. Billings then rec- 
ommended the present highly successful president, Dr. 
Robert S. Woodward. Long may he continue to guide 
the affairs of the Institution! The history of its achieve- 
ments is so well known through its publications that 
details here are unnecessary. I may, however, refer to 
two of its undertakings that are somewhat unique. It is 
doing a world-wide service with the wood-and-bronze 
yacht, “‘Carnegie,”’ which is voyaging around the world 


correcting the errors of the earlier surveys. Many of 
these ocean surveys have been found misleading, ow- — 
ing to variations of the compass. Bronze being non- 
magnetic, while iron and steel are highly so, previous 
observations have proved liable to error. A notable in- 
stance is that of the stranding of a Cunard steamship 
near the Azores. Captain Peters, of the “Carnegie,” 
thought it advisable to test this case and found that 
the captain of the ill-fated steamer was sailing on the 
course laid down upon the admiralty map, and was not 
to blame. The original observation was wrong. The 
error caused by variation was promptly corrected. 

This is only one of numerous corrections reported 
to the nations who go down to the sea in ships. Their 
thanks are our ample reward. In the deed of gift I ex- 
pressed the hope that our young Republic might some 
day be able to repay, at least in some degree, the great 
debt it owes to the older lands. Nothing gives me deeper 
satisfaction than the knowledge that it has to some 
extent already begun to do so. 

With the unique service rendered by the wandering 
** Carnegie,’’ we may rank that of the fixed observatory 
upon Mount Wilson, California, at an altitude of 5886 
feet. Professor Hale is in charge of it. He attended the 
gathering of leading astronomers in Rome one year, 
and such were his revelations there that these savants 
resolved their next meeting should be on top of Mount 
Wilson. And so it was. 

There is but one Mount Wilson. From a depth sev- 
enty-two feet down in the earth photographs have been 
taken of new stars. On the first of these plates many 
new worlds — I believe sixteen — were discovered. On 
the second I think it was sixty new worlds which had 
come into our ken, and on the third plate there were 


estimated to be more than a hundred — several of them 
said to be twenty times the size of our sun. Some of them 
were so distant as to require eight years for their light 
to reach us, which inclines us to bow our heads whisper- 
ing to ourselves, “All we know is as nothing to the un- 
known.’ When the monster new glass, three times 
larger than any existing, is in operation, what revela- 
tions are to come! I am assured if a race inhabits the 
moon they will be clearly seen. 

The third delightful task was founding the Hero 
Fund, in which my whole heart was concerned. I had 
heard of a serious accident in a coal pit near Pittsburgh, 
and how the former superintendent, Mr. Taylor, al- 
though then engaged in other pursuits, had instantly 
driven to the scene, hoping to be of use in the crisis. 
Rallying volunteers, who responded eagerly, he led 
them down the pit to rescue those below. Alas, alas, 
he the heroic leader lost his own life. 

I could not get the thought of this out of my mind. 
My dear, dear friend, Mr. Richard Watson Gilder, had 
sent me the following true and beautiful poem, and I 
re-read it the morning after the accident, and resolved 
then to establish the Hero Fund. 


T was said: “When roll of drum and battle’s roar 
Shall cease upon the earth, O, then no more 

The deed — the race — of heroes in the land.” 
But scarce that word was breathed when one small hand 

Lifted victorious o’er a giant wrong 
That had its victims crushed through ages long; 

Some woman set her pale and quivering face 
Firm as a rock against a man’s disgrace; 


wo) 4G 


A little child suffered in silence lest 
His savage pain should wound a mother’s breast; 

Some quiet scholar flung his gauntlet down 
And risked, in Truth’s great name, the synod’s frown; 

A civic hero, in the calm realm of laws, 
Did that which suddenly drew a world’s applause; 

And one to the pest his lithe young body gave 
That he a thousand thousand lives might save. 

Hence arose the five-million-dollar fund to reward 
heroes, or to support the families of heroes, who perish in 
the effort to serve or save their fellows, and to sup- 
plement what employers or others do in contributing 
to the support of the families of those left destitute 
through accidents. This fund, established April 15, 
1904, has proved from every point of view a decided 
success. I cherish a fatherly regard for it since no one 
suggested it to me. As far as I know, it never had been 
thought of; hence it is emphatically “my ain bairn.”’ 
Later I extended it to my native land, Great Britain, 
with headquarters at Dunfermline — the Trustees of 
the Carnegie Dunfermline Trust undertaking its ad- 
ministration, and splendidly have they succeeded. In 
due time it was extended to France, Germany, Italy, 
Belgium, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, and 

Regarding its workings in Germany, I received a 
letter from David Jayne Hill, our American Ambassador 
at Berlin, from which I quote: 

My main object in writing now is to tell you how pleased 
His Majesty is with the working of the German Hero Fund. 
He is enthusiastic about it and spoke in most complimentary 

terms of your discernment, as well as your generosity in 
founding it. He did not believe it would fill so important a 


place as it is doing. He told me of several cases that are really 
touching, and which would otherwise have been wholly un- 
provided for. One was that of a young man who saved a boy 
from drowning and just as they were about to lift him out of 
the water, after passing up the child into a boat, his heart 
failed, and he sank. He left a lovely young wife and a little 
boy. She has already been helped by the Hero Fund to estab- 
lish a little business from which she can make a living, and the 
- education of the boy, who is very bright, will be looked after. 
This is but one example. 

Valentini (Chief of the Civil Cabinet), who was somewhat 
skeptical at first regarding the need of such a fund, is now 
glowing with enthusiasm about it, and he tells me the whole 
Commission, which is composed of carefully chosen men, is 
earnestly devoted to the work of making the very best and 
wisest use of their means and has devoted much time to 
their decisions. 

They have corresponded with the English and French 
Commission, arranged to exchange reports, and made plans 
to keep in touch with one another in their work. They were 
deeply interested in the American report and have learned 
much from it. 

King Edward of Britain was deeply impressed by the 
provisions of the fund, and wrote me an autograph 
letter of appreciation of this and other gifts to my na- 
tive land, which I deeply value, and hence insert. 

Windsor Castle, November 21, 1908 


I have for some time past been anxious to express to you. 
my sense of your generosity for the great public objects which 
you have presented to this country, the land of your birth. 

Scarcely less admirable than the gifts themselves is the 
great care and thought you have taken in guarding against 
their misuse. 

I am anxious to tell you how warmly I recognize your 
most generous benefactions and the great services they are 
likely to confer upon the country. 


As a mark of recognition, I hope you will accept the por- 
trait. of myself which I am sending to you. 
Believe me, dear Mr. Carnegie, 
Sincerely yours 
Epwarp R. & I. 

Some of the newspapers in America were doubtful of 
the merits of the Hero Fund and the first annual re- 
port was criticized, but all this has passed away and the 
action of the fund is now warmly extolled. It has con- 
quered, and long will it be before the trust is allowed to 
perish! The heroes of the barbarian past wounded or 
killed their fellows; the heroes of our civilized day serve 
or save theirs. Such the difference between physical 
and moral courage, between barbarism and civilization. 
Those who belong to the first class are soon to pass 
away, for we are finally to regard men who slay each 
other as we now do cannibals who eat each other; but 
those in the latter class will not die as long as man 
exists upon the earth, for such heroism as they display 
is god-like. 

The Hero Fund will prove chiefly a pension fund. 
Already it has many pensioners, heroes or the widows 
or children of heroes. A strange misconception arose at 
first about it. Many thought that its purpose was to 
stimulate heroic action, that heroes were to be induced 
to play their parts for the sake of reward. This never 
entered my mind. It is absurd. True heroes think not 
of reward. They are inspired and think only of their 
fellows endangered; never of themselves. The fund is 
intended to pension or provide in the most suitable 
manner for the hero should he be disabled, or for those 
dependent upon him should he perish in his attempt to 
save others. It has made a fine start and will grow in 
popularity year after year as its aims and services are 


better understood. To-day we have in America 1430 
hero pensioners or their families on our list. 

I found the president for the Hero Fund in a Carnegie 
veteran, one of the original boys, Charlie Taylor. No 
salary for Charlie — not a cent would he ever take. He 
loves the work so much that I believe he would pay 
highly for permission to live with it. He is the right 
man in the right place. He has charge also, with Mr. 
Wilmot’s able assistance, of the pensions for Carnegie 
workmen (Carnegie Relief Fund!); also the pensions 
for railway employees of my old division. Three relief 
funds and all of them benefiting others. 

I got my revenge one day upon Charlie, who was 
always urging me to do for others. He is a graduate of 
Lehigh University and one of her most loyal sons. 
Lehigh wished a building and Charlie was her chief ad- 
vocate. I said nothing, but wrote President Drinker 
offering the funds for the building conditioned upon my 
naming it. He agreed, and I called it “Taylor Hall.” 
When Charlie discovered this, he came and protested 
that it would make him ridiculous, that he had only 
been a modest graduate, and was not entitled to have 
his name publicly honored, and so on. I enjoyed his 
plight immensely, waiting until he had finished, and 
then said that it would probably make him somewhat 
ridiculous if I insisted upon “Taylor Hall,’ but he 
ought to be willing to sacrifice himself somewhat for 
Lehigh. If he was n’t consumed with vanity he would 
not care much how his name was used if it helped his 
Alma Mater. Taylor was not much of a name anyhow. 
It was his insufferable vanity that made such a fuss. He 
should conquer it. He could make his decision. He could 
sacrifice the name of Taylor or sacrifice Lehigh, just as 

1 This fund is now managed separately. 


he liked, but: “‘No Taylor, no Hall.” I had him! Visitors 
who may look upon that structure in after days and 
wonder who Taylor was may rest assured that he was a 
loyal son of Lehigh, a working, not merely a preaching, 
apostle of the gospel of service to his fellow-men, and one 
of the best men that ever lived. Such is our Lord High 
Commissioner of Pensions. 


HE fifteen-million-dollar pension fund for aged 

university professors (The Carnegie Endowment 
for the Advancement of Learning), the fourth impor- 
tant gift, given in June, 1905, required the selection of 
twenty-five trustees from among the presidents of edu- 
cational institutions in the United States. When twenty- 
four of these — President Harper, of Chicago Univer- 
sity, being absent through illness — honored me by 
meeting at our house for organization, I obtained an im- 
portant accession of those who were to become more 
intimate friends. Mr. Frank A. Vanderlip proved of 
great service at the start — his Washington experience 
being most valuable — and in our president, Dr. Henry 
S. Pritchett, we found the indispensable man. 

This fund is very near and dear to me — knowing, 
as I do, many who are soon to become beneficiaries, and 
convinced as I am of their worth and the value of the 
service already rendered by them. Of all professions, 
that of teaching is probably the most unfairly, yes, 
most meanly paid, though it should rank with the high- 
est. Educated men, devoting their lives to teaching the 
young, receive mere pittances. When I first took my 
seat as a trustee of Cornell University, I was shocked to 
find how small were the salaries of the professors, as a 
rule ranking below the salaries of some of our clerks. 
To save for old age with these men is impossible. Hence 
the universities without pension funds are compelled to 
retain men who are no longer able, should no longer be 
required, to perform their duties. Of the usefulness of 


the fund no doubt can be entertained.! The first list of 
beneficiaries published was conclusive upon this point, 
containing as it did several names of world-wide reputa- 
tion, so great had been their contributions to the stock 
of human knowledge. Many of these beneficiaries and 
their widows have written me most affecting letters. 
These I can never destroy, for if I ever have a fit of 
melancholy, I know the cure lies in re-reading these 

My friend, Mr. Thomas Shaw (now Lord Shaw), 
of Dunfermline had written an article for one of the 
English reviews showing that many poor people in 
Scotland were unable to pay the fees required to give 
their children a university education, although some 
had deprived themselves of comforts in order to do so. 
After reading Mr. Shaw’s article the idea came to me 
to give ten millions in five per cent bonds, one half of 
the £104,000 yearly revenue from it to be used to pay 
the fees of the deserving poor students and the other 
half to improve the universities. 

The first meeting of the trustees of this fund (The 
Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland) was 
held in the Edinburgh office of the Secretary of State 
for Scotland in 1902, Lord Balfour of Burleigh presid- 
ing. It was a notable body of men — Prime Minister 
Balfour, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman (afterwards 
Prime Minister), John Morley (now Viscount Morley), 
James Bryce (now Viscount Bryce), the Earl of Elgin, 
Lord Rosebery, Lord Reay, Mr. Shaw (now Lord Shaw), 
Dr. John Ross of Dunfermline, “‘ the man-of-all-work ” 
that makes for the happiness or instruction of his fellow- 
man, and others. I explained that I had asked them to 
act because I could not entrust funds to the faculties of 

1 The total amount of this fund in 1919 was $29,250,000. 


the Scottish universities after reading the report of a re- 
cent commission. Mr. Balfour promptly exclaimed: “‘ Not 
a penny, not a penny!” The Earl of Elgin, who had been 
a member of the commission, fully concurred. 

The details of the proposed fund being read, the Earl 
of Elgin was not sure about accepting a trust which was 
not strict and specific. He wished to know just what his 
duties were. I had given a majority of the trustees the 
right to change the objects of beneficence and modes of 
applying funds, should they in after days decide that 
the purposes and modes prescribed for education in 
Scotland had become unsuitable or unnecessary for the 
advanced times. Balfour of Burleigh agreed with the 
Earl and so did Prime Minister Balfour, who said he 
had never heard of a testator before who was willing 
to give such powers. He questioned the propriety of 
doing so. | 

“Well,” I said, “Mr. Balfour, I have never known of 
a body of men capable of legislating for the generation 
ahead, and in some cases those who attempt to legislate 
even for their own generation are not thought to be 
eminently successful.”’ 

There was a ripple of laughter in which the Prime 
Minister himself heartily joined, and he then said: 

“You are right, quite right; but you are, I think, the 
first great giver who has been wise enough to take this 
view.” : 

I had proposed that a majority should have the power, 
but Lord Balfour suggested not less than two thirds. 
This was accepted by the Earl of Elgin and approved 
by all. I am very sure it is a wise provision, as after days — 
will prove. It is incorporated in all my large gifts, and I 
rest assured that this feature will in future times prove 
valuable. The Earl of Elgin, of Dunfermline, did not 



hesitate to become Chairman of this trust. When I told 
Premier Balfour that I hoped Elgin could be induced to 
assume this duty, he said promptly, ““ You could not get 
a better man in Great Britain.” 

We are all entirely satisfied now upon that point. The 
query is: where could we get his equal? 

It is an odd coincidence that there are only four liv- 
ing men who have been made Burgesses and received 
the Freedom of Dunfermline, and all are connected with 
the trust for the Universities of Scotland, Sir Henry 
Campbell-Bannerman, the Earl of Elgin, Dr. John Ross, 
and myself. But there is a lady in the circle to-day, the 
only one ever so greatly honored with the Freedom 
of Dunfermline, Mrs. Carnegie, whose devotion to the 
town, like my own, is intense. 

My election to the Lord Rectorship of St. Andrews 
in 1902 proved a very important event in my life. It 
admitted me to the university world, to which I had been 
a stranger. Few incidents in my life have so deeply im- 
‘pressed me as the first meeting of the faculty, when I 
took my seat in the old chair occupied successively by 
so many distinguished Lord Rectors during the nearly 
five hundred years which have elapsed since St. An- 
drews was founded. I read the collection of rectorial 
speeches as a preparation for the one I was soon to make. 
The most remarkable paragraph I met with in any of 
them was Dean Stanley’s advice to the students to “go 
to Burns for your theology.” That a high dignitary of 
the Church and a favorite of Queen Victoria should ven- 
ture to say this to the students of John Knox’s Univer- 
sity is most suggestive as showing how even theology 
improves with the years. The best rules of conduct are 
in Burns. First there is: “Thine own reproach alone do 
fear.” I took it as a motto early in life. And secondly: 


“The fear o” hell’s a hangman’s whip 

To haud the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 
Let that aye be your border.”’ 

John Stuart Miull’s rectorial address to the St. An- 
drews students is remarkable. He evidently wished to 
give them of his best. The prominence he assigns to 
music as an aid to high living and pure refined enjoy- 
ment is notable. Such is my own experience. 

An invitation given to the principals of the four 
Scotch universities and their wives or daughters to 
spend a week at Skibo resulted in much joy to Mrs. 
Carnegie and myself. The first meeting was attended 
by the Earl of Elgin, chairman of the Trust for the Uni- 
versities of Scotland, and Lord Balfour of Burleigh, Sec- 
retary for Scotland, and Lady Balfour. After that “ Prin- 
cipals’ Week” each year became an established custom. 
They as well as we became friends, and thereby, they 
all agree, great good results to the universities. A spirit 
of codperation is stimulated. Taking my hand upon 
leaving after the first yearly visit, Principal Lang said: 

“It has taken the principals of the Scotch univer- 
sities five hundred years to learn how to begin our ses- 
sions. Spending a week together is the solution.”’ 

One of the memorable results of the gathering at 
Skibo in 1906 was that Miss Agnes Irwin, Dean of Rad- 
cliffe College, and great-granddaughter of Benjamin 
Franklin, spent the principals’ week with us and all 
were charmed with her. Franklin received his first doc- 
tor’s degree from St. Andrews University, nearly one 
hundred and fifty years ago. The second centenary of 
his birth was finely celebrated in Philadelphia, and St. 
Andrews, with numerous other universities throughout 
the world, sent addresses. St. Andrews also sent a de-/ 


gree to the great-granddaughter. As Lord Rector, I was 
deputed to confer it and place the mantle upon her. 
This was done the first evening before a large audi- 
ence, when more than two hundred addresses were 

The audience was deeply impressed, as well it nicht 
be. St. Andrews University, the first to confer the de- 
gree upon the great-grandfather, conferred the same de- 
gree upon the great-grandchild one hundred and forty- 
seven years later (and this upon her own merits as Dean 
of Radcliffe College); sent it across the Atlantic to be 
bestowed by the hands of its Lord Rector, the first 
who was not a British subject, but who was born one 
as Franklin was, and who became an American citizen 
as Franklin did; the ceremony performed in Philadel- 
phia where Franklin rests, in the presence of a brilliant 
assembly met to honor his memory. It was all very 
beautiful, and I esteemed myself favored, indeed, to 
be the medium of such a graceful and appropriate cere- 
mony. Principal Donaldson of St. Andrews was surely 
inspired when he thought of it! 

My unanimous reélection by the students of St. An- 
drews, without a contest for a second term, was deeply 
appreciated. And I liked the Rector’s nights, when the 
students claim him for themselves, no member of the 
faculty being invited. We always had a good time. After 
the first one, Principal Donaldson gave me the verdict 
of the Secretary as rendered to him: “Rector So-and 
So talked to us, Rector Thus-and-So talked at us, both 
from the platform; Mr. Carnegie sat down in our circle 
and talked with us.” 

The question of aid to our own higher educational 
institutions often intruded itself upon me, but my be- 
lief was that our chief universities, such as Harvard 


and Columbia, with five to ten thousand students,? 
were large enough; that further growth was undesirable; 
that the smaller institutions (the colleges especially) 
were in greater need of help and that it would be a 
better use of surplus wealth to aid them. Accordingly, 
I afterwards confined myself to these and am satisfied 
that this was wise. At a later date we found Mr. Rocke- 
feller’s splendid educational fund, The General Educa- 
tion Board, and ourselves were working in this fruitful 
field without consultation, with sometimes undesirable 
results. Mr. Rockefeller wished me to join his board 
and this I did. Codperation was soon found to be much 
to our mutual advantage, and we now work in unison. 

In giving to colleges quite a number of my friends 
have been honored as was my partner Charlie Taylor. 
Conway Hall at Dickinson College, was named for Mon- 
cure D. Conway, whose Autobiography, recently pub- 
lished, is pronounced. “‘literature”’ by the “‘Athenzeum.” 
It says: “These two volumes lie on the table glistening 
like gems ’midst the piles of autobiographical rubbish by 
which they are surrounded.” That is rather suggestive 
for one who is adding to the pile. 

The last chapter in Mr. Conway’s Autobiography 
ends with the following paragraph: 

Implore Peace, O my reader, from whom I now part. Im- 
plore peace not of deified thunder clouds but of every man, 
woman, child thou shalt meet. Do not merely offer the 
prayer, “‘Give peace in our time,” but do thy part to answer it! 

Then, at least, though the world be at strife, there shall be 
peace in thee. 

My friend has put his finger upon our deepest disgrace. It 
surely must soon be abolished between civilized nations. 

1 Columbia University in 1920 numbered all told some 25,000 students 
in the various departments. 


The Stanton Chair of Economics at Kenyon College, 
Ohio, was founded in memory of Edwin M. Stanton, 
who kindly greeted me as a boy in Pittsburgh when I 
delivered telegrams to him, and was ever cordial to me 
in Washington, when I was an assistant to Secretary 
Scott. The Hanna Chair in Western Reserve University, 
Cleveland; the John Hay Library at Brown University; 
the second Elihu Root Fund for Hamilton, the Mrs. 
Cleveland Library for Wellesley, gave me pleasure to 
christen after these friends. I hope more are to follow, 
commemorating those I have known, liked, and honored. 
I also wished a General Dodge Library and a Gayley 
Library to be erected from my gifts, but these friends 
had already obtained such honor from their respective 
Alma Maters. 

My first gift to Hamilton College was to be named 
the Elihu Root Foundation, but that ablest of all our 
Secretaries of State, and in the opinion of President 
Roosevelt, ‘‘the wisest man he ever knew,”’ took care, it 
seems, not to mention the fact to the college authori- 
ties. When I reproached him with this dereliction, he 
laughingly replied: 

“Well, I promise not to cheat you the next gift you 
give us.” 

And by a second gift this lapse was repaired after all, 
but I took care not to entrust the matter directly to 
him. The Root Fund of Hamilton! is now established 
beyond his power to destroy. Root is a great man, and, 
as the greatest only are he is, in his simplicity, sublime. 
President Roosevelt declared he would crawl on his 
hands and knees from the White House to the Capitol 
if this would insure Root’s nomination to the presi- 
dency with a prospect of success. He was considered 

1 It amounts to $250,000, 


vulnerable because he had been counsel for corpora- 
tions and was too little of the spouter and the dema- 
gogue, too much of the modest, retiring statesman to 
split the ears of the groundlings.! The party foolishly 
decided not to risk Root. 

My connection with Hampton and Tuskegee Insti- 
tutes, which promote the elevation of the colored race 
we formerly kept in slavery, has been a source of satis- 
faction and pleasure, and to know Booker Washington 
is a rare privilege. We should all take our hats off to 
the man who not only raised himself from slavery, but 
helped raise millions of his race to a higher stage of civ- 
ilization. Mr. Washington called upon me a few days 
after my gift of six hundred thousand dollars was made 
to Tuskegee and asked if he might be allowed to make 
one suggestion. I said: “Certainly.” 

“You have kindly specified that a sum from that fund 
be set aside for the future support of myself and wife 
during our lives, and we are very grateful, but, Mr. 
Carnegie, the sum is far beyond our needs and will 
seem to my race a fortune. Some might feel that I 
was no longer a poor man giving my services without 
thought of saving money. Would you have any ob- 
jection to changing that clause, striking out the sum, 
and substituting ‘only suitable provision’? I'll trust 

1 At the Meeting in Memory of the Life and Work of Andrew Carnegie 
held on April 25, 1920, in the Engineering Societies Building in New York, 
Mr. Root made an address in the course of which, speaking of Mr. Car- 
negie, he said: 

- “He belonged to that great race of nation-builders who have made the 
development of America the wonder of the world. . . . He was the kindliest 
man I ever knew. Wealth had brought to him no hardening of the heart, 
nor made him forget the dreams of his youth. Kindly, affectionate, chari- 
table in his judgments, unrestrained in his sympathies, noble in his im- 
pulses, I wish that all the people who think of him as a rich man giving 

away money he did not need could know of the hundreds of kindly things he 
did unknown to the world.” 


the trustees. Mrs. Washington and myself need very 

I did so, and the deed now stands, but when Mr. 
Baldwin asked for the original letter to exchange it for 
the substitute, he told me that the noble soul objected. 
That document addressed to him was to be preserved 
forever, and handed down; but he would put it aside and 
let the substitute go on file. 

This is an indication of the character of the leader of 
his race. No truer, more self-sacrificing hero ever lived: 
a man compounded of all the virtues. It makes one bet- 
ter just to know such pure and noble souls — human 
nature in its highest types is already divine here on 
earth. If it be asked which man of our age, or even of 
the past ages, has risen from the lowest to the highest, 
the answer must be Booker Washington. He rose from 
slavery to the leadership of his people— a modern 
Moses and Joshua combined, leading his people both 
onward and upward. 

In connection with these institutions I came in con- 
tact with their officers and trustees — men like Princi- 
pal Hollis B. Frissell of Hampton, Robert C. Ogden, 
George Foster Peabody, V. Everit Macy, George Mc- 
Aneny and William H. Baldwin — recently lost to us, 
alas! men who labor for others. It was a blessing 
to know them intimately. The Cooper Union, the 
Mechanics and Tradesmen’s Society, indeed every insti- 
tution! in which I became interested, revealed many 
men and women devoting their time and thought, not 
to “miserable aims that end with self,”’ but to high ideals 
which mean the relief and uplift of their less fortunate 

1 The universities, colleges, and educational institutions to which Mr. 
Carnegie gave either endowment funds or buildings number five hundred. 
All told his gifts to them amounted to $27,000,000. 


My giving of organs to churches came very early in 
my career, I having presented to less than a hundred 
members of the Swedenborgian Church in Allegheny 
which my father favored, an organ, after declining to 
contribute to the building of a new church for so few. 
Applications from other churches soon began to pour in, 
from the grand Catholic Cathedral of Pittsburgh down 
to the small church in the country village, and I was 
kept busy. Every church seemed to need a better organ 
than it had, and as the full price for the new instrument 
was paid, what the old one brought was clear profit. 
Some ordered organs for very small churches which 
would almost split the rafters, as was the case with the 
first organ given the Swedenborgians; others had bought 
organs before applying but our check to cover the 
amount was welcome. Finally, however, a rigid system 
of giving was developed. A printed schedule requiring 
answers to many questions has now to be filled and re- — 
turned before action is taken. The department is now 
perfectly systematized and works admirably because 
we graduate the gift according to the size of the church. 

Charges were made in the rigid Scottish Highlands 
that I was demoralizing Christian worship by giving 
organs to churches. The very strict Presbyterians there 
still denounce as wicked an attempt “to worship God 
with a kist fu’ o’ whistles,’ instead of using the human 
God-given voice. After that I decided that I should re- 
quire a partner in my sin, and therefore asked each con- 
gregation to pay one half of the desired new organ. Upon 
this basis the organ department still operates and con- 
tinues to do a thriving business, the demand for im- 
proved organs still being great. Besides, many new 
churches are required for increasing populations and 
for these organs are essential. 


I see no end to it. In requiring the congregation to pay 
one half the cost of better instruments, there is assurance 
of needed and reasonable expenditure. Believing from 
my own experience that it is salutary for the congrega- 
tion to hear sacred music at intervals in the service and 
then slowly to disperse to the strains of the reverence- 
compelling organ after such sermons as often show us 
little of a Heavenly Father, I feel the money spent for 
organs is well spent. So we continue the organ depart- 

Of all my work of a philanthropic character, my pri- 
vate pension fund gives me the highest and noblest re- 
turn. No satisfaction equals that of feeling you have 
been permitted to place in comfortable circumstances, 
in their old age, people whom you have long known to 
be kind and good and in every way deserving, but who 
from no fault of their own, have not sufficient means to 
live respectably, free from solicitude as to their mere 
maintenance. Modest sums insure this freedom. It sur- 
prised me to find how numerous were those who needed 
some aid to make the difference between an old age 
of happiness and one of misery. Some such cases had 
arisen before my retirement from business, and I had 
sweet satisfaction from this source. Not one person have 
I ever placed upon the pension list? that did not fully 
deserve assistance. It is a real roll of honor and mutual 
affection. All are worthy. There is no publicity about 
it. No one knows who is embraced. Not a word is ever 
breathed to others. 

This is my favorite and best answer to the question 
which will never down in my thoughts: “ What good am 

1 The ‘“‘organ department” up to 1919 had given 7689 organs to as 
many different churches at a cost of over six million dollars. 
2 This amounted to over $250,000 a year. 


I doing in the world to deserve all my mercies?” Well, 
the dear friends of the pension list give mea satisfactory 
reply, and this always comes to me in need. I have had 
far beyond my just share of life’s blessings; therefore I 
never ask the Unknown for anything. We are in the pres- 
ence of universal law and should bow our heads in silence 
and obey the Judge within, asking nothing, fearing 
nothing, just doing our duty right along, seeking no re- 
ward here or hereafter. 

It is, indeed, more blessed to give than to receive. 
These dear good friends would do for me and mine as I 
do for them were positions reversed. I am sure of this. 
Many precious acknowledgments have I received. Some 
venture to tell me they remember me every night in their 
prayers and ask for me every blessing. Often I cannot 
refrain from giving expression to my real feelings in re- 

“Pray, don’t,” I say. “Don’t ask anything more for 
me. I’ve got far beyond my just share already. Any 
fair committee sitting upon my case would take away 
more than half the blessings already bestowed.”’ These 
are not mere words, I feel their truth. 

The Railroad Pension Fund is of a similar nature. 
Many of the old boys of the Pittsburgh Division (or 
their widows) are taken care of by it. It began years ago 
and grew to its present proportions. It now benefits the 
worthy railroad men who served under me when I was. 
superintendent on the Pennsylvania, or their widows, 
who need help. I was only a boy when I first went among 
these trainmen and got to know them by name. They 
were very kind to me. Most of the men beneficiaries 
of the fund I have known personally. They are dear 

Although the four-million-dollar fund I gave for 


workmen in the mills (Steel Workers’ Pensions) embraces 
‘hundreds that I never saw, there are still a sufficient 
number upon it that I do remember to give that fund 
also a strong hold upon me. 


EACE, at least as between English-speaking peo- 

ples,! must have been early in my thoughts. In 
1869, when Britain launched the monster Monarch, 
then the largest warship known, there was, for some now- 
forgotten reason, talk of how she could easily compel 
tribute from our American cities one after the other. 
Nothing could resist her. I cabled John Bright, then 
in the British Cabinet (the cable had recently been 
opened) : 

‘First and best service possible for Monarch, bring- 
ing home body Peabody.” ” 

No signature was given. Strange to say, this was done, 
and thus the Monarch became the messenger of peace, 
not of destruction. Many years afterwards I met Mr. 
Bright at a small dinner party in Birmingham and told 
him I was his young anonymous correspondent. He was 
surprised that no signature was attached and said his 
heart was in the act. I am sure it was. He is entitled to 
all credit. 

He was the friend of the Republic when she needed 
friends during the Civil War. He had always been my 
favorite living hero in public life as he had been my 
father’s. Denounced as a wild radical at first, he kept 

1 “Tet men say what they will, I say that as surely as the sun in the 
heavens once shone upon Britain and America united, so surely it is one 
morning to rise, shine upon, and greet again the Reunited States — the 
British-American Union.’ (Quoted in Alderson’s Andrew Carnegie, The 
Man and His Work, p. 108. New York, 1909.) 

* George Peabody, the American merchant and philanthropist, who 
died in London in 1869. 


steadily on until the nation came to his point of view. 
Always for peace he would have avoided the Crimean 
War, in which Britain backed the wrong horse, as Lord 
Salisbury afterwards acknowledged. It was a great 
privilege that the Bright family accorded me, as a friend, 
to place a replica of the Manchester Bright statue in 
Parliament, in the stead of a poor one removed. 

I became interested in the Peace Society of Great 
Britain upon one of my early visits and attended many 
of its meetings, and in later days I was especially drawn 
to the Parliamentary Union established by Mr. Cremer, 
the famous working-man’s representative in Parliament. 
Few men living can be compared to Mr. Cremer. When 
he received the Nobel Prize of £8000 as the one who 
had done the most that year for peace, he promptly 
gave all but £1000, needed for pressing wants, to the 
Arbitration Committee. It was a noble sacrifice. What 
is money but dross to the true hero! Mr. Cremer is 
paid a few dollars a week by his trade to enable him 
to exist in London as their member of Parliament, and 
here was fortune thrown in his lap only to be devoted 
by him to the cause of peace. This is the heroic in its 
finest form. 

I had the great pleasure of presenting the Committee 
to President Cleveland at Washington in 1887, who re- 
ceived the members cordially and assured them of his 
hearty codperation. From that day the abolition of war 
grew in importance with me until it finally overshad- 
owed all other issues. The surprising action of the first 
Hague Conference gave me intense joy. Called primarily 
to consider disarmament (which proved a dream), it 
created the commanding reality of a permanent tribunal 
to settle international disputes. I saw in this the greatest 
step toward peace that humanity had ever taken, and 


taken as if by inspiration, without much previous dis- 
cussion. No wonder the sublime idea captivated the con- 

If Mr. Holls, whose death I so deeply deplored, were 
alive to-day and a delegate to the forthcoming second 
Conference with his chief, Andrew D. White, I feel that 
these two might possibly bring about the creation of the 
needed International Court for the abolition of war. He 
it was who started from The Hague at night for Ger- . 
many, upon request of his chief, and saw the German 
Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the Emperor and finally 
prevailed upon them to approve of the High Court, and 
not to withdraw their delegates as threatened — a serv- 
ice for which Mr. Holls deserves to be enrolled among 
the greatest servants of mankind. Alas, death came to 
him while still in his prime. 

The day that International Court is established will 
become one of the most memorable days in the world’s 
history.! It will ring the knell of man killing man — the 
deepest and blackest of crimes. It should be celebrated 
in every land as I believe it will be some day, and that 
time, perchance, not so remote as expected. In that era 
not a few of those hitherto extolled as heroes will have 
found oblivion because they failed to promote peace and 
good-will instead of war. 

When Andrew D. White and Mr. Holls, upon their 
return from The Hague, suggested that I offer the funds 
needed for a Temple of Peace at The Hague, I informed 
them that I never could be so presumptuous; that if the 

1 “T submit that the only measure required to-day for the maintenance 
of world peace is an agreement between three or four of the leading Civi- 
lized Powers (and as many more as desire to join — the more the better) 
pledged to codperate against disturbers of world peace, should such arise.” 
(Andrew Carnegie, in address at unveiling of a bust of William Randall 
Cremer at the Peace Palace of The Hague, August 29, 1913.) 


Government of the Netherlands informed me of its de- 
sire to have such a temple and hoped I would furnish 
the means, the request would be favorably considered. 
They demurred, saying this could hardly be expected 
from any Government. Then I said I could never act 
in the matter. 

Finally the Dutch Government did make application, 
through its Minister, Baron Gevers in Washington, and 
I rejoiced. Still, in writing him, I was careful to say that 
the drafts of his Government would be duly honored. I 
did not send the money. The Government drew upon 
me for it, and the draft for a million and a half is kept 
as a memento. It seems to me almost too much that 
any individual should be permitted to perform so noble 
a duty as that of providing means for this Temple of 
Peace — the most holy building in the world because 
it has the holiest end in view. I do not even except 
St. Peter’s, or any building erected to the glory of God, 
whom, as Luther says, “we cannot serve or aid; He 
needs no help from us.” This temple is to bring peace, 
which is so greatly needed among His erring creatures. 
“The highest worship of God is service to man.” At 
least, I feel so with Luther and Franklin. 

When in 1907 friends came and asked me to accept. 
the presidency of the Peace Society of New York, which 
they had determined to organize, I declined, alleging 
that I was kept very busy with many affairs, which was 
true; but my conscience troubled me afterwards for 
declining. If I were not willing to sacrifice myself for 
the cause of peace what should I sacrifice for? What 
was I good for? Fortunately, in a few days, the Rever- 
end Lyman Abbott, the Reverend Mr. Lynch, and some 
other notable laborers for good causes called to urge 
my reconsideration. I divined their errand and frankly 


told them they need not speak. My conscience had 
been tormenting me for declining and I would accept 
the presidency and do my duty. After that came 
the great national gathering (the following April) when 
for the first time in the history of Peace Society meet- 
ings, there attended delegates from thirty-five of the 
states of the Union, besides many foreigners of distinc- 

My first decoration then came unexpectedly. The 
French Government had made me Knight Commander 
of the Legion of Honor, and at the Peace Banquet in New 
York, over which I presided, Baron d’Estournelles de 
Constant appeared upon the stage and in a compelling 
speech invested me with the regalia amid. the cheers of 
the company. It was a great honor, indeed, and appre- 
ciated by me because given for my services to the cause 
of International Peace. Such honors humble, they do 
not exalt; so let them come.” They serve also to remind 
me that I must strive harder than ever, and watch every 
act and word more closely, that I may reach just a lit- 
tle nearer the standard the givers—deluded souls— mis- 
takenly assume in their speeches, that I have already 

No gift I have made or can ever make can possibly 
approach that of Pittencrieff Glen, Dunfermline. It is 

1 Mr. Carnegie does not mention the fact that in December, 1910, he gave 
to a board of trustees $10,000,000, the revenue of which was to be admin- 
istered for “‘the abolition of international war, the foulest blot upon our 
civilization.” This is known as the Carnegie Endowment for International 
Peace. The Honorable Elihu Root is president of the board of trustees. 

2 Mr. Carnegie received also the Grand Cross Order of Orange-Nassau 
from Holland, the Grand Cross Order of Danebrog from Denmark, a 
gold medal from twenty-one American Republics and had doctors’ degrees. 
from innumerable universities and colleges. He was also a member of many 
institutes, learned societies and clubs — over 190 in number. 


saturated with childish sentiment — all of the purest 
and sweetest. I must tell that story: 

Among my earliest recollections are the struggles of 
Dunfermline to obtain the rights of the town to part 
of the Abbey grounds and the Palace ruins. My Grand- 
father Morrison began the campaign, or, at least, was 
one of those who did. The struggle was continued by 
my Uncles Lauder and Morrison, the latter honored by 
being charged with having incited and led a band of 
men to tear down a certain wall. The citizens won a 
victory in the highest court and the then Laird ordered 
that thereafter ‘“‘no Morrison be admitted to the Glen.”’ 
I, being a Morrison like my brother-cousin, Dod, was 
debarred. The Lairds of Pittencrieff for generations had 
been at variance with the inhabitants. 

The Glen is unique, as far as I know. It adjoins the 
Abbey and Palace grounds, and on the west and north 
it lies along two of the main streets of the town. Its area 
(between sixty and seventy acres) is finely sheltered, its 
high hills grandly wooded. It always meant paradise 
to the child of Dunfermline. It certainly did to me. 
When I heard of paradise, I translated the word into 
Pittencrieff Glen, believing it to be as near to paradise 
as anything I could think of. Happy were we if through 
an open lodge gate, or over the wall or under the iron 
grill over the burn, now and then we caught a glimpse 

Almost every Sunday Uncle Lauder took “Dod” 
and “ Naig”’ for a walk around the Abbey to a part that 
overlooked the Glen — the busy crows fluttering around 
in the big trees below. Its Laird was to us children the 
embodiment of rank and wealth. The Queen, we knew, 
lived in Windsor Castle, but she did n’t own Pitten- 
crieff, not she! Hunt of Pittencrieff would n’t exchange 


with her or with any one. Of this we were sure, because 
certainly neither of us would. In all my childhood’s — 
yes and in my early manhood’s — air-castle building 
(which was not small), nothing comparable in grandeur 
approached Pittencrieff. My Uncle Lauder predicted 
many things for me when I became a man, but had he 
foretold that some day I should be rich enough, and so 
supremely fortunate as to become Laird of Pittencrieff, 
he might have turned my head. And then to be able to 
hand it over to Dunfermline as a public park — my 
paradise of childhood! Not for a crown would I barter 
that privilege. 

When Dr. Ross whispered to me that Colonel Hunt 
might be induced to sell, my ears cocked themselves 
instantly. He wished an extortionate price, the doctor 
thought, and I heard nothing further for some time. 
When indisposed in London in the autumn of 1902, my 
mind ran upon the subject, and I intended to wire 
Dr. Ross to come up and see me. One morning, Mrs. 
Carnegie came into my room and asked me to guess who 
had arrived and I guessed Dr. Ross. Sure enough, there 
he was. We talked over Pittencrieff. I suggested that 
if our mutual friend and fellow-townsman, Mr. Shaw 
in Edinburgh (Lord Shaw of Dunfermline) ever met 
Colonel Hunt’s agents he could intimate that their 
client might some day regret not closing with me as 
another purchaser equally anxious to buy might not be 
met with, and I might change my mind or pass away. 
Mr. Shaw told the doctor when he mentioned this that 
he had an appointment to meet with Hunt’s lawyer on 
other business the next morning and would certainly 
say so. 

I sailed shortly after for New York and received there 
one day a cable from Mr. Shaw stating that the Laird 


would accept forty-five thousand pounds. Should he 
close? I wired: “Yes, provided it is under Ross’s con- 
ditions’’; and on Christmas Eve, I received Shaw’s 
reply: “Hail, Laird of Pittencrieff!”’ So I was the happy 
possessor of the grandest title on earth in my esti- 
mation. The King — well, he was only the King. He 
did n’t own King Malcolm’s tower nor St. Margaret’s 
shrine, nor Pittencrieff Glen. Not he, poor man. I did, 
and I shall be glad to condescendingly show the King 
those treasures should he ever visit Dunfermline. 

As the possessor of the Park and the Glen I had a 
chance to find out what, if anything, money could do 
for the good of the masses of a community, if placed in 
the hands of a body of public-spirited citizens. Dr. Ross 
was taken into my confidence so far as Pittencrieff Park 
was concerned, and with his advice certain men intended 
for a body of trustees were agreed upon and invited to 
Skibo to organize. They imagined it was in regard to 
transferring the Park to the town; not even to Dr. Ross 
was any other subject mentioned. When they heard 
that half a million sterling in bonds, bearing five per 
cent interest, was also to go to them for the benefit of 
Dunfermline, they were surprised.! 

It is twelve years since the Glen was handed over to 
the trustees and certainly no public park was ever dearer 
to a people. The children’s yearly gala day, the flower 
shows and the daily use of the Park by the people are 
surprising. The Glen now attracts people from neigh- 
boring towns. In numerous ways the trustees have 
succeeded finely in the direction indicated in the trust 
deed, namely: 

To bring into the monotonous lives of the toiling masses 
of Dunfermline, more “‘of sweetness and light,” to give to 

1 Additional gifts, made later, brought this gift up to $3,750,000. 


them — especially the young — some charm, some happi- 
ness, some elevating conditions of life which residence else- 
where would have denied, that the child of my native town, 
looking back in after years, however far from home it may 
have roamed, will feel that simply by virtue of being such, 
life has been made happier and better. If this be the fruit of 
your labors, you will have succeeded; if not, you will have 

To this paragraph I owe the friendship of Earl Grey, 
formerly Governor-General of Canada. He wrote Dr. 

“T must know the man who wrote that document in 
the ‘Times’ this morning.” 

We met in London and became instantly sympathetic. 
He is a great soul who passes instantly into the heart 
and stays there. Lord Grey is also to-day a member 
(trustee) of the ten-million-dollar fund for the United 

1 Mr. Carnegie refers to the gift of ten million dollars to the Carnegie 
United Kingdom Trust merely in connection with Earl Grey. His references. 
to his gifts are casual, in that he refers only to the ones in which he happens 
for the moment to be interested. Those he mentions are merely a part of 
the whole. He gave to the Church Peace Union over $2,000,000, to the 
United Engineering Society $1,500,000, to the International Bureau of 
American Republics $850,000, and to a score or more of research, hospital, 
and educational boards sums ranging from $100,000 to $500,000. He gave 
to various towns and cities over twenty-eight hundred library buildings at 
a cost of over $60,000,000. The largest of his gifts he does not mention at all. 
This was made in 1911 to the Carnegie Corporation of New York and was 
$125,000,000. The Corporation is the residuary legatee under Mr. Car- 
negie’s will and it is not yet known what further sum may come to it 
through that instrument. The object of the Corporation, as defined by Mr. 
Carnegie himself in a letter to the trustees, is: 

“To promote the advancement and diffusion of knowledge and un- 
derstanding among the people of the United States by aiding technical 
schools, institutions of higher learning, libraries, scientific research, hero 
funds, useful publications and by such other agencies and means as shall 
from time to time be found appropriate therefor.” 

The Carnegie benefactions, all told, amount to something over $350,000,- 
000 — surely a huge sum to have been brought together and then dis- 
tributed by one man. 


Thus, Pittencrieff Glen is the most soul-satisfying 
public gift I ever made, or ever can make. It is poetic 
justice that the grandson of Thomas Morrison, radical 
leader in his day, nephew of Bailie Morrison, his son 
and successor, and above all son of my sainted father 
and my most heroic mother, should arise and dispos- 
sess the lairds, should become the agent for conveying 
the Glen and Park to the people of Dunfermline for- 
ever. It is a true romance, which no air-castle can quite 
equal or fiction conceive. The hand of destiny seems to 
hover over it, and I hear something whispering: “‘ Not 
altogether in vain have you lived — not altogether in 
vain.” This is the crowning mercy of my career! I set it 
apart from all my other public gifts. Truly the whirligig 
of time brings in some strange revenges. 

It is now thirteen years since I ceased to accumulate 
wealth and began to distribute it. I could never have 
succeeded in either had I stopped with having enough 
to retire upon, but nothing to retire to. But there was 
the habit and the love of reading, writing and speaking 
upon occasion, and also the acquaintance and friendship 
of educated men which I had made before I gave up 
business. For some years after retiring I could not force 
myself to visit the works. This, alas, would recall so 
many who had gone before. Scarcely one of my early 
friends would remain to give me the hand-clasp of the 
days of old. Only one or two of these old men would 
call me “ Andy.” 

Do not let it be thought, however, that my younger 
partners were forgotten, or that they have not played 
a very important part in sustaining me in the effort of 
reconciling myself to the new conditions. Far otherwise! 
The most soothing influence of all was their prompt or- 
ganization of the Carnegie Veteran Association, to ex- 


pire only when the last member dies. Our yearly dinner 
together, in our own home in New York, is a source of 
the greatest pleasure, — so great that it lasts from one 
year to the other. Some of the Veterans travel far to be 
present, and what occurs between us constitutes one 
of the dearest joys of my life. I carry with me the af- 
fection of “my boys.” I am certain I do. There is no 
possible mistake about that because my heart goes out 
to them. This I number among my many blessings and 
in many a brooding hour this fact comes to me, and I 
say to myself: “‘ Rather this, minus fortune, than multi- 
millionairedom without it — yes, a thousand times, 

Many friends, great and good men and women, Mrs. 
Carnegie and I are favored to know, but not one whit 
shall these ever change our joint love for the “boys.” 
For to my infinite delight her heart goes out to them as 
does mine. She it was who christened our new New York 
home with the first Veteran dinner. “The partners first”’ 
was her word. It was no mere idle form when they elected 
Mrs. Carnegie the first honorary member, and our 
daughter the second.-Their place in our hearts is secure. 
Although I was the senior, still we were “boys together.” 
Perfect trust and common aims, not for self only, but 
for each other, and deep affection, moulded us into a 
brotherhood. We were friends first and partners after- 
wards. Forty-three out of forty-five partners are thus 
bound together for life. 

Another yearly event that brings forth many choice 
spirits is our Literary Dinner, at home, our dear friend 
Mr. Richard Watson Gilder, editor of the “Century,” 
being the manager.! His devices and quotations from 

‘1 “Yesterday we had a busy day in Toronto. The grand event was a 
dinner at six o’clock where we all spoke, A. C. making a remarkable ad- 


the writings of the guest of the year, placed upon the 
cards of the guests, are so appropriate, as to cause much 
hilarity. Then the speeches of the novitiates give zest 
to the occasion. John Morley was the guest of honor 
when with us in 1895 and a quotation from his works 
was upon the card at each plate. 

One year Gilder appeared early in the evening of the 
dinner as he wished to seat the guests. This had been 
done, but he came to me saying it was well he had looked 
them over. He had found John Burroughs and Ernest 
Thompson Seton were side by side, and as they were 
then engaged in a heated controversy upon the habits 
of beasts and birds, in which both had gone too far in 
their criticisms, they were at dagger’s points. Gilder 
said it would never do to seat them together. He had 
separated them. I said nothing, but slipped into the 
dining-room unobserved and replaced the cards as be- 
fore. Gilder’s surprise was great when he saw the men 
next each other, but the result was just as I had ex- 
pected. A reconciliation took place and they parted 
good friends. Moral: If you wish to play peace-maker, 
seat adversaries next each other where they must begin 
by being civil. 

Burroughs and Seton both enjoyed the trap I set for 
them. True it is, we only hate those whom we do not 
dress. . . . I can’t tell you how I am enjoying this. Not only seeing new 
places, but the talks with our own party. It is, indeed, a liberal education. 
A. C. is truly a ‘great’ man; that is, a man of enormous faculty and a great 
imagination. I don’t remember any friend who has sucha range of poetical 
quotation, unless it is Stedman. (Not so much range as numerous quota- 
tions from Shakespeare, Burns, Byron, etc.) His views are truly large and 
prophetic. And, unless I am mistaken, he has a genuine ethical character. 
He is not perfect, but he is most interesting and remarkable; a true demo- 
crat; his benevolent actions having a root in principle and character. He 
is not accidentally the intimate friend of such high natures as Arnold and 

Morley.” (Letters of Richard Watson Gilder, edited by his daughter Rosa- 
mond Gilder, p. 374. New York, 1916.) 


know. It certainly is often the way to peace to invite 
your adversary to dinner and even beseech him to come, 
taking no refusal. Most quarrels become acute from the 
parties not seeing and communicating with each other 
and hearing too much of their disagreement from others. 
They do not fully understand the other’s point of view 
and all that can be said for it. Wise is he who offers the 
hand of reconciliation should a difference with a friend 
arise. Unhappy he to the end of his days who refuses it. 
No possible gain atones for the loss of one who has been 
a friend even if that friend has become somewhat less 
dear to you than before. He is still one with whom you 
have been intimate, and as age comes on friends pass 
rapidly away and leave you. 

He is the happy man who feels i eten is not a human 
being to whom he does not wish happiness, long life, 
and deserved success, not one in whose path he would 
cast an obstacle nor to whom he would not do a service — 
if in his power. All this he can feel without being called 
upon to retain as a friend one who has proved unworthy 
beyond question by dishonorable conduct. For such 
there should be nothing felt but pity, infinite pity. And 
pity for your own loss also, for true friendship can only 
feed and grow upon the virtues. 

“When love begins to sicken and decay 
It useth an enforced ceremony.” 

The former geniality may be gone forever, but each can 
wish the other nothing but happiness. 

None of my friends hailed my retirement from business 
more warmly than:Mark Twain. I received from him the 
following note, at a time when the newspapers were 
talking much about my wealth. 



You seem to be prosperous these days. Could you lend an 
admirer a dollar and a half to buy a hymn-book with? God 
will bless you if you do; I feel it, I know it. So will I. If there 
should be other applications this one not to count. 


P.S. Don’t send the hymn-book, send the money. I want 

to make the selection myself. 

When he was lying ill in New York I went to see him 
frequently, and we had great times together, for even 
lying in bed he was as bright as ever. One call was to say 
good-bye, before my sailing for Scotland. The Pension 
Fund for University Professors was announced in New 
York soon after I sailed. A letter about it from Mark, 
addressed to “‘Saint Andrew,” reached me in Scotland, 
from which I quote the following: 

You can take my halo. If you had told me what you had 
done when at my bedside you would have got it there and 
then. It is pure tin and paid “‘the duty”’ when it came down. 

Those intimate with Mr. Clemens (Mark Twain) 
will certify that he was one of the charmers. Joe Jeffer- 
son is the only man who can be conceded his twin 
brother in manner and speech, their charm being of 
the same kind. “‘Uncle Remus”’ (Joel Chandler Harris) 
is another who has charm, and so has George W. Cable; 
yes, and Josh Billings also had it. Such people brighten 
the lives of their friends, regardless of themselves. They 
make sunshine wherever they go. In Rip Van Winkle’s 
words: “All pretty much alike, dem fellers.’”’ Every one 
of them is unselfish and warm of heart. 

The public only knows one side of Mr. Clemens — 
the amusing part. Little does it suspect that he was a 


man of strong convictions upon political and social ques- 
tions and a moralist of no mean order. For instance, upon; 
the capture of Aguinaldo by deception, his pen was the 
most trenchant of all. Junius was weak in comparison. 

The gathering to celebrate his seventieth birthday 
was unique. The literary element was there in force, but 
Mark had not forgotten to ask to have placed near him 
the multi-millionaire, Mr. H. H. Rogers, one who had 
been his friend in need. Just like Mark. Without excep- 
tion, the leading literary men dwelt in their speeches 
exclusively upon the guest’s literary work. When my 
turn came, I referred to this and asked them to note 
that what our friend had done as a man would live as 
long as what he had written. Sir Walter Scott and he 
were linked indissolubly together. Our friend, like Scott, 
was ruined by the mistakes of partners, who had become 
hopelessly bankrupt. Two courses lay before him. One 
the smooth, easy, and short way — the legal path. Sur- 
render all your property, go through bankruptcy, and 
start afresh. This was all he owed to creditors. The 
other path, long, thorny, and dreary, a life struggle, 
with everything sacrificed. There lay the two paths and 
this was his decision: 

*“Not what I owe to my creditors, but what I owe 
to myself is the issue.” 

There are times in most men’s lives that test whether 
they be dross or pure gold. It is the decision made in 
the crisis which proves the man. Our friend entered 
the fiery furnace a man and emerged a hero. He paid 
his debts to the utmost farthing by lecturing around the 
world. “An amusing cuss, Mark Twain,”’ is all very well 
as a popular verdict, but what of Mr. Clemens the man 
and the hero, for he is both and in the front rank, too, 
with Sir Walter. 


He had a heroine in his wife. She it was who sustained 
him and traveled the world round with him as his guard- 
ian angel, and enabled him to conquer as Sir Walter 
did. This he never failed to tell to his intimates. Never 
in my life did three words leave so keen a pang as those 
uttered upon my first call after Mrs. Clemens passed 
away. I fortunately found him alone and while my hand 
was still in his, and before one word had been spoken 
by either, there came from him, with a stronger pressure 
of my hand, these words: “A ruined home, a ruined 
home.” The silence was unbroken. I write this years 
after, but still I hear the words again and my heart 

One mercy, denied to our forefathers, comes to us of 
to-day. If the Judge within give us a verdict of acquittal 
as having lived this life well, we have no other Judge to 

“To thine own self be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man.” 

Eternal punishment, because of a few years’ short- 
comings here on earth, would be the reverse of Godlike. 
Satan himself would recoil from it. 


HE most charming man, John Morley and I agree, 

that we ever knew was Matthew Arnold. He had, 
indeed, “‘a charm ’”’ — that is the only word which ex- 
presses the effect of his presence and his conversation. 
Even his look and grave silences charmed. 

He coached with us in 1880, I think, through Southern 
England — William Black and Edwin A. Abbey being 
of the party. Approaching a pretty village he asked me 
if the coach might stop there a few minutes. He ex- 
plained that this was the resting-place of his godfather, 
Bishop Keble, and he should like to visit his grave. He 
continued: : | 

“Ah, dear, dear Keble! I caused him much sorrow by 
my views upon theological subjects, which caused me 
sorrow also, but notwithstanding he was deeply grieved, 
dear friend as he was, he traveled to Oxford and voted 
for me for Professor of English Poetry.” 

Wewalked to the quiet churchyard together. Matthew 
Arnold in silent thought at the grave of Keble made 
upon me a lasting impression. Later the subject of his 
theological views was referred to. He said they had 
caused sorrow to his best friends. 

“Mr. Gladstone once gave expression to his deep 
disappointment, or to something like displeasure, say- 
ing I ought to have been a bishop. No doubt my writ- 
ings prevented my promotion, as well as grieved my 
friends, but I could not help it. I had to express my 

I remember well the sadness of tone with which these 


aph from Underwood & Underwood, 




last words were spoken, and how very slowly. They came 
as from the deep. He had his message to deliver. Stead- 
ily has the age advanced to receive it. His teachings pass 
almost uncensured to-day. If ever there was a seriously 
religious man it was Matthew Arnold. No irreverent 
word ever escaped his lips. In this he and Gladstone were 
equally above reproach, and yet he had in one short 
sentence slain the supernatural. “The case against 
miracles is closed. They do not happen.” 

He and his daughter, now Mrs. Whitridge, were our 
guests when in New York in 1883, and also at our moun- 
tain home in the Alleghanies, so that I saw a great deal, 
but not enough, of him. My mother and myself drove 
him to the hall upon his first public appearance in New 
York. Never was there a finer audience gathered. The 
lecture was not a success, owing solely to his inability 
to speak well in public. He was not heard. When we 
returned home his first words were: 

* Well, what have you all to say? Tell me! Will I do 
as a lecturer?”’ 

I was so keenly interested in his success that I did not 
hesitate to tell him it would never do for him to go on 
unless he fitted himself for public speaking. He must 
get an elocutionist to give him lessons upon two or three 
points. I urged this so strongly that he consented to do 
so. After we all had our say, he turned to my mother, 

“Now, dear Mrs. Carnegie, they have all given me 
their opinions, but I wish to know what you have to say 
about my first night as a lecturer in America.” 

“Too ministerial, Mr. Arnold, too ministerial,’’ was 
the reply slowly and softly delivered. And to the last 
Mr. Arnold would occasionally refer to that, saying he 
felt it hit the nail on the head. When he returned to New 


York from his Western tour, he had so much improved 
that his voice completely filled the Brooklyn Academy 
of Music. He had taken a few lessons from a professor 
of elocution in Boston, as advised, and all went well 

He expressed a desire to hear the noted preacher, 
Mr. Beecher; and we started for Brooklyn one Sunday 
morning. Mr. Beecher had been apprized of our coming 
so that after the services he might remain to meet Mr. 
Arnold. When I presented Mr. Arnold he was greeted 
warmly. Mr. Beecher expressed his delight at meeting 
one in the flesh whom he had long known so well in the 
spirit, and, grasping his hand, he said: 

“There is nothing you have written, Mr. Arnold, 
which I have not carefully read at least once and a great 
deal many times, and always with profit, always with 

“Ah, then, I fear, Mr. Beecher,” replied Arnold, “you 
may have found some references to yourself which would 
better have been omitted.” 

“Oh, no, no, those did me the most good of all,”’ said 
the smiling Beecher, and they both laughed. 

Mr. Beecher was never at a loss. After presenting 
Matthew Arnold to him, I had the pleasure of present- 
ing the daughter of Colonel Ingersoll, saying, as I did 

“Mr. Beecher, this is the first time Miss Ingersoll 
has ever been in a Christian church.” 

He held out both hands and grasped hers, and look- 
ing straight at her and speaking slowly, said: 

‘Well, well, you are the most beautiful heathen I 
ever saw.” Those who remember Miss Ingersoll in her 
youth will not differ greatly with Mr. Beecher. Then: 
**How’s your father, Miss Ingersoll? I hope he’s well. 


Many a time he and I have stood together on the plat- 
form, and was n't it lucky for me we were on the same 

Beecher was, indeed, a great, broad, generous man, 
who absorbed what was good wherever found. Spen- 
cer’s philosophy, Arnold’s insight tempered with sound 
sense, Ingersoll’s staunch support of high political ends 
were powers for good in the Republic. Mr. Beecher was 
great enough to appreciate and hail as helpful friends 
all of these men. 

Arnold visited us in Scotland in 1887, and talking 
one day of sport he said he did not shoot, he could not 
kill anything that had wings and could soar in the clear 
blue sky; but, he added, he could not give up fishing — 
“the accessories are so delightful.’’ He told of his happi- 
ness when a certain duke gave him a day’s fishing twice 
or three times a year. I forget who the kind duke was, 
but there was something unsavory about him and men- 
tion was made of this. He was asked how he came to be 
upon intimate terms with such a man. 

“Ah!” he said, “‘a duke is always a personage with us, 
always a personage, independent of brains or conduct. 
We are all snobs. Hundreds of years have made us so, 
all snobs. We can’t help it. It is in the blood.” 

This was smilingly said, and I take it he made some 
mental reservations. He was no snob himself, but one 
who naturally “smiled at the claims of long descent,”’ 
for generally the “descent’’ cannot be questioned. 

He was interested, however, in men of rank and 
wealth, and I remember when in New York he wished 
particularly to meet Mr. Vanderbilt. I ventured to say 
he would not find him different from other men. 

“No, but it is something to know the richest man in 
the world,” he replied. “Certainly the man who makes 


his own wealth eclipses those who inherit rank from 

I asked him one day why he had never written criti- 
cally upon Shakespeare and assigned him his place upon 
the throne among the poets. He said that thoughts of 
doing so had arisen, but reflection always satisfied him 
that he was incompetent to write upon, much less to 
criticize, Shakespeare. He believed it could not be suc- 
cessfully done. Shakespeare was above all, could be 
measured by no rules of criticism; and much as he should 
have liked to dwell upon his transcendent genius, he had 
always recoiled from touching the subject. I said that 
I was prepared for this, after his tribute which stands 
to-day unequaled, and I recalled his own lines from his 


Others abide our question. Thou art free. 
We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, 
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill 
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, 

Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, 
Spares but the cloudy border of his base 

To the foil’d searching of mortality; 

And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, 
Self-school’d, self-scann’d, self-honour’d, self-secure, 
Didst stand on earth unguess’d at — Better so! 

All pains the immortal spirit must endure, 
All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow, 
Find their sole voice in that victorious brow. 

I knew Mr. Shaw (Josh Billings) and wished Mr. Ar- 
nold, the apostle of sweetness and light, to meet that 


rough diamond — rough, but still a diamond. Fortu- 
nately one morning Josh came to see me in the Windsor 
Hotel, where we were then living, and referred to our 
guest, expressing his admiration for him. I replied: 

“You are going to dine with him to-night. The ladies 
are going out and Arnold and myself are to dine alone; 
you complete the trinity.” 

To this he demurred, being a modest man, but I was 
inexorable. No excuse would be taken; he must come to 
oblige me. He did. I sat between them at dinner and 
enjoyed this meeting of extremes. Mr. Arnold became 
deeply interested in Mr. Shaw’s way of putting things 
and liked his Western anecdotes, laughing more heartily 
than I had ever seen him do before. One incident after 
another was told from the experience of the lecturer, 
for Mr. Shaw had lectured for fifteen years in every 
place of ten thousand inhabitants or more in the United 

Mr. Arnold was desirous of hearing how the lecturer 
held his audiences. 

“Well,” he said, “you must n’t keep them laughing 
too long, or they will think you are laughing at them. 
After giving the audience amusement you must become 
earnest and play the serious role. For instance, “There are 
two things in this life for which no man is ever prepared. 
Who will tell me what these are?’ Finally some one cries 
out ‘Death.’ ‘Well, who gives me the other?’ Many re- 
spond — wealth, happiness, strength, marriage, taxes. 
At last Josh begins, solemnly: ‘None of you has given 
the second. There are two things on earth for which 
no man is ever prepared, and them’s twins,’ and the 
house shakes.”’ Mr. Arnold did also. 

“Do you keep on inventing new stories?”’ was asked. 

“Yes, always. You can’t lecture year after year unless 


you find new stories, and sometimes these fail to crack. 
I had one nut which I felt sure would crack and bring 
down the house, but try as I would it never did itself 
justice, all because I could not find the indispensable 
word, just one word. I was sitting before a roaring wood 
fire one night up in Michigan when the word came to 
me which I knew would crack like a whip. I tried it 
on the boys and it did. It lasted longer than any one 
word I used. I began: ‘This is a highly critical age. 
People won’t believe until they fully understand. Now 
there’s Jonah and the whale. They want to know all 
about it, and it’s my opinion that neither Jonah nor 
the whale fully understood it. And then they ask what 
Jonah was doing in the whale’s — the whale’s society.’ ”’ 

Mr. Shaw was walking down Broadway one day when 
accosted by a real Westerner, who said: 

“T think you are Josh Billings.” 

“Well, sometimes I am called that.” 

“T have five thousand dollars for you right here in 
my pocket-book.” 

‘**Here’s Delmonico’s, come in and tell me all about 
Tas | 

After seating themselves, the stranger said he was 
part owner in a gold mine in California, and explained 
that there had been a dispute about its ownership and 
that the conference of partners broke up in quarreling. 
The stranger said he had left, threatening he would take 
the bull by the horns and begin legal proceedings. “The 
next morning I went to the meeting and told them I 
had turned over Josh Billings’s almanac that morning 
and the lesson for the day was: ‘When you take the 
bull by the horns, take him by the tail; you can get a 
better hold and let go when you’re a mind to.’ We 
laughed and laughed and felt that was good sense. We 


took your advice, settled, and parted good friends. Some 
one moved that five thousand dollars be given Josh, 
and as I was coming East they appointed me treasurer 
and I promised to hand it over. There it is.” 

The evening ended by Mr: Arnold saying: 

“Well, Mr. Shaw, if ever you come to lecture in 
_ England, I shall be glad to welcome and introduce you 
to your first audience. Any foolish man called a lord 
could do you more good than I by introducing you, but 
I should so much like to do it.” 

Imagine Matthew Arnold, the apostle of sweetness 
and light, introducing Josh Billings, the foremost of 
jesters, to a select London audience. 

In after years he never failed to ask after “‘our leo- 
nine friend, Mr. Shaw.”’ 

Meeting Josh at the Windsor one morning after the 
notable dinner I sat down with him in the rotunda and 
he pulled out a small memorandum book, saying as he 
did so: 

*Where’s Arnold? I wonder what he would say to 
this. The ‘Century’ gives me $100 a week, I agreeing 
to send them any trifle that occurs to me. I try to give 
it something. Here’s this from Uncle Zekiel, my weekly 
budget: ‘Of course the critic is a greater man than the 
author. Any fellow who can point out the mistakes 
another fellow has made is a darned sight smarter fellow 
than the fellow who made them.’ ”’ 

I told Mr. Arnold a Chicago story, or rather a story 
about Chicago. A society lady of Boston visiting her 
schoolmate friend in Chicago, who was about to be 
married, was overwhelmed with attention. Asked by a 
noted citizen one evening what had charmed her most 
in Chicago, she graciously replied: 

“What surprises me most is n’t the bustle of business, 


or your remarkable development materially, or your 
grand residences; it is the degree of culture and refine- 
ment I find here.’’ The response promptly came: 

“Oh, we are just dizzy on cult out here, you bet.” 

Mr. Arnold was not prepared to enjoy Chicago, which 
had impressed him as the headquarters of Philistinism. 
He was, however, surprised and gratified at meeting with 
so much “culture and refinement.”’ Before he started he 
was curious to know what he should find most interest- 
ing. I laughingly said that he would probably first be 
taken to see the most wonderful sight there, which was 
said to be the slaughter houses, with new machines so 
perfected that the hog driven in at one end came out 
hams at the other before its squeal was out of one’s ears. 
Then after a pause he asked reflectively: 

‘**But why should one go to slaughter houses, why 
should one hear hogs squeal?’ I could give no reason, 
so the matter rested. 

Mr. Arnold’s Old Testament favorite was certainly 
Isaiah: at least his frequent quotations from that great 
poet, as he called him, led one to this conclusion. I 
found in my tour around the world that the sacred books 
of other religions had been stripped of the dross that had 
necessarily accumulated around their legends. I remem- 
bered Mr. Arnold saying that the Scriptures should be so 
dealt with. The gems from Confucius and others which 
delight the world have been selected with much care 
and appear as “collects.’’ The disciple has not the objec- 
tionable accretions of the ignorant past presented to him. 

The more one thinks over the matter, the stronger 
one’s opinion becomes that the Christian will have to 
follow the Eastern example and winnow the wheat from 
the chaff — worse than chaff, sometimes the positively 
pernicious and even poisonous refuse. Burns, in the 


“Cotter’s Saturday Night,” pictures the good man 
taking down the big Bible for the evening service: 

‘He wales a portion with judicious care.”’ 

We should have those portions selected and .use the se- 
lections only. In this, and much besides, the man whom 
I am so thankful for having known and am so favored as 
to call friend, has proved the true teacher in advance of 
his age, the greatest poetic teacher in the domain of “‘the 
future and its viewless things.” 

I took Arnold down from our summer home at Cres- 
son in the Alleghanies to see black, smoky Pittsburgh. 
In the path from the Edgar Thomson Steel Works to 
the railway station there are two flights of steps to the 
bridge across the railway, the second rather steep. When 
we had ascended about three quarters of it he suddenly 
stopped to gain breath. Leaning upon the rail and put- 
ting his hand upon his heart, he said to me: 

“Ah, this will some day do for me, as it did for my 
father.” | 

I did not know then of the weakness of his heart, but 
I never forgot this incident, and when not long after 
the sad news came of his sudden death, after exertion in 
England endeavoring to evade an obstacle, it came back 
to me with a great pang that our friend had foretold his 
fate. Our loss was great. To no man I have known could 
Burns’s epitaph upon Tam Samson be more appropri- 
ately applied: 

“Tam Samson’s weel-worn clay here lies: 
Ye canting zealots, spare him! 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye’ll mend or ye win near him.” 

The name of a dear man comes to me just here, Dr. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, of Boston, everybody’s doctor, 


whose only ailment toward the end was being eighty years 
of age. He was a boy to the last. When Matthew Arnold 
died a few friends could not resist taking steps toward a 
suitable memorial to his memory. These friends quietly 
provided the necessary sum, as no public appeal could be 
thought of. No one could be permitted to contribute to 
such a fund except such as had a right to the privilege, 
for privilege it was felt to be. Double, triple the sum 
could readily have been obtained. I had the great satis- 
faction of being permitted to join the select few and to 
give the matter a little attention upon our side of the 
Atlantic. Of course I never thought of mentioning the 
matter to dear Dr. Holmes — not that he was not one of 
the elect, but that no author or professional man should 
be asked, to contribute money to funds which, with rare 
exceptions, are best employed when used for themselves. 
One morning, however, I received a note from the doc- 
tor, saying that it had been whispered to him that there 
was such a movement on foot, and that I had been 
mentioned in connection with it, and if he were judged 
worthy to have his name upon the roll of honor, he would 
be gratified. Since he had heard of it he could not rest 
without writing to me, and he should like to hear in 
reply. That he was thought worthy goes without say- 

This is the kind of memorial any man might wish. I 
venture to say that there was not one who contributed 
to it who was not grateful to the kind fates for giving 
him the opportunity. 


N London, Lord Rosebery, then in Gladstone’s Cab- 

inet and arising statesman, was good enough to invite 
me to dine with him to meet Mr. Gladstone, and I am 
indebted to him for meeting the world’s first citizen. 
This was, I think, in 1885, for my “Triumphant Democ- 
racy’ ' appeared in 1886, and I remember giving Mr. 
Gladstone, upon that occasion, some startling figures 
which I had prepared for it. 

I never did what I thought right in a social matter 
with greater self-denial, than when later the first invi- 
tation came from Mr. Gladstone to dine with him. I was 
engaged to dine elsewhere and sorely tempted to plead 
that an invitation from the real ruler of Great Britain 
should be considered as much of a command as that of 
the ornamental dignitary. But I kept my engagement 
and missed the man I most wished to meet. The privilege 
came later, fortunately, when subsequent visits to him 
at Hawarden were made. 

Lord Rosebery opened the first library I ever gave, 
that of Dunfermline, and he has recently (1905) opened 
the latest given by me — one away over in Stornoway. 
When he last visited New York I drove him along the 
Riverside Drive, and he declared that no city in the 
world possessed such an attraction. He was a man of 
brilliant parts, but his resolutions were 

**Sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.” 

1 Triumphant Democracy, or Fifty Years’ March of the Republic. London 
and New York, 1886. 


Had he been born to labor and entered the House of 
Commons in youth, instead of being dropped without 
effort into the gilded upper chamber, he might have ac- 
quired in the rough-and-tumble of life the tougher skin, 
for he was highly sensitive and lacked tenacity of pur- 
pose essential to command in political life. He was a 
charming speaker — a eulogist with the lightest touch 
and the most graceful style upon certain themes of any 
speaker of his day. [Since these lines were written he 
has become, perhaps, the foremost eulogist of our race. 
He has achieved a high place. All honor to him!| 

One morning I called by appointment upon him. 
After greetings he took up an envelope which I saw as 
I entered had been carefully laid on his desk, and handed 
it to me, saying: 

“‘T wish you to dismiss your secretary.” 

“That is a big order, Your Lordship. He 1s indispen- 
sable, and a Scotsman,” I replied. “What is the matter 
with him?” 

“This is n’t your handwriting; it is his. What do you 
think of a man who spells Rosebery with two r’s ?” 

I said if I were sensitive on that point life would not 
be endurable for me. “I receive many letters daily when 
at home and I am sure that twenty to thirty per cent 
of them mis-spell my name, ranging from ‘ Karnaghie’ 
to ‘Carnagay.’”’ 

But he was in earnest. Just such little matters gave 
him great annoyance. Men of action should learn to 
laugh at and enjoy these small things, or they themselves 
may become “small.’’ A charming personality withal, 
but shy, sensitive, capricious, and reserved, qualities 
which a few years in the Commons would probably 
have modified. 

When he was, as a Liberal, surprising the House of 


Lords and creating some stir, I ventured to let off a little 
of my own democracy upon him. 

‘Stand for Parliament boldly. Throw off your heredi- 
tary rank, declaring you scorn to accept a privilege which 
is not the right of every citizen. Thus make yourself the 
real leader of the people, which you never can be while 
a peer. You are young, brilliant, captivating, with the 
gift of charming speech. No question of your being Prime 
Minister if you take the plunge.” 

To my surprise, although apparently interested, he 
said very quietly: 

‘But the House of Commons could n’t admit me as a 

“That’s what I should hope. If I were in your place, 
and rejected, I would stand again for the next vacancy 
and force the issue. Insist that one having renounced his 
hereditary privileges becomes elevated to citizenship and 
is eligible for any position to which he is elected. Victory 
is certain. That’s playing the part of a Cromwell. De- 
mocracy worships a precedent-breaker or a precedent- 

We dropped the subject. Telling Morley of this after- 
ward, I shall never forget his comment: 

“My friend, Cromwell doesn’t reside at Number 
38 Berkeley Square.” Slowly, solemnly spoken, but con- 

Fine fellow, Rosebery, only he was handicapped by 
being born a peer. On the other hand, Morley, rising 
from the ranks, his father a surgeon hard-pressed to keep 
his son at college, is still ““Honest John,” unaffected in 
the slightest degree by the so-called elevation to the 
peerage and the Legion of Honor, both given for merit. 
The same with “Bob” Reid, M.P., who became Earl 
Loreburn and Lord High Chancellor, Lord Haldane, his 


successor as Chancellor; Asquith, Prime Minister, Lloyd 
George, and others. Not even the rulers of our Republic 
to-day are more democratic or more thorough men of 
the people. 

When the world’s foremost citizen passed away, the 
question was, Who is to succeed Gladstone; who can suc- 
ceed him? The younger members of the Cabinet agreed 
to leave the decision to Morley. Harcourt or Campbell- 
Bannerman? There was only one impediment in the path 
of the former, but that was fatal — inability to control 
his temper. The issue had unfortunately aroused him 
to such outbursts as really unfitted him for leadership, 
and so the man of calm, sober, unclouded judgment was 
considered indispensable. 

I was warmly attached to Harcourt, who in turn was 
a devoted admirer of our Republic, as became the hus- 
band of Motley’s daughter. Our census and our printed 
reports, which I took care that he should receive, in- 
terested him deeply. Of course, the elevation of the 
representative of my native town of Dunfermline 
(Campbell-Bannerman)! gave me unalloyed pleasure, 
the more so since in returning thanks from the Town 
House to the people assembled he used these words: 

“T owemy election to my Chairman, Bailie Morrison.” 

The Bailie, Dunfermline’s leading radical, was my 
uncle. We were radical families in those days and are so 
still, both Carnegies and Morrisons, and intense admir- 
ers of the Great Republic, like that one who extolled 
Washington and his colleagues as ““men who knew and 
dared proclaim the royalty of man”’ — a proclamation 
worth while. There is nothing more certain than that 
the English-speaking race in orderly, lawful develop- 

* Campbell-Bannerman was chosen leader of the Liberal Party in 
December, 1898. 


ment will soon establish the golden rule of citizenship 
through evolution, never revolution: 

“The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, 
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.” 

This feeling already prevails in all the British colonies. 
The dear old Motherland hen has ducks for chickens 
which give her much anxiety breasting the waves, while 
she, alarmed, screams wildly from the shore; but she 
will learn to swim also by and by. 

In the autumn of 1905 Mrs. Carnegie and I attended 
the ceremony of giving the Freedom of Dunfermline 
to our friend, Dr. John Ross, chairman of the Carnegie 
Dunfermline Trust, foremost and most zealous worker. 
for the good of the town. Provost Macbeth in his speech 
informed the audience that the honor was seldom con- 
ferred, that there were only three living burgesses — 
one their member of Parliament, H. Campbell-Banner- 
man, then Prime Minister; the Earl of Elgin of Dun- 
fermline, ex-Viceroy of India, then Colonial Secretary; 
and the third myself. This seemed great company for 
me, so entirely out of the running was I as regards 
official station. 

The Earl of Elgin is the descendant of The Bruce. 
Their family vault is in Dunfermline Abbey, where 
his great ancestor lies under the Abbey bell. It has been 
noted how Secretary Stanton selected General Grant as 
the one man in the party who could not possibly be the 
commander. One would be very apt to make a similar’ 
mistake about the Earl. When the Scottish Universities 
were to be reformed the Earl was second on the com- 
mittee. When the Conservative Government formed its 
Committee upon the Boer War, the Earl, a Liberal, was 
appointed chairman. When the decision of the House 


of Lords brought ‘dire confusion upon the United Free 
Church of Scotland, Lord Elgin was called upon as the 
Chairman of Committee to settle the matter. Parlia- 
ment embodied his report in a bill, and again he was 
placed at the head to apply it. When trustees for the 
Universities of Scotland Fund were to be selected, I told 
Prime Minister Balfour I thought the Earl of Elgin as 
a Dunfermline magnate could be induced to take the 
chairmanship. He said I could not get a better man in 
Great Britain. So it has proved. John Morley said to 
me one day afterwards, but before he had, as a member 
of the Dunfermline Trust, experience of the chairman: 

‘I used to think Elgin about the most problematical 
public man in high position I had ever met, but I now 
know him one of the ablest. Deeds, not words; judg- 
ment, not talk.” 

Such the descendant of The Bruce to-day, the em- 
bodiment of modest worth and wisdom combined. 

Once started upon a Freedom-getting career, there 
seemed no end to these honors.! With headquarters in 
London in 1906, I received six Freedoms in six consecu- 
tive days, and two the week following, going out by 
morning train and returning in the evening. It might be 
thought that the ceremony would become monotonous, 
but this was not so, the conditions being different in each 
case. [ met remarkable men in the mayors and provosts 
and the leading citizens connected with municipal 
affairs, and each community had its own individual 
stamp and its problems, successes, and failures. There 
was generally one greatly desired improvement over- 
shadowing all other questions engrossing the attention 

? Mr. Carnegie had received no less than fifty-four Freedoms of cities 
in Great Britain and Ireland. This was a record — Mr. Gladstone coming 
second with seventeen. 


of the people. Each was a little world in itself. The City 
Council is a Cabinet in miniature and the Mayor the 
Prime Minister. Domestic politics keep the people agog. 
Foreign relations are not wanting. There are inter-city 
questions with neighboring communities, joint water 
or gas or electrical undertakings of mighty import, 
conferences deciding for or against alliances or separa- 

In no department is the contrast greater between the 
old world and the new than in municipal government. 
In the former the families reside for generations in the 
place of birth with increasing devotion to the town and 
all its surroundings. A father achieving the mayorship 
stimulates the son to aspire to it. That invaluable asset, 
city pride, is created, culminating in romantic attach- 
ment to native places. Councilorships are sought that 
each in his day and generation may be of some service 
to the town. To the best citizens this is a creditable ob- 
ject of ambition. Few, indeed, look beyond 1t — mem- 
bership in Parliament being practically reserved for 
men of fortune, involving as it does residence in London 
without compensation. This latter, however, is soon to 
be changed and Britain follow the universal practice 
of paying legislators for service rendered. [In 1908; since 
realized; four hundred pounds is now paid.] 

After this she will probably follow the rest of the 
world by having Parliament meet in the daytime, its 
members fresh and ready for the day’s work, instead 
of giving all day to professional work and then with 
exhausted brains undertaking the work of governing 
the country after dinner. Cavendish, the authority on 
whist, being asked if a man could possibly finesse a 
knave, second round, third player, replied, after reflect- 
ing, “Yes, he might after dinner.” 


The best people are on the councils of British towns, 
incorruptible, public-spirited men, proud of and devoted 
to their homes. In the United States progress is being 
made in this direction, but we are here still far behind 
Britain. Nevertheless, people tend to settle permanently 
in places as the country becomes thickly populated. 
We shall develop the local patriot who is anxious to 
leave the place of his birth a little better than he found 
it. It is only one generation since the provostship of 
Scotch towns was generally reserved for one of the 
local landlords belonging to the upper classes. ‘That “the 
Briton dearly loves a lord” is still true, but the love is 
rapidly disappearing. 

In Eastbourne, Kings-Lynn, Sonebure Ilkeston, and 
many other ancient towns, I found the mayor had risen 
from the ranks, and had generally worked with his hands. 
The majority of the council were also of this type. All 
gave their time gratuitously. It was a source of much 
pleasure to me to know the provosts and leaders in 
council of so many towns in Scotland and England, not 
forgetting Ireland where my Freedom tour was equally 
attractive. Nothing could excel the reception accorded 
me in Cork, Waterford, and Limerick. It was surprising 
to see the welcome on flags expressed in the same Gaelic 
words, Cead mille failthe (meaning ‘“‘a hundred thou- 
sand welcomes’’) as used by the tenants of Skibo. 

Nothing could have given me such insight into local 
public life and patriotism in Britain as Freedom-taking, 
which otherwise might have become irksome. I felt 
myself so much at home among the city chiefs that the 
embarrassment of flags and crowds and people at the 
windows along our route was easily met as part of the 
duty of the day, and even the address of the chief mag- 
istrate usually furnished new phases of life upon which 


I could dwell. The lady mayoresses were delightful in 
all their pride and glory. 

My conclusion is that the United Kingdom is better 
served by the leading citizens of her municipalities, 
elected by popular vote, than any other country far 
and away can possibly be; and that all is sound to the 
core in that important branch of government. Parlia- 
ment itself could readily be constituted of a delegation 
of members from the town councils without impairing 
its efficiency. Perhaps when the sufficient payment of 
members is established, many of these will befound at 
Westminster and that to the advantage of the Kingdom. 

R. GLADSTONE paid my “American Four-in- 

Hand in Britain”’ quite a compliment when Mrs. 
Carnegie and I were his guests at Hawarden in April, 
1892. He suggested one day that I should spend the 
morning with him in his new library, while he arranged 
his books (which no one except himself was ever allowed 
to touch), and we could converse. In prowling about the 
shelves I found a unique volume and called out to my 
host, then on top of a library ladder far from me han- 
dling heavy volumes: 

“Mr. Gladstone, I find here a book ‘Dunfermline 
Worthies,’ by a friend of my father’s. I knew some of 
the worthies when a child.”’ ! 

“Yes,” he replied, ‘‘and if you will pass your hand 
three or four books to the left I think you will find 
another book by a Dunfermline man.”’ 

I did so and saw my book “An American Four-in- 
Hand in Britain.’ Ere I had done so, however, I heard 
that organ voice orating in full swing from the top of | 
the ladder: 

“What Mecca is to the Mohammedan, Benares to 
the Hindoo, Jerusalem to the Christian, all that Dun-— 
fermline is to me.” 

My ears heard the voice some moments before my 
brain realized that these were my own words called 
forth by the first glimpse caught of Dunfermline as we 
approached it from the south.! 

1 The whole paragraph is as follows: ‘‘How beautiful is Dunfermline 
seen from the Ferry Hills, its grand old Abbey towering over all, seeming 
to hallow the city, and to lend a charm and dignity to the lowliest tenement! 

Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N.Y, 



“How on earth did you come to get this book?”’ I 
asked. “I had not the honor of knowing you when it 
was written and could not have sent you a copy.” 

*“No!”’ he replied, “I had not then the pleasure of 
your acquaintance, but some one, I think Rosebery, 
told me of the book and [I sent for it and read it with 
delight. That tribute to Dunfermline struck me as so 
extraordinary it lingered with me. I could never forget 
8 a 

This incident occurred eight years after the “‘ Ameri- 
ean Four-in-Hand’”’ was written, and adds another to 
the many proofs of Mr. Gladstone’s wonderful memory. 
Perhaps as a vain author I may be pardoned for confess- 
ing my grateful appreciation of his no less wonderful 

The politician who figures publicly as “reader of the 
lesson”’ on Sundays, is apt to be regarded suspiciously. 
I confess that until I had known Mr. Gladstone well, 
I had found the thought arising now and then that the 
wary old gentleman might feel at least that these ap- 
pearances cost him no votes. But all this vanished as I 
learned his true character. He was devout and sincere 
if ever man was. Yes, even when he records in his diary 
(referred to by Morley in his “ Life of Gladstone’’) that, 
while addressing the House of Commons on the budget 
for several hours with great acceptance, he was “‘con- 
scious of being sustained by the Divine Power above.” 
Try as one may, who can deny that to one of such 
abounding faith this belief in the support of the Un- 
known Power must really have proved a sustaining 
Nor is there in all broad Scotland, nor in many places elsewhere that 
I know of, a more varied and delightful view than that obtained from the 
Park upon a fine day. What Benares is to the Hindoo, Mecca to the 

Mohammedan, Jerusalem to the Christian, all that Dunfermline is to me.”’ 
(An American Four-in-Hand in Britain, p. 282.) 


influence, although it may shock others to think that 
any mortal being could be so bold as to imagine that - 
the Creator of the Universe would concern himself 
about Mr. Gladstone’s budget, prepared for a little 
speck of this little speck of earth? It seems almost sac- 
rilegious, yet to Mr. Gladstone we know it was the re- 
verse — a religious belief such as has no doubt often 
enabled men to accomplish wonders as direct agents 
of God and doing His work. 

On the night of the Queen’s Jubilee in June, 1887, 
Mr. Blaine and I were to dine at Lord Wolverton’s 
in Piccadilly, to meet Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone — Mr. 
Blaine’s first introduction to him. We started in a cab 
from the Metropole Hotel in good time, but the crowds 
were so dense that the cab had to be abandoned in the 
middle of St. James’s Street. Reaching the pavement, 
Mr. Blaine following, I found a policeman and explained 
to him who my companion was, where we were going, 
_ and asked him if he could not undertake to get us there. 
He did so, pushing his way through the masses with 
all the authority of his office and we followed. But it 
was nine o'clock before we reached Lord Wolverton’s. 
We separated after eleven. 

Mr. Gladstone explained that he and Mrs. Glad- 
stone had been able to reach the house by coming through 
Hyde Park and around the back way. They expected 
to get back to their residence, then in Carlton Ter- 
race, in the same way. Mr. Blaine and I thought we 
should enjoy the streets and take our chances of getting 
back to the hotel by pushing through the crowds. We 
were doing this successfully and were moving slowly 
with the current past the Reform Club when I heard a 
word or two spoken by a voice close to the building on 
my right. I said to Mr. Blaine: 


“That is Mr. Gladstone’s voice.’ 

He said: “It is impossible. We have just left him 
returning to his residence.” 

“TI don’t care; I recognize voices better than faces, 
and I am sure that is Gladstone’s.”’ 

Finally I prevailed upon him to Bye a few steps. 
We got close to the side of the house and moved back. 
I came to a muffled figure and whispered: 

“What does ‘Gravity’ out of its bed at midnight?” 

Mr. Gladstone was discovered. I told him I recog- 
nized his voice whispering to his companion. 

**And so,”’ I said, “‘the real ruler comes out to see the 
iluminations prepared for the nominal ruler!”’ 

He replied: “Young man, I think it is time you were 
in bed.” 

We remained a few minutes with him, he being care- 
ful not to remove from his head and face the cloak that 
covered them. It was then past midnight and he was 
eighty, but, boylike, after he got Mrs. Gladstone safely 
home he had determined to see the show. 

The conversation at the dinner between Mr. Glad- 
stone and Mr. Blaine turned upon the differences in 
Parliamentary procedure between Britain and America. 
During the evening Mr. Gladstone cross-examined Mr. 
Blaine very thoroughly upon the mode of procedure 
of the House of Representatives of which Mr. Blaine 
had been the Speaker. I saw the “previous question,”’ 
and summary rules with us for restricting needless de- 
bate made a deep impression upon Mr. Gladstone. At 
intervals the conversation took a wider range. 

Mr. Gladstone was interested in more subjects than 
perhaps any other man in Britain. When I was last 
with him in Scotland, at Mr. Armistead’s, his mind 
was as clear and vigorous as ever, his interest in affairs 


equally strong. The topic which then interested him 
most, and about which he plied me with questions, was 
the tall steel buildings in our country, of which he 
had been reading. What puzzled him was how it could 
be that the masonry of a fifth floor or sixth story was 
often finished before the third or fourth. This I ex- 
plained, much to his satisfaction. In getting to the bot- 
tom of things he was indefatigable. 

Mr. Morley (although a lord he still remains as an 
author plain John Morley) became one of our British 
friends quite early as editor of the “‘Fortnightly Re- 
view,” which published my first contribution to a Brit- 
ish periodical. Thefriendship has widened and deepened 
in our old age until we mutually confess we are very 
close friends to each other.” We usually exchange short 
notes (sometimes long ones) on Sunday afternoons as 
the spirit moves us. We are not alike; far from it. We 
are drawn together because opposites are mutually 
beneficial to each other. I am optimistic; all my ducks 
being swans. He is pessimistic, looking out soberly, 
even darkly, upon the real dangers ahead, and some- 
times imagining vain things. He is inclined to see “an 

1 An American Four-in-Hand in Britain. 

2 “Mr. Carnegie had proved his originality, fullness of mind, and bold 
strength of character, as much or more in the distribution of wealth as 
he had shown skill and foresight in its acquisition. We had become known to 
one another more than twenty years before through Matthew Arnold. 
His extraordinary freshness of spirit easily carried Arnold, Herbert Spencer, 
myself, and afterwards many others, high over an occasional crudity. or 
haste in judgment such as befalls the best of us in ardent hours. People 
with a genius for picking up pins made as much as they liked of this: it was — 
wiser to do justice to his spacious feel for the great objects of the world — 
for knowledge and its spread, invention, light, improvement of social re- 
lations, equal chances to the talents, the passion for peace. These are 
glorious things; a touch of exaggeration in expression is easy to set right. 

. A man of high and wide and well-earned mark in his generation.” 

(John, Viscount Morley, in Recollections, vol. u, pp. 110, 112. New York, 

Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N.Y. 



officer in every bush.’’ The world seems bright to me, 
and earth is often a real heayen — so happy I am and 
so thankful to the kind fates. Morley is seldom if ever 
wild about anything; his judgment is always deliberate 
_ and his eyes are ever seeing the spots on the sun. 

I told him the story of the pessimist whom nothing 
ever pleased, and the optimist whom nothing ever dis- 
pleased, being congratulated by the angels upon their 
having obtained entrance to heaven. The pessimist re- 

“Yes, very good place, but somehow or other this | 
halo don’t fit my head exactly.” 

The optimist retorted by telling the story of a man 
being carried down to purgatory and the Devil laying 
his victim up against a bank while he got a drink at 
a spring — temperature very high. An old friend ac- 
costed him: 

“Well, Jim, how’s this? No remedy possible; you’re 
a gone coon sure.”’ 

The reply came: “Hush, it might be worse.”’ 

**How ’s that, when you are being carried down to the 
bottomless pit?”’ 

“Hush’’ — pointing to his Satanic Majesty — “he 
might take a notion to make me carry him.” 

Morley, like myself, was very fond of music and 
reveled in the morning hour during which the organ 
was being played at Skibo. He was attracted by the ora- 
torios as also Arthur Balfour. I remember they got 
tickets together for an oratorio at the Crystal Palace. 
Both are sane but philosophic, and not very far apart 
as philosophers, I understand; but some recent produc- 
tions of Balfour send him far afield speculatively — a 
field which Morley never attempts. He keeps his foot 
on the firm ground and only treads where the way is 


cleared. No danger of his being “lost in the woods 
while searching for the path. 

Morley’s most astonishing announcement of recent 
days was in his address to the editors of the world, as- 
sembled in London. He informed them in effect that a 
few lines from Burns had done more to form and main- 
tain the present improved political and social condi- 
tions of the people than all the millions of editorials 
ever written. This followed a remark that there were 
now and then a few written or spoken words which were 
in themselves events; they accomplished what they 
described. Tom Paine’s eae of Man” was men- 
tioned as such. 

Upon his arrival at Skibo niter this address we talked 
it over. I referred to his tribute to Burns and his six 
lines, and he replied that he did n’t need to tell me what 
lines these were. 

“No,” I said, ““I know them by heart.” 

In a subsequent address, unveiling a statue of Burns 
in the park at Montrose, I repeated the lines I supposed | 
he referred to, and he approved them. He and I, strange 
to say, had received the Freedom of Montrose together 
years before, so we are fellow-freemen. 

At last I induced Morley to visit us in America, and 
he made a tour through a great part of our country in 
1904. We tried to have him meet distinguished men 
like himself. One day Senator Elihu Root called at my 
request and Morley had a long interview with him. 
After the Senator left Morley remarked to me that he 
had enjoyed his companion greatly, as being the most 
satisfactory American statesman he had yet met. He 
was not mistaken. For sound judgment and wide 
knowledge of our public affairs Elihu Root has no 



Morley left us to pay a visit to President Roosevelt 
at the White House, and spent several fruitful days in 
company with that extraordinary man. Later, Morley’s 
remark was: 

“Well, I’ve seen two wonders in America, Roose- 
velt and Niagara.”’ 

That was clever and true to yee —a great pair of 
roaring, tumbling, dashing and splashing wonders, 
knowing no rest, but both doing their appointed work, 
such as it Is. 

Morley was the best person to have the Acton library 
and my gift of it to him came about in this way. When 
Mr. Gladstone told me the position Lord Acton was in, 
I agreed, at his suggestion, to buy Acton’s library and 
allow it to remain for his use during life. Unfortunately, 
he did not live long to enjoy it — only a few years — 
and then I had the library upon my hands. I decided 
that Morley could make the best use of it for himself and 
would certainly leave it eventually to the proper insti- 
tution. I began to tell him that I owned it when he in- 
terrupted me, saying: 

“Well, I must tell you I have known this from the 
day you bought it. Mr. Gladstone could n’t keep the 
secret, being so overjoyed that Lord Acton had it secure 
for life.” 

Here were he and I in close intimacy, and yet never 
had one mentioned the situation to the other; but it was 
a surprise to me that Morley was not surprised. This 
incident proved the closeness of the bond between Glad- 
stone and Morley — the only man he could not resist 
sharing his happiness with regarding earthly affairs. Yet 
on theological subjects they were far apart where Acton 
and Gladstone were akin. 

The year after I gave the fund for the Scottish uni- 


versities Morley went to Balmoral as minister in attend- 
ance upon His Majesty, and wired that he must see me 
before we sailed. We met and he informed me His Maj- 
esty was deeply impressed with the gift to the univer- 
sities and the others I had made to my native land, and 
wished him to ascertain whether there was anything in 
his power to bestow which I would appreciate. 

I asked: ‘‘ What did you say?”’ 

Morley replied: ‘I do not think so.” 

I said: “‘ You are quite right, except that if His Maj- 
esty would write me a note expressing his satisfaction 
with what I had done, as he has to you, this would be 
deeply appreciated and handed down to my descendants 
as something they would all be proud of.” 

This was done. The King’s autograph note I have 
already transcribed elsewhere in these pages. | 

That Skibo has proved the best of all health resorts 
for Morley is indeed fortunate, for he comes to us sey- 
eral times each summer and is one of the family, Lady 
Morley accompanying him. He is as fond of the yacht 
as I am myself, and, fortunately again, it is the best 
medicine for both of us. Morley is, and must always 
remain, ““Honest John.” No prevarication with him, no 
nonsense, firm as a rock upon all questions and in all 
emergencies; yet always looking around, fore and aft, 
right and left, with a big heart not often revealed in 
all its tenderness, but at rare intervals and upon fit oc- 
casion leaving no doubt of its presence and power. And 
after that silence. 

Chamberlain and Morley were fast friends as ad- 
vanced radicals, and I often met and conferred with 
_ them when in Britain. When the Home Rule issue was 
raised, much interest was aroused in Britain over our 
American Federal system. I was appealed to freely and 




delivered public addresses in several cities, explaining 
and extolling our union, many in one, the freest govern- 
ment of the parts producing the strongest government of 
the whole. I sent Mr. Chamberlain Miss Anna L. Dawes’s 
“How We Are Governed,” at his request for informa- 
tion, and had conversations with Morley, Gladstone, 
and many others upon the subject. 

I had to write Mr. Morley that I did not approve of 
the first Home Rule Bill for reasons which I gave. When 
I met Mr. Gladstone he expressed his regret at this and 
a full talk ensued. I objected to the exclusion of the 
Irish members from Parliament as being a practical 
separation. I said we should never have allowed the 
Southern States to cease sending representatives to 

“What would you have done if they refused?” he 

“Employed all the resources of civilization — first, 
stopped the mails,’’ I replied. 

He paused and repeated: 

“Stop the mails.” He felt the paralysis this involved 
and was silent, and changed the subject. 

In answer to questions as to what I should do, I al- 
ways pointed out that America had many legislatures, 
but only one Congress. Britain should follow her exam- 
ple, one Parliament and local legislatures (not parlia- 
ments) for Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. These should 
be made states like New York and Virginia. But as 
Britain has no Supreme Court, as we have, to decide 
upon laws passed, not only by state legislatures but 
by Congress, the judicial being the final authority and 
not the political, Britain should have Parliament as 
the one national final authority over Irish measures. 
Therefore, the acts of the local legislature of Ireland 


should lie for three months’ continuous session upon the 
table of the House of Commons, subject to adverse 
action of the House, but becoming operative unless dis- 
approved. The provision would be a dead letter unless 
improper legislation were enacted, but if there were 
improper legislation, then it would be salutary. The 
clause, I said, was needed to assure timid people that 
no secession could arise. 

Urging this view upon Mr. Morley afterwards, he 
told me this had been proposed to Parnell, but rejected. 
Mr. Gladstone might then have said: “Very well, this 
provision is not needed for myself and others who think 
with me, but it is needed to enable us to carry Britain 
with us. I am now unable to take up the question. The 
responsibility is yours.”’ . 

One morning at Hawarden Mrs. Gladstone said: 

“William tells me he has such extraordinary conver- 
sations with you.” 

These he had, no doubt. He had not often, if ever, 
heard the breezy talk of a genuine republican and did 
not understand my inability to conceive of different 
hereditary ranks. It seemed strange to me that men 
should deliberately abandon the name given them by 
their parents, and that name the parents’ name. Espe- 
cially amusing were the new titles which required the old 
hereditary nobles much effort to refrain from smiling 
at as they greeted the newly made peer who had per- 
haps bought his title for ten thousand pounds, more or 
less, given to the party fund. 

Mr. Blaine was with us in London and I told Mr. 
Gladstone he had expressed to me his wonder and pain 
at seeing him in his old age hat in hand, cold day as it 
was, at a garden party doing homage to titled nobodies. 
Union of Church and State was touched upon, and also 


my “Look Ahead,” which foretells the reunion of our 
race owing to the inability of the British Islands to 
expand. I had held that the disestablishment of the 
English Church was inevitable, because among other 
reasons it was an anomaly. No other part of the race 
had it. All religions were fostered, none favored, in every 
other English-speaking state. Mr. Gladstone asked: 

“How long do you give our Established Church to 

My reply was I could not fix a date; he had had more 
experience than I in disestablishing churches. He nodded 
and smiled. 

When I had enlarged upon a certain relative decrease 
of population in Britain that must come as compared 
with other countries of larger area, he asked: 

**What future do you forecast for her?”’ 

I referred to Greece among ancient nations and nd 
that it was, perhaps, not accident that Chaucer, Shake- 
speare, Spenser, Milton, Burns, Scott, Stevenson, Bacon, 
Cromwell, Wallace, Bruce, Hume, Watt, Spencer, 
Darwin, and other celebrities had arisen here. Genius 
did not depend upon material resources. Long after 
Britain could not figure prominently as an industrial 
nation, not by her decline, but through the greater 
growth of others, she might in my opinion become the 
modern Greece and achieve among nations moral 

He caught at the words, repeating them musingly: 

“Moral ascendancy, moral ascendancy, I like that, 
I like that.” 

I had never before so thoroughly enjoyed a confer- 
ence with a man. I visited him again at Hawarden, but 
my last visit to him was at Lord Randall’s at Cannes 
the winter of 1897 when he was suffering keenly. He 


had still the old charm and was especially attentive to 
my sister-in-law, Lucy, who saw him then for the first 
time and was deeply impressed. As we drove off, she 
murmured, “‘A sick eagle! A sick eagle!’’ Nothing could 
better describe this wan and worn leader of men as he 
appeared to me that day. He was not only a great, but 
a truly good man, stirred by the purest impulses, a 
high, imperious soul always looking upward. He had, 
indeed, earned the title: “Foremost Citizen of the 

In Britain, in 1881, I had entered into business re- 
lations with Samuel Storey, M.P., a very able man, a 
stern radical, and a genuine republican. We purchased 
several British newspapers and began a campaign of 
political progress upon radical lines. Passmore Edwards 
and some others joined us, but the result was not en- 
couraging. Harmony did not prevail among my British 
friends and finally I decided to withdraw, which I was 
fortunately able to do without loss.1 

My third literary venture, “Triumphant Democ- 
racy, * had its origin in realizing how little the best- 
informed foreigner, or even Briton, knew of America, 
and how distorted that little was. It was prodigious what 
these eminent Englishmen did not then know about the 
Republic. My first talk with Mr. Gladstone in 1882 can 
never be forgotten. When I had occasion to say that 
the majority of the English-speaking race was now re- 
publican and it was a minority of monarchists who were 
upon the defensive, he said: 

1 Mr. Carnegie acquired no less than eighteen British newspapers with 
the idea of promoting radical views. The political results were disappoint- 
ing, but with his genius for making money the pecuniary results were more 
than satisfactory. 

? Triumphant Democracy or Fifty Years’ March of the Republic. London, 
1886; New York, 1888. 


Why, how is that?” 

“Well, Mr. Gladstone,” I said, the Republic holds 
sway over a larger number of English-speaking people 
than the population of Great Britain and all her colonies 
even if the English-speaking colonies were numbered 
twice over.” 

Ah! how is that? What is your population?”’ 

“*Sixty-six millions, and yours is not much more than 

** Ah, yes, surprising!”’ 

With regard to the wealth of the nations, it was 
equally surprising for him to learn that the census of 
1880 proved the hundred-year-old Republic could pur- 
chase Great Britain and Ireland and all their realized 
capital and investments and then pay off Britain’s debt, 
and yet not exhaust her fortune. But the most startling 
statement of all was that which I was able to make when 
the question of Free Trade was touched upon. I pointed 
out that America was now the greatest manufactur- 
ing nation in the world. [At a later date I remember 
Lord Chancellor Haldane fell into the same error, call- 
ing Britain the greatest manufacturing country in the 
world, and thanked me for putting him right.] I quoted 
Mulhall’s figures: British manufactures in 1880, eight 
hundred and sixteen millions sterling; American manu- 
factures eleven hundred and twenty-six millions ster- 
ling. His one word was: 


Other startling statements followed and he asked: 

“Why does not some writer take up this subject and 
present the facts in a simple and direct form to the 

1 The estimated value of manufactures in Great Britain in 1900 was five 
billions of dollars as compared to thirteen billions for the United States. 
In 1914 the United States had gone to over twenty-four billions. 


I was then, as a matter of fact, gathering material 
for “Triumphant Democracy,” in which I intended to 
perform the very service which he indicated, as I in- 
formed him. | 

“Round the World” and the “American Four-in- 
Hand” gave me not the slightest effort but the prepara- 
tion of “Triumphant Democracy,” which I began in 
1882, was altogether another matter. It required steady, 
laborious work. Figures had to be examined and ar- 
ranged, but as I went forward the study became fasci- 
nating. For some months I seemed to have my head 
filled with statistics. The hours passed away unheeded. 
It was evening when I suppesed it was midday. The 
second serious illness of my life dates from the strain 
brought upon me by this work, for I had to attend to 
business as well. I shall think twice before I trust 
myself again with anything so fascinating as figures. 


ERBERT SPENCER, with his friend Mr. Lott 

and myself, were fellow travelers on the Servia 
from Liverpool to New York in 1882. I bore a note of 
introduction to him from Mr. Morley, but I had met 
the philosopher in London before that. I was one of 
his disciples. As an older traveler, I took Mr. Lott and 
him in charge. We sat at the same table during the voy- 

One day the conversation fell upon the impression 
made upon us by great men at first meeting. Did they, 
or did they not, prove to be as we had imagined them? 
Each gave his experience. Mine was that nothing could 
be more different than the oe: imagined and that 
being beheld in the flesh. 

“Oh!” said Mr. Spencer, “in my case, for instance, 
was this so?”’ 

“Yes,” I replied, “you more than any. I had imag- 
ined my teacher, the great calm philosopher brooding, 
Buddha-like, over all things, unmoved; never did I dream 
of seeing him excited over the question of Cheshire or 
Cheddar cheese.” The day before he had peevishly 
pushed away the former when presented by the steward, 
exclaiming “‘Cheddar, Cheddar, not Cheshire; I said 
Cheddar.’ There was a roar in which none joined more 
heartily than the sage himself. He refers to this incident 
of the voyage in his Autobiography.’ 

Spencer liked stories and was a good laugher. Ameri- 
can stories seemed to please him more than others, and 

1 An Autobiography, by Herbert Spencer, vol. 1, p. 424. New York, 1904. 


of those I was able to tell him not a few, which were 
usually followed by explosive laughter. He was anxious 
to learn about our Western Territories, which were then 
attracting attention in Europe, and a story I told him 
about Texas struck him as amusing. When a returning 
disappointed emigrant from that State was asked about 
the then barren country, he said: 

‘Stranger, all that I have to say about Texas is that 
if I owned Texas and h—l, I would sell Texas.”’ 

What a change from those early days! Texas has now 
over four millions of population and is said to have the 
soil to produce more cotton than the whole world did 
in 1882. ee 

The walk up to the house, when I had the philosopher 
out at Pittsburgh, reminded me of another American 
story of the visitor who started to come up the garden 
walk. When he opened the gate a big dog from the 
house rushed down upon him. He retreated and closed 
the garden gate just in time, the host calling out: 

“He won’t touch you, you know barking dogs never 

“Yes,” exclaimed the visitor, tremblingly, “I know 
that and you know it, but does the dog know it?” 

One day my eldest nephew was seen to open the door 
quietly and peep in where we were seated. His mother 
afterwards asked him why he had done so and the boy 
of eleven replied: | | 

*“Mamma, I wanted to see the man who wrote in a 
book that there was no use studying grammar.” 

Spencer was greatly pleased when he heard the story 
and often referred to it. He had faith in that nephew. 

Speaking to him one day about his having signed 
a remonstrance against a tunnel between Calais and 
Dover as having surprised me, he explained that for 




himself he was as anxious to have the tunnel as any 
one and that he did not believe in any of the objections 
raised against it, but signed the remonstrance because he 
knew his countrymen were such fools that the military 
and naval element in Britain could stampede the masses, 
frighten them, and stimulate militarism. An increased 
army and navy would then be demanded. He referred 
to a scare which had once arisen and involved the out- 
Jay of many millions in fortifications which had proved 

One day we were sitting in our rooms in the Grand 
Hotel looking out. over Trafalgar Square. The Life 
Guards passed and the following took place: 

“Mr. Spencer, I never see men dressed up like Merry 
Andrews without being saddened and indignant that in 
the nineteenth century the most civilized race, as we 
consider ourselves, still finds men willing to adopt as a 
profession — until lately the only profession for gentle- 
men — the study of the surest means of killing other 

Mr. Spencer said: “‘I feel just so myself, but I will 
tell you how I curb my indignation, Whenever I feel it 
rising I am calmed by this story of Emerson’s: He had 
been hooted and hustled from the platform in Faneuil 
Hall for daring to speak against slavery. He describes 
himself walking home in violent anger, until opening 
his garden gate and looking up through the branches of 
the tall elms that grew between the gate and his modest 
home, he saw the stars shining through. They said to 
him: ‘What, so hot, my little sir?’’’ I laughed and he 
laughed, and I thanked him for that story. Not seldom 
I have to repeat to myself, ““ What, so hot, my little sir?”’ 
and it suffices. 

Mr. Spencer’s visit to America had its climax in the 


banquet given for him at Delmonico’s. I drove him to 
it and saw the great man there in a funk. He could think 
of nothing but the address he was to deliver.! I believe 
he had rarely before spoken in public. His great fear 
_was that he should be unable to say anything that would 
be of advantage to the American people, who had been 
the first to appreciate his works. He may have attended 
many banquets, but never one comprised of more dis- 
tinguished people than this one. It was a remarkable 
gathering. The tributes paid Spencer -by the ablest 
men were unique. The climax was reached when Henry 
Ward Beecher, concluding his address, turned round 
and addressed Mr. Spencer in these words: 

“To my father and my mother I owe my physical 
being; to you, sir, I owe my intellectual being. At a criti- 
cal moment you provided the safe paths through the 
bogs and morasses; you were my teacher.” 

These words were spoken in slow, solemn tones. I do 
not remember ever having noticed more depth of feeling; 
evidently they came from a grateful debtor. Mr. Spencer 
was touched by the words. They gave rise to con- 
siderable remark, and shortly afterwards Mr. Beecher 
preached a course of sermons, giving his views upon 

1 “An occasion, on which more, perhaps, than any other in my life, I 
ought to have been in good condition, bodily and mentally, came when I 
was in a condition worse than I had been for six and twenty years. 
“Wretched night; no sleep at all; kept in my room all day’ says my diary, 
and I entertained ‘great fear I should collapse.’ When the hour came for 
making my appearance at Delmonico’s, where the dinner was given, I got 
my friends to secrete me in an anteroom until the last moment, so that I 
might avoid all excitements of introductions and congratulations; and as 
Mr. Evarts, who presided, handed me on the dais, I begged him to limit 
his conversation with me as much as possible, and to expect very meagre 
responses. The event proved that, trying though the tax was, there did not 
result the disaster I feared; and when Mr. Evarts had duly uttered the 
compliments of the occasion, I was able to get through my prepared speech 
without difficulty, though not with much effect.’ (Spencer’s Autobiography, 
vol. 11, p. 478.) 


Evolution. The conclusion of the series was anxiously 
looked for, because his acknowledgment of debt to 
Spencer as his teacher had created alarm in church 
circles. In the concluding article, as in his speech, if 
I remember rightly, Mr. Beecher said that, although 
he believed in evolution (Darwinism) up to a certain 
point, yet when man had reached his highest human 
level his Creator then invested him (and man alone 
of all living things) with the Holy Spirit, thereby bring- 
ing him into the circle of the godlike. Thus he answered 
his critics. 

Mr. Spencer took intense interest in mechanical de- 
vices. When he visited our works with me the new ap- 
pliances impressed him, and in after years he sometimes 
referred to these and said his estimate of American 
invention and push had been fully realized. He was 
naturally pleased with the deference and attention paid 
him in America. 

I seldom if ever visited England without going to see 
him, even after he had removed to Brighton that he 
might live looking out upon the sea, which appealed to 
and soothed him. I never met a man who seemed to 
weigh so carefully every action, every word — even the 
pettiest — and so completely to find guidance through 
his own conscience. He was no scoffer in religious mat- 
ters. In the domain of theology, however, he had little 
regard for decorum. It was to him a very faulty system 
hindering true growth, and the idea of rewards and pun- 
ishments struck him as an appeal to very low natures 
indeed. Still he never went to such lengths as Tennyson 
did upon an occasion when some of the old ideas were 
under discussion. Knowles‘ told me that Tennyson 
lost control of himself. Knowles said he was greatly dis- 

1 James Knowles, founder of the Nineteenth Century. 


appointed with the son’s life of the poet as giving no 
true picture of his father in his revolt against stern 

Spencer was always the calm philosopher. I believe 
that from childhood to old age — when the race was 
- run — he never was guilty of an immoral act or did an 
injustice to any human being. He was certainly one of 
the most conscientious men in all his doings that ever 
was born. Few men have wished to know another man 
more strongly than I to know Herbert Spencer, for 
seldom has one been more deeply indebted than I to 
him and to Darwin. 

Reaction against the theology of past days comes to 
many who have been surrounded in youth by church 
people entirely satisfied that the truth and faith indis- 
pensable to future happiness were derived only through 
strictest Calvinistic creeds. The thoughtful youth is 
naturally carried along and disposed to concur in this. 
He cannot but think, up to a certain period of develop- 
ment, that what is believed by the best and the highest 
educated around him — those to whom he looks for 
example and instruction — must be true. He resists 
doubt as inspired by the Evil One seeking his soul, and 
sure to get it unless faith comes to the rescue. Unfortu- 
nately he soon finds that faith is not exactly at his beck 
and call. Original sin he thinks must be at the root of 
this inability to see as he wishes to see, to believe as 
he wishes to believe. It seems clear to him that already 
he is little better than one of the lost. Of the elect he 
surely cannot be, for these must be ministers, elders, 
and strictly orthodox men. 

The young man is soon in chronic rebellion, trying to 
assume godliness with the others, acquiescing outwardly 
in the creed and all its teachings, and yet at heart totally 


unable to reconcile his outward accordance with his in- 
ward doubt. If there be intellect and virtue in the man 
but one result is possible; that is, Carlyle’s position 
after his terrible struggle when after weeks of torment 
he came forth: “If it be incredible, in God’s name, then, 
let it be discredited.’ With that the load of doubt and 
fear fell from him forever. 

When I, along with three or four of my boon com- 
panions, was in this stage of doubt about theology, in- 
cluding the supernatural element, and indeed the whole 
scheme of salvation through vicarious atonement and 
all the fabric built upon it, I came fortunately upon 
Darwin’s and Spencer’s works “The Data of Ethics,” 
“First Principles,” “Social Statics,” “The Descent of 
Man.” Reaching the pages which explain how man has 
absorbed such mental foods as were favorable to him, 
retaining what was salutary, rejecting what was dele- 
terious, I remember that light came as in a flood and 
all was clear. Not only had I got rid of theology and the 
supernatural, but I had found the truth of evolution. 
** All is well since all grows better’? became my motto, 
my true source of comfort. Man was not created with 
an instinct for his own degradation, but from the lower 
he had risen to the higher forms. Nor is there any con- 
ceivable end to his march to perfection. His face is 
turned to the light; he stands in the sun and looks up- 

Humanity is an organism, inherently rejecting all 
that is deleterious, that is, wrong, and absorbing after 
trial what is beneficial, that is, right. If so disposed, the 
Architect of the Universe, we must assume, might have 
made the world and man perfect, free from evil and 
from pain, as angels in heaven are thought to be; but 
although this was not done, man has been given the 


power of advancement rather than of retrogression. 
The Old and New Testaments remain, like other sacred 
writings of other lands, of value as records of the past 
and for such good lessons as they inculcate. Like the 
ancient writers of the Bible our thoughts should rest 
upon this life and our duties here. “To perform the 
duties of this world well, troubling not about another, 
is the prime wisdom,” says Confucius, great sage and 
teacher. The next world and its duties we shall consider 
when we are placed in it. 

I am as a speck of dust in the sun, and not even so 
much, in this solemn, mysterious, unknowable universe. 
I shrink back. One truth I see. Franklin was right. “The 
highest worship of God is service to Man.” All this, 
however, does not prevent everlasting hope of immortal- 
ity. It would be no greater miracle to be born to a future 
life than to have been born to live in this present life. 
The one has been created, why not the other? Therefore 
there is reason to hope for immortality. Let us hope.! 

1 “A.C. is really a tremendous personality — dramatic, wilful, generous, 
whimsical, at times almost cruel in pressing his own conviction upon 
others, and then again tender, affectionate, emotional, always imaginative, 
unusual and wide-visioned in his views. He is well worth Boswellizing, but 
I am urging him to be ‘his own Boswell.’ . . . He is inconsistent in many 
ways, but with a passion for lofty views; the brotherhood of man, peace 
among nations, religious purity — I mean the purification of religion from 

gross superstition — the substitution for a Westminster-Catechism God, of 
a Righteous, a Just God.” (Letters of Richard Watson Gilder, p. 375.) 


HILE one is known by the company he keeps, 

it is equally true that one is known by the stories 
he tells. Mr. Blaine was one of the best story-tellers I 
ever met. His was a bright sunny nature with a witty, 
pointed story for every occasion. 

Mr. Blaine’s address at Yorktown (I had accom- 
panied him there) was greatly admired. It directed 
special attention to the cordial friendship which had 
grown up between the two branches of the English- 
speaking race, and ended with the hope that the pre- 
vailing peace and good-will between the two nations 
would exist for many centuries to come. When he read 
this to me, I remember that the word “many”’ jarred, 
and I said: 

“Mr. Secretary, might I suggest the change of one 
word? I don’t like ‘many’; why not ‘all’ the centuries 
to come?”’ 

“Good, that is perfect!” 

And so it was given in the address: “for all the cen- 
turies to come.” 

We had a beautiful night returning from Yorktown, 
and, sitting in the stern of the ship in the moonlight, the 
military band playing forward, we spoke of the effect 
of music. Mr. Blaine said that his favorite just then was 
the ““Sweet By and By,” which he had heard played 
last by the same band at President Garfield’s funeral, 
and he thought upon that occasion he was more deeply 
moved by sweet sounds than he had ever been in his 
life. He requested that it should be the last piece played 


_ that night. Both he and Gladstone were fond of simple 
music. They could enjoy Beethoven and the classic 
masters, but Wagner was as yet a sealed book to them. 

In answer to my inquiry as to the most successful 
speech he ever heard in Congress, he replied it was 
that of the German, ex-Governor Ritter of Pennsyl- 
vania. The first bill appropriating money for inland 
fresh waters was under consideration. The house was 
divided. Strict constructionists held this to be uncon- 
stitutional; only harbors upon the salt sea were under 
the Federal Government. The contest was keen and the 
result doubtful, when to the astonishment of the House, 
Governor Ritter slowly arose for the first time. Silence 
at once reigned. What was the old German ex-Gov- 
ernor going to say — he who had never said anything 
at all? Only this: 

“Mr. Speaker, I don’t know much particulars about 
de constitution, but I know dis; I would n’t gif a d—d 
cent for a constitution dat did n’t wash in fresh water 
as well as in salt.”’ The House burst into an uproar of 
uncontrollable laughter, and the bill passed. 

So came about this new departure and one of the most 
beneficent ways of spending government money, and 
of employing army and navy engineers. Little of the 
money spent by the Government yields so great a re- 
turn. So expands our flexible constitution to meet the 
new wants of an expanding population. Let who will 
make the constitution if we of to-day are permitted to 
interpret it. 

Mr. Blaine’s best story, if one can be selected from 
so many that were excellent, I think was the following: 

In the days of slavery and the underground railroads, 
there lived on the banks of the Ohio River near Galli- | 
polis, a noted Democrat named Judge French, who said 

Photograph from Underwood § Underwood, N.Y. 



to some anti-slavery friends that he should like them to 
bring to his office the first runaway negro that crossed 
the river, bound northward by the underground. He 
could n’t understand why they wished to run away. 
This was done, and the following conversation took 

Judge: “So you have run away from Kentucky. Bad 
master, I suppose?”’ 

Slave: ““Oh, no, Judge; very good, kind massa.”’ 

Judge: ““He worked you too hard?”’ 

Slave: “‘No, sah, never overworked myself all my life.”’ 

Judge, hesitatingly: ““He did not give you enough to 

Slave: “Not enough to eat down in Kaintuck? Oh, 
Lor’, plenty to eat.” 

Judge: ““He did not clothe you well?” _ 

Slave: ‘Good enough clothes for me, Judge.”’ 

Judge: ‘““You had n’t a comfortable home?” 

Slave: “Oh, Lor’, makes me cry to think of my pretty 
little cabin down dar in old Kaintuck.” 

Judge, after a pause: “You had a good, kind master, 
you were not overworked, plenty to eat, good clothes, 
fine home. I don’t see why the devil you wished to run 

Slave: “Well, Judge, I lef de situation down dar open. 
You kin go rite down and git it.” 

The Judge had seen a great light. 

**Freedom has a thousand charms to show, 
That slaves, howe’er contented, never know.” 

That the colored people in such numbers risked all for 
liberty is the best possible proof that they will steadily 
approach and finally reach the full stature of citizen- 
ship in the Republic. 


I never saw Mr. Blaine so happy as while with us at 
Cluny. He was a boy again and we were a rollicking 
party together. He had never fished with a fly. I took 
him out on Loch Laggan and he began awkwardly, as 
all do, but he soon caught the swing. I shall never forget 
his first capture: 

“My friend, you have taught me a new pleasure in 
life. There are a hundred fishing lochs in Maine, and I’ll 
spend my holidays in future upon them trout-fishing.”’ 

At Cluny there is no night in June and we danced on 
the lawn in the bright twilight until late. Mrs. Blaine, 
Miss Dodge, Mr. Blaine, and other guests were trying 
to do the Scotch reel, and “whooping” like Highlanders. 
We were gay revelers during those two weeks. One 
night afterwards, at a dinner in our home in New York, 
chiefly made up of our Cluny visitors, Mr. Blaine told 
the company that he had discovered at Cluny what a 
real holiday was. “It is when the merest trifles become 
the most serious events of life.” 

President Harrison’s nomination for the presidency 
in 1888 came to Mr. Blaine while on a coaching trip 
with us. Mr. and Mrs. Blaine, Miss Margaret Blaine, 
Senator and Mrs. Hale, Miss Dodge, and Walter Dam- 
rosch were on the coach with us from London to Cluny 
Castle. In approaching Linlithgow from Edinburgh, we 
found the provost and magistrates in their gorgeous 
robes at the hotel to receive us. I was with them when 
Mr. Blaine came into the room with a cablegram in his 
hand which he showed to me, asking what it meant. It 
read: “Use cipher.”’ It was from Senator Elkins at the 
Chicago Convention. Mr. Blaine had cabled the previ- 
ous day, declining to accept the nomination for the presi- 
dency unless Secretary Sherman of Ohio agreed, and 
Senator Elkins no doubt wished to be certain that he 


was in correspondence with Mr. Blaine and not with 
some interloper. 

I said to Mr. Blaine that the Senator had called to see 
me before sailing, and suggested we should have cipher 
words for the prominent candidates. I gave him a few 
and kept a copy upon a slip, which I put in my pocket- 
book. I looked and fortunately found it. Blaine was 
“Victor”; Harrison, “Trump”; Phelps of New Jersey, 
“Star”; and so on. I wired “Trump” and “Star.” ! 
This was in the evening. 

We retired for the night, and next day the whole 
party was paraded by the city authorities in their robes 
up the main street to the palace grounds which were 
finely decorated with flags. Speeches of welcome were 
made and replied to. Mr. Blaine was called upon by the 
people, and responded in a short address. Just then a 
cablegram was handed to him: “Harrison and Morton 
nominated.’’ Phelps had declined. So passed forever 
Mr. Blaine’s chance of holding the highest of all political 
offices — the elected of the majority of the English- 
speaking race. But he was once fairly elected to the 
presidency and done out of New York State, as was at 
last clearly proven, the perpetrators having been pun- 
ished for an attempted repetition of the same fraud at 
a subsequent election. 

Mr. Blaine, as Secretary of State in Harrison’s Cab- 
inet, was a decided success and the Pan-American Con- 
gress his most brilliant triumph. My only political ap- 

1 “A code had been agreed upon between his friends in the United 
States and himself, and when a deadlock or a long contest seemed inevit- 
able, the following dispatch was sent from Mr. Carnegie’s estate in Scot- 
land, where Blaine was staying, to a prominent Republican leader: 

“* June 25. Too late victor immovable take trump and star.’ Wurp. 
Interpreted, it reads: ‘Too late. Blaine immovable. Take Harrison and 
Phelps. Carnecin.’” (James G. Blaine, by Edward Stanwood, p. 308. 
Boston, 1905.) 


pointment came at this time and was that of a United 
States delegate to the Congress. It gave me a most inter- 
esting view of the South American Republics and their 
various problems. We sat down together, representa- 
tives of all the republics but Brazil. One morning the 
announcement was made that a new constitution had 
been ratified. Brazil had become a member of the sister- 
hood, making seventeen republics in all — now twenty- 
one. There was great applause and cordial greeting of 
the representatives of Brazil thus suddenly elevated. 
I found the South American representatives rather sus- 
picious of their big brother’s intentions. A sensitive 
spirit of independence was manifest,. which it became 
our duty to recognize. In this I think we succeeded, but 
it will behoove subsequent governments to scrupulously 
respect the national feeling of our Southern neighbors. It 
is not control, but friendly codperation upon terms of 
perfect equality we should seek. 

I sat next to Manuel Quintana who afterwards be- 
came President of Argentina. He took a deep interest 
in the proceedings, and one day became rather critical 
upon a trifling issue, which led to an excited colloquy 
between him and Chairman Blaine. I believe it had its 
origin in a false translation from one language to another. 
I rose, slipped behind the chairman on the platform, 
whispering to him as I passed that if an adjournment 
was moved I was certain the differences could be ad- 
justed. He nodded assent. I returned to my seat and 
moved adjournment, and during the interval all was 
satisfactorily arranged. Passing the delegates, as we 
were about to leave the hall, an incident occurred which 
comes back to me as I write. A delegate threw one arm 
around me and with the other hand patting me on the 
breast, exclaimed: “‘Mr. Carnegie, you have more here 


than here’ — pointing to his pocket. Our Southern 
brethren are so lovingly demonstrative. Warm climes 
and warm hearts. 

In 1891 President Harrison went with me from Wash- 
ington to Pittsburgh, as I have already stated, to open 
the Carnegie Hall and Library, which I had presented 
to Allegheny City. We traveled over the Baltimore 
and Ohio Railroad by daylight, and enjoyed the trip, 
the president being especially pleased with the scenery. 
Reaching Pittsburgh at dark, the flaming coke ovens 
and dense pillars of smoke and fire amazed him. The 
well-known description of Pittsburgh, seen from the hill- 
tops, as “‘H—1 with the lid off,’’ seemed to him most 
appropriate. He was the first President who ever visited 
Pittsburgh. President Harrison, his grandfather, had, 
however, passed from steamboat to canal-boat there, on 
his way to Washington after election. 

The opening ceremony was largely attended owing 
to the presence of the President and all passed off 
well. Next morning the President wished to see our steel 
works, and he was escorted there, receiving a cordial 
welcome from the workmen. I called up each successive 
manager of department as we passed and presented him. 
Finally, when Mr. Schwab was presented, the President 
turned to me and said, 

‘How is this, Mr. Carnegie? You present only boys 
to me.” 

“Yes, Mr. President, but do you notice what kind 
of boys they are?” 

“Yes, hustlers, every one of them,” was his comment. 

He was right. No such young men could have been 
found for such work elsewhere in this world. They had 
been promoted to partnership without cost or risk. If 
the profits did not pay for their shares, no responsibility 


remained upon the young men. A giving thus to “part- 
ners’ is very different from paying wages to “‘em- 
ployees”’ in corporations. 

The President’s visit, not to Pittsburgh, but to Alle- 
gheny over the river, had one beneficial result. Mem- 
bers of the City Council of Pittsburgh reminded me that 
I had first offered Pittsburgh money for a library and 
hall, which it declined, and that then Allegheny City 
had asked if I would give them to her, which I did. The 
President visiting Allegheny to open the library and 
hall there, and the ignoring of Pittsburgh, was too much. 
Her authorities came to me again the morning after the 
Allegheny City opening, asking if I would renew my 
offer to Pittsburgh. If so, the city would accept and 
agree to expend upon maintenance a larger percentage 
than I had previously asked. I was only too happy to 
do this and, instead of two hundred and fifty thousand, 
I offered a million dollars. My ideas had expanded. 
Thus was started the Carnegie Institute. 

Pittsburgh’s leading citizens are spending freely upon 
artistic things. This center of manufacturing has had 
its permanent orchestra for some years — Boston and 
Chicago being the only other cities in America that can 
boast of one. A naturalist club and a school of painting 
have sprung up. The success of Library, Art Gallery, 
Museum, and Music Hall — a noble quartet in an im- 
mense building — is one of the chief satisfactions of my 
life. This is my monument, because here I lived my 
early life and made my start, and I am to-day in heart 
a devoted son of dear old smoky Pittsburgh. 

Herbert Spencer heard, while with us in Pittsburgh, 
some account of the rejection of my first offer of a li- 
brary to Pittsburgh. When the second offer was made, 
he wrote me that he did not understand how I could 


renew it; he never could have done so; they did not de- 
serve it. I wrote the philosopher that if I had made the 
first offer to Pittsburgh that I might receive her thanks 
and gratitude, I deserved the personal arrows shot at 
me and the accusations made that only my own glorifica- 
tion and a monument to my memory were sought. I 
should then probably have felt as he did. But, as it was 
the good of the people of Pittsburgh I had in view, 
among whom I had made my fortune, the unfounded 
suspicions of some natures only quickened my desire to 
work their good by planting in their midst a potent in- 
fluence for higher things. This the Institute, thank the 
kind fates, has done. Pittsburgh has played her part 


| O raasesimmas HARRISON had been a soldier and 
as President was a little disposed to fight. His atti- 
tude gave some of his friends concern. He was opposed 
to arbitrating the Behring Sea question when Lord Salis- 
bury, at the dictation of Canada, had to repudiate the 
Blaine agreement for its settlement, and was disposed 
to proceed to extreme measures. But calmer counsels 
prevailed. He was determined also to uphold the Force 
Bill against the South. 

When the quarrel arose with Chili, there was a time 
when it seemed almost impossible to keep the President 
from taking action which would have resulted in war. 
He had great personal provocation because the Chilian 
authorities had been most indiscreet in their statements 
in regard to his action. I went to Washington to see 
whether I could not do something toward reconciling 
the belligerents, because, having been a member of the 
first Pan-American Conference, I had become acquainted 
with the representatives from our southern sister- 
republics and was on good terms with them. 

As luck would have it, I was just entering the Shore- 
ham Hotel when I saw Senator Henderson of Missouri, 
who had been my fellow-delegate to the Conference. He 
stopped and greeted me, and looking across the street 
he said: 

*““There’s the President beckoning to you.” 

I crossed the street. 

“Hello, Carnegie, when did you arrive?”’ 


‘Just arrived, Mr. President; I was entering the hotel.” 

“What are you here for?” 

“To have a talk with you.” 

“Well, come along and talk as we walk.” 

The President took my arm and we promenaded the 
streets of Washington in the dusk for more than an hour, 
during which time the discussion was lively. I told him 
that he had appointed me a delegate to the Pan-Ameri- 
ean Conference, that he had assured the South-Ameri- 
can delegates when they parted that he had given a 
military review in their honor to show them, not that 
we had an army, but rather that we had none and 
needed none, that we were the big brother in the family 
of republics, and that all disputes, if any arose, would 
be settled by peaceful arbitration. I was therefore sur- 
prised and grieved to find that he was now apparently 
taking a different course, threatening to resort to war in 
a paltry dispute with little Chili. 

“You’re a New Yorker and think of nothing but 
business and dollars. That is the way with New York- 
ers; they care nothing for the dignity and honor of the 
Republic,” said his Excellency. 

“Mr. President, I am one of the men in the United 
States who would profit most by war; it might throw 
millions into my pockets as the largest manufacturer 
of steel.”’ 

“Well, that is probably true in your case; I had for- 

“Mr. President, if I were going to fight, I would take 
some one of my size.’ 

“Well, would you let any nation insult and dishonor 
you because of its size?”’ 

“Mr. President, no man can dishonor me except my- 
self. Honor wounds must be self-inflicted.”’ 


““You see our sailors were attacked on shore and two 
of them killed, and you would stand that?” he asked. 

“Mr. President, I do not think the United States dis- 
honored every time a row among drunken sailors takes 
place; besides, these were not American sailors at all; 
they were foreigners, as you see by their names. I would 
be disposed to cashier the captain of that ship for allow- 
ing the sailors to go on shore when there was rioting in 
the town and the public peace had been already dis- 

The discussion continued until we had finally reached 
the door of the White House in the dark. The President 
told me he had an engagement to dine out that night, ~ 
but invited me to dine with him the next evening, when, 
as he said, there would be only the family and we could 

‘IT am greatly honored and shall be with you to-mor- 
row evening,’ I said. And so we parted. 

The next morning I went over to see Mr. Blaine, then 
Secretary of State. He rose from his seat and held out 
both hands. 

“Oh, why were n’t you dining with us last night? 
When the President told Mrs. Blaine that you were in 
town, she said: ‘Just think, Mr. Carnegie is in town and 
I had a vacant seat here he could have occupied.’”’ 

“Well, Mr. Blaine, I think it is rather fortunate that 
I have not seen you,” I replied; and I then told him 
what had occurred with the President. | 

“Yes,” he said, “it really was fortunate. The. Presi- 
dent might have thought you and I were in collusion.” 

Senator Elkins, of West Virginia, a bosom friend of 
Mr. Blaine, and also a very good friend of the President, 
happened to come in, and he said he had seen the Presi- 
dent, who told him that he had had a talk with me upon 


the Chilian affair last evening and that I had come down 
hot upon the subject. 

“Well, Mr. President,” said Senator Elkins, ‘“‘it is 
not probable that Mr. Carnegie would speak as plainly 
to you as he would to me. He feels very keenly, but he 
would naturally be somewhat reserved in talking to 

The President replied: “‘I didn’t see the slightest 
indication of reserve, I assure you.” 

The matter was adjusted, thanks to the peace policy 
characteristic of Mr. Blaine. More than once he kept 
the United States out of foreign trouble as I personally 
knew. The reputation that he had of being an aggressive 
American really enabled that great man to make con- 
cessions which, made by another, might not have been 
readily accepted by the people. 

I had a long and friendly talk with the President that 
evening at dinner, but he was not looking at all well. I 
ventured to say to him he needed a rest. By all means 
he should get away. He said he had intended going off 
on a revenue cutter for a few days, but Judge Bradley 
of the Supreme Court had died and he must find a worthy 
successor. I said there was one I could not recommend 
because we had fished together and were such intimate 
friends that we could not judge each other disinterest- 
edly, but he might inquire about him — Mr. Shiras, of 
Pittsburgh. He did so and appointed him. Mr. Shiras 
received the strong support of the best elements every- 
where. Neither my recommendation, nor that of any 
one else, would have weighed with President Harrison 
one particle in making the appointment if he had not 
found Mr. Shiras the very man he wanted. 

In the Behring Sea dispute the President was incensed 
at Lord Salisbury’s repudiation of the stipulations for set- 


tling the question which had been agreed to. The Presi- 
dent had determined to reject the counter-proposition to 
submit it to arbitration. Mr. Blaine was with the Presi- 
dent in this and naturally indignant that his plan, which 
Salisbury had extolled through his Ambassador, had 
been discarded. I found both of them in no compro- 
mising mood. The President was much the more excited 
of the two, however. Talking it over with Mr. Blaine 
alone, I explained to him that Salisbury was powerless. 
Against Canada’s protest he could not force acceptance 
of the stipulations to which he had hastily agreed. There 
was another element. He had a dispute with Newfound- 
land on hand, which the latter was insisting must be 
settled to her advantage. No Government in Britain 
could add Canadian dissatisfaction to that of Newfound- 
land. Salisbury had done the best he could. After a 
while Blaine was convinced of this and succeeded in 
bringing the President into line. 

The Behring Sea troubles brought about some rather 
amusing situations. One day Sir John Macdonald, Ca- 
nadian Premier, and his party reached Washington and 
asked Mr. Blaine to arrange an interview with the Presi- 
dent upon this subject. Mr. Blaine replied that he would 
see the President and inform Sir John the next morn- 

“Of course,” said Mr. Blaine, telling me the story 
in Washington just after the incident occurred, “I knew 
very well that the President could not meet Sir John 
and his friends officially, and when they called I told 
them so.” Sir John said that Canada was independent, 
“as sovereign as the State of New York was in the 
Union.” Mr. Blaine replied he was afraid that if he ever 
obtained an interview as Premier of Canada with the 
State authorities of New York he would soon hear some- 



thing on the subject from Washington; and so would 
the New York State authorities. 

It was because the President and Mr. Blaine were con- 
vinced that the British Government at home could not 
fulfill the stipulations agreed upon that they accepted 
Salisbury’s proposal for arbitration, believing he had 
done his best. That was a very sore disappointment to 
Mr. Blaine. He had suggested that Britain and America 
should each place two small vessels on Behring Sea 
with equal rights to board or arrest fishing vessels under 
either flag — in fact, a joint police force. To give Salis- 
bury due credit, he cabled the British Ambassador, 
Sir Julian Pauncefote, to congratulate Mr. Blaine upon 
this “brilliant suggestion.’ It would have given equal 
rights to each and under either or both flags for the first 
time in history —a just and brotherly compact. Sir 
Julian had shown this cable to Mr. Blaine. I mention 
this here to suggest that able and willing statesmen, anx- 
ious to codperate, are sometimes unable to do so. 

Mr. Blaine was indeed a great statesman, a man of 
wide views, sound judgment, and always for peace. Upon 
war with Chili, upon the Force Bill, and the Behring 
Sea question, he was calm, wise, and peace-pursuing. 
Especially was he favorable to drawing closer and closer 
to our own English-speaking race. For France he had 
gratitude unbounded for the part she had played in our 
Revolutionary War, but this did not cause him to lose 
his head. 

One night at dinner in London Mr. Blaine was 
at close quarters for a moment. The Clayton-Bulwer 
Treaty came up. A leading statesman present said that 
the impression they had was that Mr. Blaine had always 
been inimical to the Mother country. Mr. Blaine dis- 
claimed this, and justly so, as far as I knew his senti- 


ments. His correspondence upon the Clayton-Bulwer 
Treaty was instanced. Mr. Blaine replied: 

**When I became Secretary of State and had to take 
up that subject I was surprised to find that your Sec- 
retary for Foreign Affairs was always informing us what 
Her Majesty ‘expected,’ while our Secretary of State 
was telling you what our President ‘ventured to hope.’ 
When I received a dispatch telling us what Her Maj- 
esty expected, I replied, telling you what our President 

“Well, you admit you changed the character of the 
correspondence?”’ was shot at him. 

Quick as a flash came the response: “‘ Not more than 
conditions had changed. The United States had passed 
the stage of “venturing to hope’ with any power that 
‘expects.’ I only followed your example, and should ever 
Her Majesty ‘venture to hope,’ the President will 
always be found doing the same. I am afraid that as 
long as you ‘expect’ the United States will also ‘expect’ 
in return.” 

One night there was a dinner, where Mr. Joseph Cham- 
berlain and Sir Charles Tennant, President of the Scot- 
land Steel Company, were guests. During the evening 
the former said that his friend Carnegie was a good fel- 
low and they all delighted to see him succeeding, but he 
did n’t know why the United States should give him 
protection worth a million sterling per year or more, 
for condescending to manufacture steel rails. 

“Well,” said Mr. Blaine, “we don’t look at it in that 
light. I am interested in railroads, and we formerly used 
to pay you for steel rails ninety dollars per ton for every 
ton we got — nothing less. Now, just before I sailed 
from home our people made a large contract with our 
friend Carnegie at thirty dollars per ton. 1 am some- 


ue oa 



what under the impression that if Carnegie and others 
had not risked their capital in developing their manu- 
facture on our side of the Atlantic, we would still be 
paying you ninety dollars per ton to-day.” 

Here Sir Charles broke in: ““You may be sure you 
would. Ninety dollars was our agreed-upon price for 
you foreigners.” 

Mr. Blaine smilingly remarked: “‘Mr. Chamberlain, 
I don’t think you have made a very good case against 
our friend Carnegie.”’ 

“No,” he replied; “how could I, with Sir Charles 
giving me away like that?’ — and there was general 

Blaine was a rare raconteur and his talk had this 
great merit: never did I hear him tell a story or speak a 
word unsuitable for any, even the most fastidious com- 
pany to hear. He was as quick as a steel trap, a delight- 
ful companion, and he would have made an excellent 
and yet safe President. I found him truly conservative, 
and strong for peace upon all international questions. 


OHN HAY was our frequent guest in England and 

Scotland, and was on the eve of coming to us at 
Skibo in 1898 when called home by President McKinley 
to become Secretary of State. Few have made such a 
record in that office. He inspired men with absolute con- 
fidence in his sincerity, and his aspirations were always 
high. War he detested, and meant what he said when 
he pronounced it “‘the most ferocious and yet the most 
futile folly of man.” 

The Philippines annexation was a burning question 
when I met him and Henry White (Secretary of Lega- 
tion and later Ambassador to France) in London, on 
my way to New York. It gratified me to find our views 
were similar upon that proposed serious departure from 
our traditional policy of avoiding distant and discon- 
nected possessions and keeping our empire within the 
continent, especially keeping it out of the vortex of 
militarism. Hay, White, and I clasped hands together 
in Hay’s office in London, and agreed upon this. Before 
that he had written me the following note: 

London, August 22, 1898. 

I thank you for the Skibo grouse and also for your kind 
letter. It is a solemn and absorbing thing to hear so many 
kind and unmerited words as I have heard and read this last 
week. It seems to me another man they are talking about, 
while I am expected to do the work. I wish a little of the kind- 
ness could be saved till I leave office finally. 

I have read with the keenest interest your article in the 


“North American.” ! I am not allowed to say in my present 
fix how much [ agree with you. The only question on my mind 
is how far it is now possible for us to withdraw from the 
Philippines. I am rather thankful it is not given to me to solve 
that momentous question.’ 

It was a strange fate that placed upon him the very 
task he had congratulated himself was never to be his. 

He stood alone at first as friendly to China in the 
_ Boxer troubles and succeeded in securing for her fair 
terms of peace. His regard for Britain, as part of our 
own race, was deep, and here the President was thor- 
oughly with him, and grateful beyond measure to Brit- 
ain for standing against other European powers dis- 
posed to favor Spain in the Cuban War. 

The Hay-Pauncefote Treaty concerning the Panama 
Canal seemed to many of us unsatisfactory. Senator 
Elkins told me my objections, given in the “New York 
Tribune,” reached him the day he was to speak upon it, 
and were useful. Visiting Washington soon after the ar- 
ticle appeared, I went with Senator Hanna to the White 
House early in the morning and found the President much 
exercised over the Senate’s amendment to the treaty. I 
had no doubt of Britain’s prompt acquiescence in the 
Senate’s requirements, and said so. Anything in reason 
she would give, since it was we who had to furnish the 
funds for the work from which she would be, next to 
ourselves, the greatest gainer. 

Senator Hanna asked if I had seen “John,”’ as he and 
President McKinley always called Mr. Hay. I said I 
had not. Then he asked me to go over and cheer him up, 

1 The reference is to an article by Mr. Carnegie in the North American 
Review, August, 1898, entitled: “‘Distant Possessions — The Parting of 
the Ways.” 

? Published in Thayer, Life and Letters of John Hay, vol. u1, p. 175, 
Boston and New York, 1915, 


for he was disconsolate about the amendments. I did 
so. I pointed out to Mr. Hay that the Clayton-Bulwer 
Treaty had been amended by the Senate and scarcely 
any one knew this now and no one cared. The Hay- 
Pauncefote Treaty would be executed as amended and 
no one would care a fig whether it was in its original 
form or not. He doubted this and thought Britain would 
be indisposed to recede. A short time after this, dining 
with him, he said I had proved a true prophet and all 
was well. 

Of course it was. Britain had practically told us she 
wished the canal built and would act in any way desired. 
The canal is now as it should be — that is, all American, 
with no international complications possible. It was per- 
haps not worth building at that time, but it was better 
to spend three or four hundred millions upon it than in 
building sea monsters of destruction to fight imaginary 
foes. One may be a loss and there an end; the other 
might be a source of war, for 

*““Oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
Make deeds ill done.” 

Mr. Hay’s béte noire was the Senate. Upon this, and 
this only, was he disregardful of the proprieties. When 
it presumed to alter one word, substituting “treaty” 
for “agreement,” which occurred in one place only in 
the proposed Arbitration Treaty of 1905, he became 
unduly excited. I believe this was owing in great degree 
to poor health, for it was clear by that time to intimate 
friends that his health was seriously impaired. 

The last time I saw him was at lunch at his house, 
when the Arbitration Treaty, as amended by the Senate, 
was under the consideration of President Roosevelt. The 
arbitrationists, headed by ex-Secretary of State Foster, 


urged the President’s acceptance of the amended treaty. 
We thought he was favorable to this, but from my sub- 
sequent talk with Secretary Hay, I saw that the Presi- 
dent’s agreeing would be keenly felt. I should not be 
surprised if Roosevelt’s rejection of the treaty was re- 
solved upon chiefly to soothe his dear friend John Hay 
in his illness. I am sure I felt that I could be brought to 
do, only with the greatest difficulty, anything that would 
annoy that noble soul. But upon this point Hay was ob- 
durate; no surrender to the Senate. Leaving his house 
I said to Mrs. Carnegie that I doubted if ever we should 
meet our friend again. We never did. 

The Carnegie Institution of Washington, of which 
Hay was the chairman and a trustee from the start, 
received his endorsement and close attention, and much 
were we indebted to him for wise counsel. As a states- 
man he made his reputation in shorter time and with a 
surer touch than any one I know of. And it may be 
doubted if any public man ever had more deeply at- 
tached friends. One of his notes I have long kept. It 
would have been the most flattering of any to my liter- 
ary vanity but for my knowledge of his most lovable 
nature and undue warmth for his friends. The world is 
poorer to me to-day as I write, since he has left it. 

The Spanish War was the result of a wave of passion 
started by the reports of the horrors of the Cuban Rev- 
olution. President McKinley tried hard to avoid it. 
When the Spanish Minister left Washington, the French 
Ambassador became Spain’s agent, and peaceful negotia- 
tions were continued. Spain offered autonomy for Cuba. 
The President replied that he did not know exactly 
what “autonomy” meant. What he wished for Cuba was 
the rights that Canada possessed. He understood these. 
A cable was shown to the President by the French Min- 


ister stating that Spain granted this and he, dear man, 
supposed all was settled. So 1t was, apparently. 

Speaker Reed usually came to see me Sunday morn- 
ings when in New York, and it was immediately after 
my return from Europe that year that he called and 
said he had never lost control of the House before. For 
one moment he thought of leaving the chair and going 
on the floor to address the House and try to quiet it. In 
vain it was explained that the President had received 
from Spain the guarantee of self-government for Cuba. 
Alas! it was too late, too late! 

“What is Spain doing over here, anyhow?” was the 
imperious inquiry of Congress. A sufficient number of 
Republicans had agreed to vote with the Democrats 
in Congress for war. A whirlwind of passion swept over 
the House, intensified, no doubt, by the unfortunate 
explosion of the warship Maine in Havana Harbor, 
supposed by some to be Spanish work. The supposition 
gave Spain far too much credit for skill and activity. 

War was declared — the Senate being shocked by 
Senator Proctor’s statement of the concentration camps 
he had seen in Cuba. The country responded to the cry, 
“What is Spain doing over here anyhow?” President 
McKinley and his peace policy were left high and dry, 
and nothing remained for him but to go with the country. 
The Government then announced that war was not 
undertaken for territorial aggrandizement, and Cuba 
was promised independence —a promise faithfully 
kept. We should not fail to remember this, for it is the 
one cheering feature of the war. 

The possession of the Philippines left a stain. They 
were not only territorial acquisition; they were dragged 
from reluctant Spain and twenty million dollars paid 
for them. The Filipinos had been our allies in fighting 


Spain. The Cabinet, under the lead of the President, 
had agreed that only a coaling station in the Philippines 
should be asked for, and it is said such were the instruc- 
tions given by cable at first to the Peace Commissioners 
at Paris. President McKinley then made a tour through 
the West and, of course, was cheered when he spoke of 
the flag and Dewey’s victory. He returned, impressed 
with the idea that withdrawal would be unpopular, and 
reversed his former policy. I was told by one of his Cabi- 
net that every member was opposed to the reversal. 
A senator told me Judge Day, one of the Peace Com- 
missioners, wrote a remonstrance from Paris, which if 
ever published, would rank next to Washington’s Fare- 
well Address, so fine was it. 

At this stage an important member of the Cabinet, 
my friend Cornelius N. Bliss, called and asked me to 
visit Washington and see the President on the subject. 
He said: 

“You have influence with him. None of us have been 
able to move him since he returned from the West.” 

I went to Washington and had an interview with him. 
But he was obdurate. Withdrawal would create a revo- 
lution at home, he said. Finally, by persuading his sec- 
retaries that he had to bend to the blast, and always 
holding that it would be only a temporary occupation 
and that a way out would be found, the Cabinet yielded. 

He sent for President Schurman, of Cornell Univer- 
sity, who had opposed annexation and made him chair- 
man of the committee to visit the Filipinos; and later 
for Judge Taft, who had been prominent against such 
a violation of American policy, to go as Governor. When 
the Judge stated that it seemed strange to send for one, 
who had publicly denounced annexation, the President 
said that was the very reason why he wished him for 


the place. This was all very well, but to refrain from an- 
nexing and to relinquish territory once purchased are 
different propositions. This was soon seen. 

Mr. Bryan had it in his power at one time to defeat 
in the Senate this feature of the Treaty of Peace with 
Spain. I went to Washington to try to effect this, and 
remained there until the vote was taken. I was told that 
when Mr. Bryan was in Washington he had advised 
his friends that it would be good party policy to allow 
the treaty to pass. This would discredit the Repub- 
lican Party before the people; that “paying twenty mil- 
lions for a revolution” would defeat any party. There 
were seven staunch Bryan men anxious to vote against 
Philippine annexation. 

Mr. Bryan had called to see me in New York upon 
the subject, because my opposition to the purchase had 
been so pronounced, and I now wired him at Omaha ex- 
plaining the situation and begging him to wire me that 
his friends could use their own judgment. His reply 
was what I have stated — better have the Republicans 
pass it and let it then go before the people. I thought 
it unworthy of him to subordinate such an issue, fraught 
with deplorable consequences, to mere party politics. 
It required the casting vote of the Speaker to carry the 
measure. One word from Mr. Bryan would have saved 
the country from the disaster. I could not be cordial to 
him for years afterwards. He had seemed to me a man 
who was willing to sacrifice his country and his personal 
convictions for party advantage. 

When I called upon President McKinley immediately 
after the vote, I condoled with him upon being depend- 
ent for support upon his leading opponent. I explained 
just how his victory had been won and suggested that 
he should send his grateful acknowledgments to Mr. 


Bryan. A Colonial possession thousands of miles away 
was a novel problem to President McKinley, and indeed 
to all American statesmen. Nothing did they know of 
the troubles and dangers it would involve. Here the Re- 
public made its first grievous international mistake — 
a mistake which dragged it into the vortex of inter- 
national militarism and a great navy. What a change 
has come over statesmen since! 

At supper with President Roosevelt at the White 
House a few weeks ago (1907), he said: 

“If you wish to see the two men in the United States 
who are the most anxious to get out of the Philippines, 
here they are,” pointing to Secretary Taft and himself. 

“Then why don’t you?” I responded. “The American 
people would be glad indeed.” 

But both the President and Judge Taft believed our 
duty required us to prepare the Islands for self-govern- 
ment first. This is the policy of “‘Don’t go into the water 
until you learn to swim.” But the plunge has to be and 
will be taken some day. 

It was urged that if we did not occupy the Philip- 
pines, Germany would. It never occurred to the urgers 
that this would mean Britain agreeing that Germany 
should establish a naval base at Macao, a short sail 
from Britain’s naval base in the East. Britain would as 
soon permit her to establish a base at Kingston, Ireland, 
‘eighty miles from Liverpool. I was surprised to hear 
men — men like Judge Taft, although he was opposed 
at first to the annexation — give this reason when we 
were discussing the question after the fatal step had 
been taken. But we know little of foreign relations. 
We have hitherto been a consolidated country. It will 
be a sad day if we ever become anything otherwise. 


Y first Rectorial Address to the students of St. 

Andrews University attracted the attention of the 
German Emperor, who sent word to me in New York 
by Herr Ballin that he had read every word of it. He 
also sent me by him a copy of his address upon his 
eldest son’s consecration. Invitations to meet him fol- 
lowed; but it was not until June, 1907, that I could 
leave, owing to other engagements. Mrs. Carnegie and 
I went to Kiel. Mr. Tower, our American Ambassador 
to Germany, and Mrs. Tower met us there and were very 
kind in their attentions. Through them we met many 
of the distinguished public men during our three days’ — 
stay there. 

The first morning, Mr. Tower took me to register on 
the Emperor’s yacht. I had no expectation of seeing the 
Emperor, but he happened to come on deck, and seeing 
Mr. Tower he asked what had brought him on the yacht 
so early. Mr. Tower explained he had brought me over 
to register, and that Mr. Carnegie was on board. He 

“Why not present him now? I wish to see him.” 

I was talking to the admirals who were assembling for 
a conference, and did not see Mr. Tower and the Em- 
peror approaching from behind. A touch on my shoulder 
and I turned around. 

**Mr. Carnegie, the Emperor.” 

It was a moment before I realized that the Emperor 
was before me. I raised both hands and exclaimed: 

“This has happened just as I could have wished, 


with noceremony, and the Man of Destiny dropped from 
the clouds.”’ 

Then I continued: “Your Majesty, I have traveled 
two nights to accept your generous invitation, and never 
did so before to meet a crowned head.” 

Then the Emperor, smiling — and such a captivating 

“Oh! yes, yes, I have read your books. You do not 
like kings.” 

““No, Your Majesty, I do not like kings, but I do like 
a man behind a king when I find him.” 

**Ah!- there is one king you like, I know, a Scottish 
king, Robert the Bruce. He was my hero in my youth. 
I was brought up on him.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty, so was I, and he lies buried in 
Dunfermline Abbey, in my native town. When a boy, I 
used to walk often around the towering square monu- 
ment on the Abbey — one word on each block in big 
stone letters “King Robert the Bruce’ — with all the 
fervor of a Catholic counting his beads. But Bruce was 
much more than a king, Your Majesty, he was the 
Jeader of his people. And not the first; Wallace the man 
of the people comes first. Your Majesty, I now own 
King Malcolm’s tower in Dunfermline 1—he from 
whom you derive your precious heritage of Scottish 
blood. Perhaps you know the fine old ballad, ‘Sir 
Patrick Spens.’ 

*“* The King sits in Dunfermline tower 
Drinking the bluid red wine.’ 

I should like to escort you some day to the tower of 

1 In the deed of trust conveying Pittencrieff. Park and Glen to Dun- 
fermline an unspecified reservation of property was made. The “‘with cer- 
tain exceptions” related to King Malcolm’s Tower. For reasons best known 
to himself Mr. Carnegie retained the ownership of this relic of the past. 


your Scottish ancestor, that you may do homage to his 
memory. He exclaimed: 

“That would be very fine. The Scotch are much 
quicker and cleverer than the Germans. The Germans 
are too slow.” 

“Your Majesty, where anything Scotch is concerned, 
I must decline to accept you as an impartial judge.”’ 

He laughed and waved adieu, calling out: 

“You are to dine with me this evening’’ — and ex- 
cusing himself went to greet the arriving admirals. 

About sixty were present at the dinner and we had a 
pleasant time, indeed. His Majesty, opposite whom I 
sat, was good enough to raise his glass and invite me to 
drink with him. After he had done so with Mr. Tower, 
our Ambassador, who sat at his right, he asked across 
the table — heard by those near — whether I had told 
Prince von Biilow, next whom I sat, that his (the Em- 
peror’s) hero, Bruce, rested in my native town of Dun- 
fermline, and his ancestor’s tower in Pittencrieff Glen, 
was in my possession. 

“No,” I replied; “with Your Majesty I am led into 
such frivolities, but my intercourse with your Lord 
High Chancellor, I assure you, will always be of a seri- 
ous import.” 

We dined with Mrs. Goelet upon her yacht, one 
evening, and His Majesty being present, I told him 
President Roosevelt had said recently to me that he 
wished custom permitted him to leave the country so 
he could run over and see him (the Emperor). He 
thought a substantial talk would result in something 
good being accomplished. I believed that also. The 
Emperor agreed and said he wished greatly to see him 
and hoped he would some day come to Germany. I 
suggested that he (the Emperor) was free from con- 


stitutional barriers and could sail over and see the 

_ President. 

*“Ah, but my country needs me here! How can I 

I replied: 

“Before leaving home one year, when I went to our 
mills to bid the officials good-bye and expressed regret 
at leaving them all hard at work, sweltering in the hot 
sun, but that I found I had now every year to rest and 
yet no matter how tired I might be one half-hour on 
the bow of the steamer, cutting the Atlantic waves, gave 
me perfect relief, my clever manager, Captain Jones, 
retorted: ‘And, oh, Lord! think of the relief we all get.’ 
It might be the same with your people, Your Majesty.” 

He laughed heartily over and over again. It opened 
a new train of thought. He repeated his desire to meet 
President Roosevelt, and I said: 

“Well, Your Majesty, when you two do get together, 
I think I shall have to be with you. You and he, I fear, 
might get into mischief.” 

He laughed and said: 

“Oh, I see! You wish to drive us together. Well, I 
agree if you make Roosevelt first horse, I shall follow.” 

“Ah, no, Your Majesty, I know horse-flesh better 
than to attempt to drive two such gay colts tandem. 
You never get proper purchase on the first horse. I must 
yoke you both in the shafts, neck and neck, so I can 
hold you in.” 

I never met a man who enjoyed stories more keenly 
than the Emperor. He is fine company, and I believe 
an earnest man, anxious for the peace and progress of 
the world. Suffice it to say he insists that he is, and 
always has been, for peace. [1907.] He cherishes the 
fact that he has reigned for twenty-four years and has 


never shed human blood. He considers that the German 
navy is too small to affect the British and was never in- 
tended to be a rival. Nevertheless, it is in my opinion 
very unwise, because unnecessary, to enlarge it. Prince 
von Biilow holds these sentiments and I believe the peace 
of the world has little to fear from Germany. Her in- 
terests are all favorable to peace, industrial develop- 
ment being her aim; and in this desirable field she is 
certainly making great strides. 

I sent the Emperor by his Ambassador, Baron von 
Sternberg, the book, “The Roosevelt Policy,” to which 
I had written an introduction that pleased the Presi- 
dent, and I rejoice in having received from him a fine 
bronze of himself with a valued letter. He is not only 
an Emperor, but something much higher —a man 
anxious to improve existing conditions, untiring in his 
efforts to promote temperance, prevent dueling, and, 
I believe, to secure International Peace. 

I have for some time been haunted with the feeling 
that the Emperor was indeed a Man of Destiny. My 
interviews with him have strengthened that feeling. I 
have great hopes of him in the future doing something 
really great and good. He may yet have a part to play 
that will give him a place among the immortals. He has 
ruled Germany in peace for twenty-seven years, but 
something beyond even this record is due from one who 
has the power to establish peace among civilized nations 
through positive action. Maintaining peace in his own 
Jand is not sufficient from one whose invitation to other 
leading civilized nations to combine and establish arbi- 
tration of all international disputes would be gladly re- 
sponded to. Whether he is to pass into history as only 

1 The Roosevelt Policy : Speeches, Letters and State Papers relating to Cor- 
porate Wealth and closely Allied Topics. New York, 1908. 



the preserver of internal peace at home or is to rise to 
his appointed mission as the Apostle of Peace among 
leading civilized nations, the future has still to reveal. 

The year before last (1912) I stood before him in the 
grand palace in Berlin and presented the American 
address of congratulation upon his peaceful reign of 
twenty-five years, his hand unstained by human blood. 
As I approached to hand to him the casket containing 
the address, he recognized me and with outstretched 
arms, exclaimed: 

“Carnegie, twenty-five years of peace, and we hope 
for many more.” 

-I could not help responding: 

“And in this noblest of all missions you are our chief 

He had hitherto sat silent and motionless, taking the 
successive addresses from one officer and handing them 
to another to be placed upon the table. The chief sub- . 
ject under discussion had been World Peace, which he 
_ could have, and in my opinion, would have secured, 
had he not been surrounded by the military caste which 
inevitably gathers about one born to the throne — a 
caste which usually becomes as permanent as the po- 
tentate himself, and which has so far in Germany proved 
its power of control whenever the war issue has been 
presented. Until militarism is subordinated, there can 
be no World Peace. 

As I read this to-day [1914], what a change! The 
world convulsed by war as never before! Men slaying 
each other like wild beasts! I dare not relinquish all 
hope. In recent days I see another ruler coming for- 
ward upon the world stage, who may prove himself the 
immortal one. The man who vindicated his country’s 


honor in the Panama Canal toll dispute is now Presi- 
dent. He has the indomitable will of genius, and true 
hope which we are told, 

**Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.” 

Nothing is impossible to genius! Watch President Wil- 
son! He has Scotch blood in his veins. 

[Here the manuscript ends abruptly.] 



Mr. Carneain’s chief publications are as follows: 
An American Four-in-Hand in Britain. New York, 1884. 
Round the World. New York, 1884. 
Triumphant Democracy, or Fifty Years’ March of the Republic. 
New York, 1886. | | 
The Gospel of Wealth and Other Timely Essays. New York, 1900. 
The Empire of Business. New York, 1903. 
James Watt. New York, 1905. 
Problems of To-day. Wealth — Labor — Socialism. New York, 
He was a contributor to English and American magazines and | 
newspapers, and many of the articles as well as many of his 
speeches have been published in pamphlet form. Among the latter 
are the addresses on Edwin M. Stanton, Ezra Cornell, William 
Chambers, his pleas for international peace, his numerous dedi- 
catory and founders day addresses. A fuller list of these publica- 
tions is given in Margaret Barclay Wilson’s A Carnegie Anthology, 
privately printed in New York, 1915. 

A great many articles have been written about Mr. Carnegie, but 
the chief sources of information are: 
ALDERSON (BERNARD). Andrew Carnegie. The Man and His 
“Work. New York, 1905. 
Bercuunp (ABRAHAM). The United States Steel Corporation. 
New York, 1907. 
CARNEGIE (ANDREW). How I served My Apprenticeship as a Busi- 
ness Man. Reprint from Youth's Companion. April 23, 1896. 
Cotter (ARUNDEL). Authentic History of the United States Steel 
Corporation. New York, 1916. 

Hupparp (ELsert). Andrew Carnegie. New York, 1909. 
(Amusing, but inaccurate.) 

Mackie (J. B.). Andrew Carnegie. His Dunfermline Ties and Bene- 
factions. Dunfermline, n. d. 

Manual of the Public Benefactions of Andrew Carnegie. Published 
by the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Wash- 
ington, 1919. 


Memorial Addresses on the Life and Work of Andrew Carnegie. 
New York, 1920. 

Memorial Service in Honor of Dey ee Carnegie on his Birthday, 
Tuesday, November 25, 1919. Carnegie Music Hall, Pitts- 
burgh, Pennsylvania. 

Pittencrieff Glen: Its Antiquities, History and Legends. Dunferm- 
line, 1903. 

Poynton (Joun A.). A Millionatre’s Mail Bag. New York, 1915. 
(Mr. Poynton was Mr. Carnegie’s secretary.) 

Pritcuett (Henry §8.). Andrew Carnegie. Anniversary Address 
before Carnegie Institute, November 24, 1915. 

Scuwas (CHartes M.). Andrew Carnegie. His Methods with His 
Men. Address at Memorial Service, Carnegie Music Hall, 
Pittsburgh, November 25, 1919. 

Wiison (Marcaret Barciay). A Carnegie Anthology. Privately 
printed. New York, 1915. 


Assry, Edwin A., 298. 

Abbott, Rev. Lyman, 285. 

Abbott, William L., becomes partner of 
Mr. Carnegie, 201. 

Accounting system, importance of, 135, 
136, 204. 

Acton, Lord, library bought by Mr. 
Carnegie, 325. 

Adams, Edwin, tragedian, 49. 

Adams Express Company, investment 
in, 79. 

Addison, Leila, friend and critic of 
young Carnegie, 97. 

Aitken, Aunt, 8, 22, 30, 50, 51, 77, 78. 

Alderson, Barnard, Andrew Carnegie, 
quoted, 282 n. 

Allegheny City, the Carnegies in, 30, 31, 
34; public library and hall, 259. 

Allegheny Valley Railway, bonds mar- 
keted by Mr. Carnegie, 167-71. 

Allison, Senator W. B., 124, 125. 

Altoona, beginnings of, 66. 

American Four-in-Hand in Britain, An, 
Mr. Carnegie’s first book, 6; quoted, 
27, 318 n.; published, 212, 322. 

Anderson, Col. James, and his library, 

Arnold, Edwin, gives Mr. Carnegie the 
MS. of The Light of Asia, 207. 

Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 206, 207, 
302; visits Mr. Carnegie, 216, 299, 
301; a charming man, 298; seriously 
religious, 299; as a lecturer, 299, 300; 
and Henry Ward Beecher, 300; ‘on 
Shakespeare, 302; and Josh Billings, 
303-05; in Chicago, 305, 806; me- 
morial to, 308. 

Baldwin, William H., 277. 

Balfour, Prime Minister, 269-71; as a 
philosopher, 323, 324. 

Balfour of Burleigh, Lord, and Trust for 
the Universities of Scotland, 269, 270, 

Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Mr. Car- 
negie’s relations with, 125-29. 

Baring Brother, dealings with, 168, 169. 

Barryman, Robert, an ideal Tom Bow- 
ling, 28, 29. : 

Bates, David Homer, quoted, 45, 46, 

Beecher, Henry Ward, and Matthew 
Arnold, 300; and Robert G. Ingersoll, 

300, 301; on Herbert Spencer, 336, 

Behring Sea question, 350, 353-55. 

Bessemer steel process, revolutionized 
steel manufacture, 184, 185, 229. 

Billings, Dr. J. S., of the New York 
Public Libraries, 259; director of the 
Carnegie Institution, 260. 

Billings, Josh, 295; and Matthew Ar- 
nold, 303-05; anecdotes, 304, 305. 
Bismarck, Prince, disturbs the financial 

world, 169. 

Black, William, 298. 

Blaine, James G., visits Mr. Carnegie, 
216; and Mr. Gladstone, 320, 321, 
328; a good story-teller, 341-43, 357; 
his Yorktown address, 341; at Cluny 
Castle, 344; misses the Presidency, 
345; as Secretary of State, 345, 352- 
56; at the Pan-American Congress, 

Bliss, Cornelius N., 363. 

Borntraeger, William, 136; put in charge 
of the Union Iron Mills, 198; anec- 
dotes of, 199-201. 

Botta, Professor and Madame, 150. 

Braddock’s Codperative Society, 250. 

Bridge-building, of iron, 115-29; at 
Steubenville, 116, 117; at Keokuk, 
Towa, 154; at St. Louis, 155. 

Bright, John, 11; and George Peabody, 

British Iron and Steel Institute, 178, 

Brooks, David, manager of the Pitts- 
burgh telegraph office, 36-38, 57-59. 

Brown University, John Hay Library 
at, 275. 

Bruce, King Robert, 18, 367. 

Bryan, William J., and the treaty with 
Spain, 364. 

Bull Run, battle of, 100. 

Biilow, Prince von, 368, 370. 

Burns, Robert, quoted, 3, 13, 33, 307, 
313; Dean Stanley on, 271; rules of 
conduct, 271, 272. 

Burroughs, John, and Ernest Thompson 
Seton, 293. 

Butler, Gen. B. F., 99. 

Cable, George W., 295. 
Calvinism, revolt from, 22, 23, 74, 75. 
Cambria Iron Company, 186. 

378 INDEX 

Cameron, Simon, in Lincoln’s Cabinet, 
102, 103; a man of sentiment, 104; 
anecdote of, 104, 105. 

Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 313; 
and Trust for the Universities of Scot- 
land, 269, 271; Prime Minister, 312, 

Carnegie, Andrew, grandfather of A. C., 

Carnegie, Andrew, birth, 2; ancestry, 2— 
6; fortunate in his birthplace, 6-8; 
childhood in Dunfermline, 7-18; a vio- 
lent young republican, 10-12; goes to 
school, 13-15, 21; early usefulness to 
his parents, 14; learns history from his 
Uncle Lauder, 15, 16; intensely Scot- 
tish, 16, 18; trained in recitation, 20; 
power to memorize, 21; animal pets, 
23; early evidence of organizing 
power, 24, 43; leaves Dunfermline, 
25; sails for America, 28; on the Erie 
Canal, 29, 30; in Allegheny City, 30; 
becomes a bobbin boy, 34; works in a 
bobbin factory, 35, 36; telegraph mes- 
senger, 37-44; first real start in life, 
38, 39; first communication to the 
press, 45; cultivates taste for litera- 
ture, 46, 47; love for Shakespeare 
stimulated, 48, 49; Swedenborgian 
influence, 50; taste for music aroused, 
51; first wage raise, 55; learns to tele- 
graph, 57, 58, 61; becomes a telegraph 
operator, 59. 

Railroad experience: Clerk and 
operator for Thomas A. Scott, division 
superintendent of Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, 63; loses pay-rolls, 67; an anti- 
slavery partisan, 68, 96; employs wo- 
men as telegraph operators, 69; takes 
unauthorized responsibility, 71, 72; in 
temporary charge of division, 73; 
theological discussions, 74-76; first in- 
vestment, '79; transferred to Altoona, 
84; invests in building of sleeping- 
cars, 87; made division superintendent 
on the Pennsylvania Railroad, 91; re- 
turns to Pittsburgh, 92; gets a house 
at Homewood, 94; Civil War service, 
99-109; gift to Kenyon College, 106; 
first serious illness, 109; first return 
to Scotland, 110-13; organizes rail- 
making and locomotive works, 115; 
also a company to build iron bridges, 
116-18; bridge-building, 119-29; be- 
gins making iron, 130-34; introduces 
cost accounting system, 135, 136, 204; 
becomes interested in oil wells, 136- 
39; mistaken for a noted exhorter, 
140; leaves the railroad company, 140, 

Period of acquisition: Travels ex- 
tensively in Europe, 14%, 143; deepen- 
ing appreciation of art and music, 143; 
builds coke works, 144, 145; attitude 
toward protective tariff, 146-48; 
opens an office in New York, 149; 
joins the Nineteenth Century Club, 
150; opposed to speculation, 151-54; 
builds bridge at Keokuk, 154; and 
another at St. Louis, 155-57; dealings 
with the Morgans, 155-57, 169-73; 
gives public baths to Dunfermline, 
157; his ambitions at thirty-three, 
157, 158; rivalry with Pullman, 159; 
proposes forming Pullman Palace 
Car Company, 160; helps the Union 
Pacific Railway through a crisis, 162, 
163; becomes a director of that com- 
pany, 164; but is forced out, 165; fric- 
tion with Mr. Scott, 165, 174; floats 
bonds of the Allegheny Valley Rail- 
way, 167-71; negotiations with Baring 
Brothers, 168, 169; some business 
rules, 172-75, 194, 224, 231; concen- 
trates on manufacturing, 176, 177; 
president of the British Iron and Steel 
Institute, 178; begins making pig 
iron, 178,-179; proves the value of 
chemistry at a blast furnace, 181-83; 
making steel rails, 184-89; in the 
panic of 1873, 189-93; parts with Mr. 
Kloman, 194-97; some of his partners, 
198-203; goes around the world, 204— 
09; his philosophy of life, 206, 207; 
Dunfermline confers the freedom of 
the town, 210; coaching in Great 
Britain, 211, 212; dangerously ill, 212, 
213; death of his mother and brother, 
212, 213; courtship, 213, 214; mar- 
riage, 215; presented with the freedom 
of Edinburgh, 215; birth of his daugh- 
ter, 217; buys Skibo Castle, 217; man- 
ufactures spiegel and) ferro-manga- 
nese, 220, 221; buys mines, 221-23; ac- 
quires the Frick Coke Company, 222; 
buys the Homestead steel mills, 225; 
progress between 1888 and 1897, 226; 
the Homestead strike, 228-33; suc- 
ceeds Mark Hanna on executive com- 
mittee of the National Civic Federa- 
tion, 234; incident of Burgomaster 
McLuckie, 235-39; some labor dis- 
putes, 240-54; dealing with a mill com- 
mittee, 241, 242; breaking a strike, 
243-46; a sliding scale of wages, 244— 
47; beating a bully, 248; settling dif- 
ferences by conference, 249, 250, 252; 
workmen’s savings, 251. 

Period of distribution: Carnegie 
Steel Company sells out to United 


States Steel Corporation, 255, 256; 
Andrew Carnegie Relief Fund estab- 
lished for men in the mills, 256, 257, 
281; libraries built, 259; Carnegie In- 
stitution founded, 259-61; hero funds 
established for several countries, 262- 
67; pension fund for aged professors, 
268-71; trustee of Cornell University, 
268; Lord Rector of St. Andrews, 271- 
73; aid to American colleges, 274, 275, 
277 n.; connection with Hampton 
and Tuskegee Institutes, 276, 277; 
gives organs to many churches, 278, 
279; private pension fund, 279, 280; 
Railroad Pension Fund, 280; early in- 
terested in peace movemenis, 282, 
283; on a League of Nations, 284 n.; 
provides funds for Temple of Peace at 
The Hague, 284, 285; president of the 
Peace Society of New York, 285, 286; 
decorated by several governments, 
286; buys Pittencrieff Glen and gives 
it to Dunfermline, 286-90; friendship 
with Earl Grey, 290; other trusts es- 
tablished, 290 n.; dinners of the Car- 
negie Veteran Association, 291, 292; 
the Literary Dinner, 292, 293; rela- 
tions with Mark Twain, 294-97; with 
Matthew Arnold, 298-308; with Josh 
Billings, 302-05; first meets Mr. Glad- 
stone, 309, 330, 331; estimate of Lord 
Rosebery, 309-11; his own name often 
misspelled, 310; attachment to Har- 
court and Campbell-Bannerman, 312; 
and the Earl of Elgin, 313, 314; his 
Freedom-getting career, 314, 316; 
opinion on British municipal govern- 
ment, 314-17; visits Mr. Gladstone at 
Hawarden, 318, 319, 328, 329; inci- 
dent of the Queen’s Jubilee, 320, 321; 
relations with J. G. Blaine, 320, 321, 
328, 341-46; friendship with John 
Morley, 322-28; estimate of Elihu 
Root, 324; buys Lord Acton’s library, 
325; on Irish Home Rule, 327; at- 
tempts newspaper campaign of politi- 
cal progress, 330; writes Triwmphant 
Democracy, 330-32; a disciple of Her- 
bert Spencer, 333-40; delegate to the 
Pan-American Congress, 346, 350, 
entertains President Harrison, 347, 
348; founds Carnegie Institute at 
Pittsburgh, 348; influence in the Chil- 
ian quarrel, 350-52; suggests Mr. 
Shiras for the Supreme Court, 353; 
on the Behring Sea dispute, 354, 355; 
opinion of Mr. Blaine, 355, 357; rela- 
tions with John Hay, 358-61; and 
with President McKinley, 359, 363; 
on annexation of the Philippines, 362- 

65; criticism of W. J. Bryan, 364; im- 
pressions of the German emperor, 
366-71; hopeful of President Wilson, 
371, 372. 

Carnegie, Louise Whitfield, wife of 
A. C., 215-19; charmed by Scotland, 
215; her enjoyment of the pipers, 216; 
the Peace-Maker, 218; honored with 
freedom of Dunfermline, 271; first 
honorary member of Carnegie Vet- 
eran Association, 292. 

Carnegie, Margaret Morrison, mother of 
A. C., 6, 12; reticent on religious sub- 
jects, 22, 50; a wonderful woman, 31, 
32, 38, 88-90; gives bust of Sir Walter 
Scott to Stirling, 157; lays corner 
stone of Carnegie Library in Dunferm- 
line, 211; death of, 212, 213; advice 
to Matthew Arnold, 299. 

Carnegie, Margaret, daughter of A. C., 
born, 217. 

Carnegie, Thomas Morrison, brother of 
A. C., 25; a favorite of Col. Piper, 
118, 119; interested in iron-making, 
130; friendship with Henry Phipps, 
132; marries Lucy Coleman, 149; 
death of, 212, 213. 

Carnegie, William, father of A. C., 2; 
a damask weaver, 8, 12, 13, 25, 30; a 
radical republican,11; liberal in theol- 
ogy, 22, 23; works in a cotton factory 
in Allegheny City, 34; one of the 
founders of a library in Dunfermline, 
48; a sweet singer, 52; shy and re- 
served, 62; one of the most lovable of 
men, 63; death of, 63, 77. 

“Carnegie,” the | wood-and-bronze 
yacht, 260, 261. 

Carnegie Brothers & Co., 129, 225, 226. 

Carnegie Corporation of New York, 
290 n. 

Carnegie Endowment for International 
Peace, 286 n. 

Carnegie Endowment for the Advance- 
ment of Learning, 268. 

Carnegie Hero Fund, 262-66. 

Carnegie Institute at Pittsburgh, 259, 

Carnegie Institution, 259, 260. 

Carnegie, Kloman & Co., 196, 197. 

Carnegie, McCandless & Co., 201. 

Carnegie, Phipps & Co., 226. 

Carnegie Relief Fund, for Carnegie 
workmen, 266. 

Carnegie Steel Company, 256. 

Carnegie Trust for the Universities of 
Scotland, trustees of, 269; duties of, 
270, 271. 

Carnegie United Kingdom Trust, 290 n. 

Carnegie Veteran Association, 291, 292. 


“‘Cavendish” (Henry Jones), anecdote 
of, 315. 

Central Transportation Company, 159, 

Chamberlain, Joseph, 326, 327, 356. 

Chemistry, value of, in iron manufac- 
ture, 181, 182, 223. 

Chicago, ‘dizzy on cult,” 305, 306. 

Chili, quarrel with, 350-53. 

Chisholm, Mr., Cleveland iron manu- 
facturer, 184. 

Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, 355, 356, 360. 

Clemens, Samuel L.; see Twain, Mark. 

Cleveland, Frances, Library at Wellesley 
College, 275. 

Cleveland, President, 283; and tariff re- 
vision, 147. 
Cluny Castle, 

Blaine at, 344. 
Coal-washing, introduced into America 
by George Lauder, 144. 
Cobbett, William, 4. 
Coke, manufacture of, 144, 145, 221. 

Scotland, 217; Mr. 

Coleman, Lucy, afterwards Mrs. 
Thomas Carnegie, 149. 
Coleman, William, interested in oil 

wells, 136-40; and in coke, 144; manu- 
facturer of steel rails, 186; anecdote of, 
192; sells out to Mr. Carnegie, 202. 

Columbia University, 274 n. 

Confucius, quoted, 50, 52, 340. 

Constant, Baron d’Estournelles de, 286. 

Conway, Moncure D., Autobiography 
quoted, 274. 

Coéperative store, 250. 

Corn Law agitation, the, 8 

Cornell University, salaries of profes- 
sors, 268. 

Cowley, William, 46. 

Cremer, William Randall, receives Nobel 
Prize for promotion of peace, 283, 
284 n. 

Cresson Springs, Mr. Carnegie’s summer 
home in the Alleghanies, 213, 307. 

Cromwell, Oliver, 15. 

Crystal Palace, London, 148. 

Curry, Henry M., 181; becomes a part- 
ner of Mr. Carnegie, 201. 

Cyclops Mills, 133, 134. 

Damask trade in Scotland, 2, 8, 12, 13. 

Dawes, Anna L., How we are Governed, 

Dennis, Prof. F. S., 213, 214. 

Dickinson College, Conway Hall at, 274. 

Disestablishment of the English Church, 

Dodds process, the, for carbonizing the 
heads of iron rails, 186. 

Dodge, William E., 260. 


Donaldson, Principal, of St. Andrews 
University, 273. 

Douglas, Euphemia (Mrs. Sloane), 29. 

Drexel, Anthony, 175, 205. 

Dunfermline, birthplace of Mr. Car- 
negie, 2, 6; a radical town, 10; libraries 
in, 48; revisited, 110-12, 157; gives 
Mr. Carnegie the freedom of the town, 
210; Carnegie Library in, 211; confers 
freedom of the town on Mrs. Carne- 
gie, 271. 

Dunfermline Abbey, 6, 7, 17, 18, 26, 27, 

Durrant, President, of the Union Pacific 
Railway, 159. 

Eads, Capt. James B., 119, 120. 

Edgar Thomson Steel easier 188, 
189, 201, 202. 

Education, compulsory, 34. 

Edwards, “Billy,” 249, 250. 

Edwards, Passmore, 330. 

Elgin, Earl of, and Trust for the Univer- 
sities of Scotland, 269-72, 313, 314. 
Elkins, Sen. Stephen B., and Mr. Blaine, 

344, 345, 352, 359. 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, anecdote of, 335. 
Endorsing notes, 173, 174. 
Erie Canal, the, 29, 30. 
Escanaba Iron Company, 194-97, 220. 
Evans, Captain (“Fighting Bob’’), as 
government inspector, 199. 
Evarts, William M., 336 n. 

Fahnestock, Mr., Pittsburgh financier, 

Farmer, President, of Cleveland and 
Pittsburgh Railroad Co., 5. 

Ferguson, Ella (Mrs. Henderson), 25. 

Ferro-manganese, manufacture of, 220. 

Fleming, Marjory, 20. 

Flower, Governor Roswell P., and the 
tariff, 147, 148. 

Forbes, Gen. John, Laird of Pittencrieff, 

Franciscus, Mr., freight agent at Pitts- 
burgh, 72. 

Franciscus, Mrs., 80. 

Franklin, Benjamin, and St. Andrews 
University, 272; quoted, 340. 

Frick, Henry C., 222. 

Frick Coke Company, 222, 226. 

Fricke, Dr., chemist at the Lucy Fur- 
nace, 182. 

Frissell, Hollis B., of Hampton Institute, 

Garrett, John W., President of the Balti- 
more and Ohio Railroad, 125-29. 
General Education Board, 274. 


Germany, and the Philippines, 365; 
Emperor William, 366-71. 

Gilder, Richard Watson, poem by, 262, 
263; manager of the Literary Dinner, 
292, 293; on Mr. Carnegie, 293 7n., 
340 n. 

Gilman, Daniel C., first president of the 
Carnegie Institution, 260. 

Gladstone, W. E., letter from, 233; and 
Matthew Arnold, 298; Mr. Carnegie 
and, 309, 327-31; his library, 318; 
devout and sincere, 319; anecdote of, 
320; and J. G. Blaine, 321; and John 
Morley, 325. 

Glass, John P., 54, 55. 

God, each stage of civilization creates 
its own, 75. 

Gorman, Senator Arthur P., and the 
tariff, 147, 148. 

Gospel of Wealth, The, published, 255. 

Gould, Jay, 152. 

Grant, Gen. U.S., and Secretary Stan- 
ton, 106; some characteristics of, 107; 
unjustly suspected, 108. 

Greeley, Horace, 68, 81. 

Grey, Earl, trustee of Carnegie United 
Kingdom Trust, 290 and n. 

Hague Conference, 283, 284. 

Haldane, Lord Chancellor, error as to 
British manufactures, 331. 

Hale, Eugene, visits Mr. Carnegie, 216. 

Hale, Prof. George E., of the Mount 
Wilson Observatory, 261. 

Halkett, Sir Arthur, killed at Braddock’s 
defeat, 187, 188. 

Hamilton College, Elihu Root Founda- 
tion at, 275. 

Hampton Institute, 276. 

Hanna, Senator Mark, 233, 234, 359; 
Chair in Western Reserve University 
named for, 275. 

Harcourt, Sir William Vernon, 312. 

Harris, Joel Chandler, 295. 

Harrison, President Benjamin, opens 
Carnegie Hall at Allegheny City, 259, 
347; his nomination, 344, 345; dispute 
with Chili, 350-53; the Behring Sea 
question, 350, 353-55. 

Hartman Steel Works, 226. 

Hawk, Mr., of the Windsor Hotel, New 
York, 150. 

Hay, Secretary John, comment on Lin- 
coln, 101, 102; visits Mr. Carnegie, 
216; chairman of directors of Car- 
negie Institution, 260; Library, at 
Brown University, 275; as Secretary 
of State, 358; the Hay-Pauncefote 
Treaty, 359; the Senate his béte noire, 
360, 361. 


Hay, John, of Allegheny City, 34-37. 

Head-ication versus Hand-ication, 4. 

Henderson, Ebenezer, 5. 

Henderson, Ella Ferguson, 25, 55. 

Hero Fund, 262-66. 

Hewitt, Abram S., 260. 

Higginson, Maj. F. L., 260. 

Higginson, Col. Thomas Wentworth, 

Hill, David Jayne, on the German Hero 
Fund, 263, 264. 

Hogan, Maria, 70. 

Hogan, Uncle, 36, 77. 

Holls, G. F. W., and the Hague Con- 
ference, 284. 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, and the Mat- 
thew Arnold memorial, 307, 308. 

Homestead Steel Mills, consolidated 
with Carnegie Brothers & Co., 225, 
226; strike at, 228-39; address of 
workmen to Mr. Carnegie, 257. 

Hughes, Courtney, 58. 

Huntington, Collis P., 205. 

Ignorance, the main root of industrial 
trouble, 240. 

In the Time of Peace, by Richaed Watson 
Gilder, 262, 263. 

Ingersoll, Col. Robert G., 210, 300. 

Integrity, importance of, in business, 

Ireland, Mr. Carnegie’s freedom tour in, 
314 n., 316. 

Irish Home Rule, 327. 

Irwin, Agnes, receives doctor’s degree 
from St. Andrews University, 272, 273. 

Isle of Wight, 215. 

Jackson, Andrew, and Simon Cameron, 
104, 105. 

Jewett, Thomas L., President of the 
Panhandle Railroad, 117. 

Jones, Henry (‘‘Cavendish”’), anecdote 
of, 315. 

Jones, (“The Captain’’), 202, 204, 
241, 242, 369; prefers large salary to 
partnership, 203. 

Just by the Way, poem on Mr. Carnegie, 

Kaiser Wilhelm, and Mr. 

Katte, Walter, 123. 

Keble, Bishop, godfather of Matthew: 
Arnold, 298. 

Kelly, Mr., chairman of blast-furnaces 
committee, 241-43. 

Kennedy, Julian, 220. 

Kenyon College, gift to, 106; Stanton 
Chair of Economics, 275. 



Keokuk, Iowa, 154. 

Keystone Bridge Works, 116, 122-28, 176. 

Keystone Iron Works, 130. 

Kilgraston, Scotland, 215, 216. 

Kind action never lost, 85, 86. 

King Edward VII, letter from, 264, 265, 

Kloman, Andrew, partner with Mr. 
Carnegie, 130, 178, 179; a great me- 
chanic, 131, 184; in bankruptcy, 194- 

Knowledge, sure to prove useful, 60. 

Knowles, James, on Tennyson, 337, 338. 

Koethen, Mr., choir leader, 51. 

Labor, some problems of, 240-54. 

Lang, Principal, 272. 

Lauder, George, uncle of A. C., 12, 28, 
113, 287; teaches him history, 15-17; 
and recitation, 20. 

Lauder, George, cousin of A. C., 8, 17; 
develops coal-washing machinery, 144, 

Lauder Technical College, 9, 15. 

Lehigh University, Mr. Carnegie gives 
Taylor Hall, 266. 

Lewis, Enoch, 91. 

Libraries, founded by Mr. Carnegie, 47, 
48, 259. 

Library, public, usefulness of, 47. 

Lincoln, Abraham, some characteristics 
of, 101; second nomination sought, 
104, 105. 

Linville, H. J., partner of Mr. Carnegie, 
116, 120. 

Literature, value of a taste for, 46. 

Lloyd, Mr., banker at Altoona, 87. 

Lombaert, Mr., general superintendent 
of the Pennsylvania Railroad, 63, 66, 
67, 73. 

Lucy Furnace, the, erected, 178; in 
charge of Henry Phipps, 181; en- 
larged, 183; gift from the workmen in, 
257, 258." 

Lynch, Rev. Frederick, 285. 

Mabie, Hamilton Wright, quoted, 113. 

McAneny, George, 277. 

McCandless, David, 78, 186. 

McCargo, David, 42, 49, 69. 

McCullough, J. N., 173, 175. 

MacIntosh, Mr., Scottish furniture man- 
ufacturer, 24. 

McKinley, President William, 358; and 
the Panama Canal, 359; and the Span- 
ish War, 361-65. 

McLuckie, Burgomaster, and Mr. Car- 
negie, 235-37. 

McMillan, Rev. Mr., Presbyterian min- 
ister, 74-76. 


Macdonald, Sir John, and the Behring 
Sea troubles, 354, 355. 

Mackie, J. B., quoted, 3, 9. 

Macy, V. Everit, 277. 

Martin, Robert, Mr. Carnegie’s only 
schoolmaster, 13-15, 21. 

Mason and Slidell, 102. 

Mellon, Judge, of Pittsburgh, 1. 

Memorizing, benefit of, 21, 39. 

Mill, John Stuart, as rector of St. An- 
drews, 272. 

Miller, Thomas N., 45, 46, 110; on the 
doctrine of predestination, 75; part- 
ner with Mr. Carnegie, 115, 130, 133; 
death of, 130; sells his interest, 133, 

Mills, D. O., 260. 

Mitchell, Dr. S. Weir, 260. 

Morgan, J. Pierpont, 171, 172, 256. 

Morgan, Junius S., 155, 156, 170. 

Morgan, J.S., & Co., negotiations with, 

Morland, W. C., 42. 

Morley, John, and Mr. Carnegie, 21, 22, 
293; address at Carnegie Institute, 
188; on Lord Rosebery, 311; on the 
Earl of Elgin, 314; on Mr. Carnegie, 
322 n.; pessimistic, 322, 323; visits 
America, 324, 325; and Elihu Root, 
324; and Theodore Roosevelt, 325; 
and Lord Acton’s library, 325; and 
Joseph Chamberlain, 326, 327. 

Morley, R. F., 100 n. 

Morris, Leander, cousin of Mr. Car- 

. negie, 51. 

Morrison, Bailie, uncle of Mr. Car- 
negie, 4-6, 9, 11, 210, 287, 312. 

Morrison, Margaret, see Carnegie, Mar- 

Morrison, Thomas, maternal grand- 
father of Mr. Carnegie, 4-6, 287. 

Morrison, Thomas, second cousin of 
Mr. Carnegie, 145. 

Morton, Levi P., 165. 

Mount Wilson Observatory, 261, 262. 

Municipal government, British and 
American, 314-16. 

““Naig,” Mr. Carnegie’s nickname, 17. 

National Civic Federation, 234. 

National Trust Company, Pittsburgh, 

Naugle, J. A., 237. 

New York, first impressions of, 28; busi- 
ness headquarters of America, 149. 
Nineteenth Century Club, New York, 


Ocean surveys, 261. 
Ogden, Robert C., 277. 


Oil wells, 136-39. 

Oliver, Hon. H. W., 42, 49. 

Omaha Bridge, 164, 165. 

Optimism, 8, 162; optimist and pessi- 
mist, 323. 

Organs, in churches, 278, 279. 

Our Coaching Trip, quoted, 48, 110; 
privately published, 212. 

Palmer, Courtlandt, 150. 

Panama Canal, 359, 360, 372. 

Pan-American Congress, 345, 346. 

Panic of 1873, the, 171, 172, 189-93. 

Park, James, pioneer steel-maker of 
Pittsburgh, 199, 200. 

Parliament, membership and meetings, 

Partnership better than corporation, 

Patiemuir College, 2. 

Pauncefote, Sir Julian, and Mr. Blaine, 
355; the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty, 
359, 360. 

Peabody, George, his body brought 
home on the warship Monarch, 282. 

Peabody, George Foster, 277. 

Peace, Mr. Carnegie’s work for, 282-86; 
Palace, at The Hague, 284, 285. 

Peace Society of New York, 285, 286. 

Peacock, Alexander R., partner of Mr. 
Carnegie, 203. 

Pennsylvania Railroad Company, builds 
first iron bridge, 115-17; aids Union 
Pacific Railway, 163, 164; aids Al- 
legheny Valley Railway, 167-71; aids 
Pennsylvania Steel Works, 185. See 
also Carnegie, Andrew, Railroad ex- 
perience. — 

Pennsylvania Steel Works, the, 185. 

Pessimist and optimist, story of, 323. 

Philadelphia and Erie Railroad, 167-70. 

Philippines, the, annexation of, 358, 362 

Phillips, Col. William, 167, 168, 169. 

Phipps, Henry, 31, 130; advertises for 
work, 131, 132; crony and partner of 
Thomas Carnegie, 132; controversy 
over opening conservatories on Sun- 
day, 132, 133; European tour, 142; 
in charge of the Lucy Furnace, 181, 
182; statement about Mr. Carnegie 
and his partners, 196, 197; goes into 
the steel business, 201. 

Phipps, John, 46; killed, 76. 

Pig iron, manufacture of, 178, 179; im- 
portance of chemistry in, 181-84. 

Pilot Knob mine, 183. 

Piper, Col. John L., partner of Mr. Car- 
negie, 116, 117; had a craze for horses, 
118, 121; attachment to Thomas Car- 


negie, 118, 119; relations with James 
B. Eads, 120. 

Pitcairn, Robert, division superintend- 
ent, Pennsylvania Railroad, 42, 44, 
49, 66, 189. ; 

Pittencrieff Glen, bought and given to 
Dunfermline, 286-89, 291. 

Pittsburgh, in 1850, 39-41; some of its 
leading men, 41; in 1860, 93; later de- 
velopment, 348. 

Pittsburgh, Bank of, 194. 

Pittsburgh Locomotive Works, 115. 

Pittsburgh Theater, 46, 48, 49. 

Political corruption, 109. 

Predestination, doctrine of, 75. 

Principals’ Week, 272. 

Pritchett, Dr. Henry S., president of 
the Carnegie Endowment for the 
Advancement of Learning, 268. 

Private pension fund, 279, 280. 

Problems of To-day, quoted, 40, 217. 

Protective tariffs, 146-48. 

Prousser, Mr., chemist, 222. 

Public speaking, 210. 

Pullman, George M., 157, 159; forms 
Pullman Palace Car Company, 160, 
161; anecdote of, 162; becomes a 
director of the Union Pacific, 164. 

Quality, the most important factor in 
success, 115, 122, 123. 

Queen’s Jubilee, the (June, 1887), 320, 

Quintana, Manuel, President of Argen- 
tina, 346. 

Railroad Pension Fund, 280. 

Rawlins, Gen. John A., and General 
Grant, 107, 108. 

Recitation, value of, in education, 20. 

Reed, Speaker Thomas B., 362. 

Reid, James D., and Mr. Carnegie, 59 
and n. 

Reid, General, of Keokuk, 154. 

Republican Party, first national meet- 
ing, 68. 

Riddle, Robert M., 81. 

Ritchie, David, 139, 140. 

Ritter, Governor, of Pennsylvania, 
anecdote of, 342. 

Robinson, General, first white child 
born west of the Ohio River, 40. 

Rockefeller, John D., 274. 

Rogers, Henry H., 296. 

Rolland School, 13. 

Roosevelt, Theodore, 260; and Elihu 
Root, 275; John Morley on, 325; re- 
jects the Arbitration Treaty, 360, 361; 
and the Philippines, 365. 

Root, Elihu, 260, 286 n.; fund named 


for, at Hamilton College, 275; “‘ablest 
of all our Secretaries of State,” 275; 
on Mr. Carnegie, 276; and John 
Morley, 324. 

Rosebery, Lord, presents Mr. Carnegie 
with the freedom of Edinburgh, 215; 
relations with, 309, 310; handicapped 
by being born a peer, 310, 311. 

Ross, Dr. John, 269, 271; aids in buying 
Pittencrieff Glen, 288, 289; receives 
freedom of Dunfermline, 313. 

Round the World, 205, 206, 208. 

Sabbath observance, 52, 53, 133. 

St. Andrews University, Mr. Carnegie 
elected Lord Rector, 271, 273; con- 
fers doctor’s degree on Benjamin 
Franklin and on his great-grand- 
daughter, 272, 273. 

St. Louis Bridge, 155-57. 

Salisbury, Lord, and the Behring Sea 
troubles, 353-55. 

Sampson, , financial editor of the 
London Times, 156. 

Schiffler, Mr., a partner of Mr. Carnegie 
in building iron bridges, 116, 117. 

Schoenberger, Mr., president of the 
Exchange Bank, Pittsburgh, 192, 193. 

Schurman, President Jacob G., 363. 

Schwab, Charles M., 152, 254-56. 

Scott, John, 186. 

Scott, Thomas A., 63, 70-74, 77; helps 
Carnegie to his first investment, 79; 
made general superintendent of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, 84; breaks 
a strike, 84, 85; made vice-president 
of the Company, 90; Assistant Secre- 
tary of War, 99, 102; colonel, 103; 
returns to the railroad, 109; tries to 
get contract for sleeping-cars on the 
Union Pacific, 158, 159; becomes pres- 
ident of that road, 164; first serious 
difference with Carnegie, 165; presi- 
dent of the Texas Pacific Railroad, 
and then of the Pennsylvania road, 
172; financially embarrassed, 173, 192; 
break with Carnegie and premature 
death, 174. 

Scott, Sir Walter, and Marjory Flem- 
ing, 20; bust of, at Stirling, 157; made 
a burgess of Dunfermline, 210. 

Seott, Gen. Winfield, 102, 103. 

Seneca Indians, early gatherers of oil, 

Sentiment, in the practical affairs of 
life, 253. 

Seton, Ernest Thompson, and John 
Burroughs, 293. 

Seward, William Henry, 102. 

Shakespeare, quoted, 10, 214, 219, 255, 


294, 297; Mr. Carnegie’s interest in, 
48, 49. 

Shaw, Henry W., see Billings, Josh. 

Shaw, Thomas (Lord Shaw), of Dun- 
fermline, 269, 288, 289. 

Sherman, Gen. W. T., 107. 

Shiras, George, Jr., appointed to the 
Supreme Court, 353. 

Siemens gas furnace, 136. 

Singer, George, 225. 

Skibo Castle, Scotland, 217, 272, 326. 

Sleeping-car, invention of, 87; on the 
Union Pacific Railway, 158-61. 

Sliding scale of wages, solution of the 
capital and labor problem, 246, 247, 

Sloane, Mr. and Mrs., 29. 

Smith, J. B., friend of John Bright, 11, 

Smith, Perry, anecdote of, 124. 

Snobs, English, 301. 

Spanish War, the, 361-65. 

Speculation, 151, 153. 

Spencer, Herbert, Mr. Carnegie’s rela- 
tions with, 333-37; a good laugher, 
333, 334; opposed to militarism, 335; 
banquet to, at Delmonico’s, 336; very 
conscientious, 337, 338; his philoso- 
phy, 339; on the gift of Carnegie 
Institute, 348, 349. 

Spens, Sir Patrick, ballad of, 7, 367. 

Spiegel, manufacture of, 220. 

Stanley, Dean A. P., on Burns’s theol- 
ogy, 271. 

Stanton, Edwin M., 41, 275. 

Stanwood, Edward, James G. Blaine 
quoted, 345 n. 

Steel, the age of, 181-97; King, 224, 225. 

Steel Workers’ Pension Fund, 281. 

Steubenville, bridge at, over the Ohio 
River, 116, 117. 

Stewart, D. A., freight agent of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, 94, 95; joins 
Mr. Carnegie in manufacture of steel 
rails, 186. 

Stewart, Rebecca, niece of Thomas A. 
Scott, 90. 

Stokes, Major, chief counsel of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, 81-83, 86. 

Storey, Samuel, M.P., 330. 

Storey farm, oil wells on, 138, 139 n. 

Straus, Isidor, 196. 

Straus, Oscar S., and the National Civic 
Federation, 234, 235. 

Strikes: on the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
84, 85; at Homestead, 228-39; at the 
steel-rail works, 240, 243. 

Sturgis, Russell, 168. 

Success, true road to, 176, 177. 

Sun City Forge Company, 115 n. 


Superior Rail Mill and Blast Furnaces, 

Surplus, the law of the, 227. 

Swedenborgianism, 22, 50, 51. 

Sweet By and By, The, 341, 342. 

Taft, William H., and the Philippines, 
363, 365. 

Tariff, protective, 146-48. 

Taylor, Charles, president of the Hero 
Fund, 266, 267. 

Taylor, Joseph, 58. 

Taylor Hall at Lehigh University, 266. 

Teaching, a meanly paid profession, 

Temple of Peace, at The Hague, 284, 

Tennant, Sir Charles, President of the 
Scotland Steel Company, 356, 357. 

Texas, story about, 334. 

Texas Pacific Railway, 172 n., 173. 

Thaw, William, vice-president of the 
Fort Wayne Railroad, 190. 

Thayer, William Roscoe, Life and Letters 
of John Hay, quoted, 216, 358, 359. 

Thomas, Gen. George H., 107. 

Thompson, Moses, 223. 

Thomson, John Edgar, President of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, 72; an evi- 
dence of his fairness, 117; offers Mr. 
Carnegie promotion, 140; shows con- 
fidence in him, 163; steel mills named 
for, 188, 189; financially embarrassed, 

Tower, Charlemagne, Ambassador to 
Germany, 366, 368. 

Trent affair, the, 102. 

Trifles, importance of, 36, 124, 159, 

Triumphant Democracy, published, 309; 
origin, 330-32. 

Troubles, most of them imaginary, 162. 

Tuskegee Institute, 276. 

Twain, Mark, letter from, 294, 295; 
man and hero, 296; devotion to his 
wife, 297. 

Union Iron Mills, 133, 134, 176; very 
profitable, 198. 
Union Pacific Railway, sleeping-cars on, 


159-61; Mr. Carnegie’s connection 
with, 162-65. 
“Unitawrian,” prejudice against, 12. 

Vanderlip, Frank A., 268. 

Vandevort, Benjamin, 95. 

Vandevort, John W., 95; Mr. Carnegie’s 
closest companion, 142; accompanies 
him around the world, 204. 

Van Dyke, Prof. John C., on the 
Homestead strike, 235-37, 239. 

Wagner, Mr. Carnegie’s interest in, 
49, 50. 

Walker, Baillie, 3. 

Wallace, William, 16, 17, 367. 

War, breeds war, 16; must be abolished, 
274, 283, 284; “‘ferocious and futile 
folly,” 358. 

Washington, Booker T., declines gift to 
himself, 276, 277. 

Waterways, inland, improvement of, 342. 

Webster Literary Society, 61. 

Wellesley College, Cleveland Library 
at, 275. 

Western Reserve University, Hanna 
Chair at, 275. 

White, Andrew D., 23, 150; and the 
Hague Conference, 284. 

White, Henry, 358. 

Whitfield, Louise, 213, 214. See also, 
Carnegie, Mrs. Andrew. 

Whitwell Brothers, 179. 

Wilkins, Judge William, 95, 96. 

William IV, German Emperor, 366-71. 

Wilmot, Mr., of the Carnegie Relief 
Fund, 266. 

Wilson, James R.., 46. 

Wilson, Woodrow, 371, 372. 

Wilson, Walker & Co., 226. 

Women as telegraph operators, 69, 70. 

Woodruff, T. T., inventor of the sleep- 
ing-car, 87, 161. 

Woodward, Dr. Robert S., president of 
the Carnegie Institution, 260. 

Wordsworth, William, quoted, 86. 

Workmen’s savings, 251. 

World peace, 369-71. 

Wright, John A., president of the Free- 
dom Iron Works, 185. 

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