The visiting American feels proud that this once poor Scottish boy, without favor, rank, patrons, or special opportunities, having amassed his wealth in the United States, has used it so generously all over the world--a type of America’s mission. I have seen and met Mr. Carnegie on many occasions, at public dinners, as guest of honor, or presiding at famous celebrations, notably when the double centenary of the birth of Benjamin Franklin was celebrated by the Pennsylvania University, in Witherspoon Hall, in Philadelphia. I remember that, in bestowing upon a lady recipient of a learned degree her diploma, he nearly demolished her chignon. Nevertheless, the canny Scot seemed greater in redeeming his fault than even in doing successfully mightier things--the mark of a master of men. One of the strongest points in the career of the bonnie ironmaster has ever been his power to neutralize the possible evil effects of an error, whether that were a downright blunder or a mistake in judgment. No one is more fertile in those resources, which negative what might, with an ordinary man, become a calamity. I last met this optimist at Cornell University, to which he had come to see and hear the grand organ in Bailey Hall, which he, through Dr. Andrew D. White, had presented to the New York State College of Agriculture. The gates of hell had already been opened beyond sea, and international insanity--the chronic disease of Europe--was covering the plains of Belgium with blood and corpses. I asked Mr. Carnegie whether he was not discouraged, since, after all these years of his working diligently for peace, war had again broken out. “Discouraged?” said he, with vehemence. “Don’t know the meaning of the word.” Long live Andrew, with his incorrigible and invincible optimism! In this historic city my thoughts were mostly of Queen Margaret, the gentle conqueror of the Scottish people, and one of the greatest of all women born in Britain. When, after the battle of Hastings in 1066, the Saxon King Edgar fled into Scotland, with his two sisters, King Malcolm Canmore took Margaret, styled “the Beautiful,” for his wife, and was wedded at Dunfermline. Her husband, in 1093, refusing to be a vassal of the South, and indignant at his reception by Rufus at Gloucester, returned home. He then invaded England, only to be met and slain, together with his son, at Alnwick. This double blow, coming in a moment of ill health, was too much for Margaret, and she died in Edinburgh Castle. In the violence of the times, when Celt and Saxon were ever at war, her body may have been in danger of outrage. So her corpse was quietly conveyed, by way of the West Port of the then walled city, under cover of a mist, and without ceremony was removed to Dunfermline.