Money is admitted to be--there is no earthly use of dodging the fact--the lever of the whole world, by which it and its multifarious cargo of men and matters, mountains and mole hills, wit, wisdom, weal, woe, warfare and women, are kept in motion, in season and out of season. It is the arbiter of our fates, our health, happiness, life and death. Where it makes one man a happy _Christian_, it makes ten thousand miserable _devils_. It is no use to argufy the matter, for money is the "root of all evil," more or less, and--as Patricus Hibernicus is supposed to have said of a single feather he reposed on--if a dollar gives some men so much uneasiness, what must a million do? Money has formed the basis of many a long and short story, and we only wish that they were all imbued, as our present story is, with--more irresistible mirth than misery. Lend us your ears. Not long ago, one of our present well-known--or ought to be, for he is a man of parts--business men of Boston, resided and carried on a small "trade and dicker" in the city of Portland. By frugal care and small profits, he had managed to save up some six hundred dollars, all in _halves_, finding himself in possession of this vast sum of hard cash, he began to conceive a rather insignificant notion of _small cities_; and he concluded that Portland was hardly big enough for a man of his pecuniary heft! In short, he began to feel the importance of his position in the world of finance, and conceived the idea that it would be a sheer waste of time and energy to stay in Portland, while with _his_ capital, he could go to Boston, and spread himself among the millionaires and hundred thousand dollar men! "Yes," said B----, "I'll go to Boston; I'd be a fool to stay here any longer; I'll leave for bigger timber. But what will I do with my money? How will I invest it? Hadn't I better go and take a look around, before I conclude to move? My wife don't know I've got this money," he continued, as he mused over matters one evening, in his sanctum; "I'll not tell her of it yet, but say I'm just going to Boston to see how business is there in my line; and my money I'll put in an old cigar box, and--" * * * * * B---- was all ready with his valise and umbrella in his hand. His "good-bye" and all that, to his wife, was uttered, and for the tenth time he charged his better half to be careful of the fire, (he occupied a frame house,) see that the doors were all locked at night, and "be sure and fasten the cellar doors." B---- had got out on to the pavement, with no time to spare to reach the cars in season; yet he halted--ran back--opened the door, and in evident concern, bawled out to his wife-- "Caddie!" "Well?" she answered. "Be sure to fasten the alley gate!" "Ye-e-e-e-s!" responded the wife, from the interior of the house. "And whatever you do, _don't forget them cellar doors_, Caddie!"