Here is the scientist in his laboratory, trying to unite certain elements to produce new substance. Here is the beauty in her silken nest; here the lover; there the musician; yonder the peanut man, and in the office building is the captain of industry--all busy bees deeply absorbed in their respective interests, and intoxicated in the belief that they are important and greatly necessary. Yet in the broad measure of ages they are mere ripples on the sea of time, faint bubbles on the eternal deep, and grains of sand at the mountain foot. Great man by his own measure--minute man by the great measure of time. Mammoths to the near-sighted--mites to the far-sighted. Hustle and bustle, crowd and push. They tramp down the weaker brothers in the mad race after the golden shekels, which are only measures of the ability to buy and own material things; symbols of power to make others serve you. These golden shekels which men fret, sweat and fight for, can only buy physical and material things. [Sidenote: A Great Truth.] Away from the crowd is the little group who have learned a great truth, which is that happiness is not to be bought with gold. This little minority knows that mental pleasures are best, and that mental pleasures cannot be found on the great highway of material conquest. The puffy, corn-fed millionaire pities the man who is content to live with small means and enjoy what he has to the full extent. [Sidenote: Real Happiness.] The wise man is he who gets fullness out of life--happiness, respect, content, freedom from worry; who is busy doing useful things--busy helping his brother, busy training his children, busy spreading sunshine and love and the close-together feeling in his home circle. The corn-fed, hardened, senseless, money-mad, dollar-worshipper knows not peace. Smiles seldom linger on his lips. Peace never rests in his bosom, cheer never lights his face. He is simply a fighting machine, miserable in solitude, suffering when inactive and sick when resting. The money-chaser is up and doing, working like a Trojan, because occupation takes his mind off the painful picture of his misspent opportunity and his destroyed natural instinct. When fighting for gold he forgets his appalling poverty in the really worth-while things in the world. Like the drunkard in his cups, the intoxication makes him forget, and he is negatively happy. Money received as reward for doing things worth-while is laudable. We cannot sit idly by and neglect to earn money to provide food, shelter and education for our loved ones, but between times we should seek the wealth that comes from right mental employment. The millionaire thinks, dreams and gets dollars, and that is all. The worth-while man thinks kindness, usefulness, self-improvement, brotherhood, love and he gets happiness. [Sidenote: Doing for Others.]