How happy were those dear idle days! Happy, not only in the retrospect, but each moment savoring pleasant to the taste. Once I thought that Heaven must be rather bore-ous with nothing left to strive for, no ambition, no anxiety. I know better now. I could live on and on forever in that camp and never wish for anything but to live. As I write, the pictures of the sweet, calm evenings out upon the placid lake in the canoe return to me. It heaves in gentle swells, the umber water netted on its ripple-crests with soft reflections of the flushed sky fading into tints too delicate for words of color. Black against the lucent edge of heaven march the slim poplars. The stars are struggling out, and taking pattern from them, the riding-lights of yachts shine yellowly. The waves plash gently on the shell that holds us, and the water gurgles against the paddle that urges onward, or tinkles in drops like tiny bells. Something catches in the throat. It is too beautiful, too heavenly for earth-born. From far across the waters comes Caruso’s voice, by magic reproduced, sweet to suffocation. “Un regal serto sul crin possarti Ergerti un trono vicino al sol. Ah! Celeste Aida! Forma divina.” On the taffrail of the departing steamer we leaned and watched the spot until the darkness and the distance smothered the pale gleaming of the tents where our friends lingered yet a little longer. We sighed; we could not help it. A little more and tears would have flowed. I want to go back there. I want to go back! Back to Nature—or at least part way. A Difference “That long-whiskered, pompous gentleman over there, who is doing most of the talking, is a prominent citizen, isn’t he?” inquired the tourist. “Ah-nah!” pessimistically replied the landlord of the tavern at Polkville, Ark. “He’s a member of the Legislature.” His Identity “Does any one know this poor fellow?” asked the Good Samaritan, addressing the crowd which had quickly gathered at the scene of the accident. “His mind seems to have become an absolute blank, and——” “Trust official! Trust official!” shouted the assemblage in one voice. “Out of his head and thinks he’s on the witness stand!” _The Philosophy of Money_ BY J. B. MARTIN One of our Ohio martyred Presidents, James A. Garfield, in delivering a speech in Congress, the last one, I believe, uttered this sentence: “Whoever controls the volume of money in this country will be absolute master of its industries and commerce.” A truer sentence was never uttered in our House of Representatives. But to see clearly and forcibly its truthfulness and effects, one must have a proper idea of what money is, by what power it is created, the factors or elements of money, and its functions and use. Briefly stated, money is the debt-paying instrument in all civilized nations, whose people are actively engaged in making contracts, buying and selling. Every contract creates a debt, hence the necessity of a debt-paying instrument.