Part 8

I have vainly tried to think which held the greater fascination for me: The lake as it shifted its hues before my eyes from reddish brown to vivid apple-green through leaded gray and royal purple, the farther shore now so sharp and clear that you could see the houses on it, now but a thin slice of pearl against a pearly sky, the water between us and it now a floor veined and streaked like marble, and now ridgy with billows, that practised, as it were, their scales upon the yellow beach, their hand-backs remembering what the teacher said, “no knuckles,” and their finger tips dancing in the white froth: or, the fire of evenings, fluttering its ribbons of orange taffeta against the back log, snapping its blank cartridges in sport at us, the red coals so many heaps of glowing jewels in an Indian prince’s treasure-house. The lake enthralled me in the day-time. It numbed my brain; it paralyzed my pen-hand, and left me only the still and speechless joy of living. When the darkness fell, the firelight drew me with the master-spell. From the lake I now and then could turn my eyes. The fire was jealous. Not for a full minute would it let me go. In its genial warmth and light our souls expanded, and we sang the old songs that everybody knows, the songs that lie so near the heart its strings must thrill in concord with them, but, through all, our eyes were fastened on the fire. What magic it must be that thus can charm unhaltingly through all the long, long centuries that have drifted by like mist since first men gathered about the friendly flame! The wonder of it! The wonder of it! Without the Fire there could never be the Family, with all that means to us; no Hearth, no Home, with all that means to us. The first priestess was she that kept the coals alive; an altar is but a cooking-place. Lineal descendant of the first flickering blaze fed with twigs is all our god-like industry, all that has made us lords of earth and sea. Back to nature we may go, but farther back than fire we dare not, lest we perish body and soul.

Perhaps it was the dumb fear of this, the heritage of pre-historic ancestry that made us sigh when the time came to tear the logs apart and quench them for the night.

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.

Barbarous nations resort to barter; that is, giving one product or commodity for another, and yet with all of our boasted civilization we have men—some prominent ones too—who claim that money is a commodity.

I propose dealing in facts, as they are the stern sentinels of truth. Every nation enacts laws compelling its citizens to tender certain things, variously called “dollars,” “pounds,” “francs,” etc., as the only legal means of payment of debts and taxes. This is the vital point of the whole money question. Law, and law alone, makes money. Let us see what money is, and how it comes into existence.

Our gold, silver, and paper coins; also our nickel and copper coins, are really made up of three distinct factors or elements, each of which may, and often does, exist independently of the other two. This fact is one of the central truths concerning money.

What are these three constituents? First is the denominator or namer of the unit—Dollar. This is an ideal or abstract term given to an intangible thing. Second, some tangible or material substance to represent the dollar, or some multiple of it; and third, its life, the _legal tender_ function.

No two of these can make money; they must all three be named by sovereign power, Congress, or we have no money. Sovereignty is a unit and cannot be divided, nor can it be delegated. This is why National Bank notes are not a legal tender; they are simply the debt of the bank circulating as a substitute for money, so as to gratify the greed of the money sharks, and the “Power” that is aiming to be “master of our industries and commerce.”

But we are told that Congress, sovereign power, cannot make money out of nothing, that there must be _intrinsic value_ in our monetary tokens. Let us analyze this proposition in the light of facts and logical reasoning.

The second factor in money is the material substance used to represent the dollar, or some multiple of it. This material substance does not make the dollar. Remember this.

The important factor in the dollar is its _life_—the legal tender function—and sovereign power alone can grant this.

Under our constitution, sovereign power is placed in the hands of the American people—the whole people, not a part of them,—and their representatives in Congress exercise that power; so that whatever Congress says shall be money is money in the United States. So it can be safely affirmed that law alone creates money. The fiat or decree of law in the United States gives us our money.

But we are told that paper money, greenbacks, is all right when they are made redeemable in coin. The word “redeem” should never be used in connection with our money here in the American Republic. According to our big dictionary, redeem means “to purchase back,” “to ransom, liberate, or rescue from captivity or bondage.” Now as we have seen, Congress issues our money and puts it in circulation among the people. Is not Uncle Sam’s stamp on a piece of paper just as good as it is on a piece of silver or gold? If not, why not? Will some one please tell us? Then again I ask, wherein is there any sense or logic in Uncle Sam, the sovereign power in the United States, buying himself back? Where has our sovereign power got to, that Uncle Sam must ransom, or rescue himself from captivity or bondage?

As we have seen, sovereign power alone can issue money. That being a fact, Congress alone should issue all our money, whether coin or paper, and it should all be made a full legal tender; and no one kind “redeemable” in another kind; with no state or National note circulation as a substitute for money.

Another very important consideration is that it should be issued in sufficient volume to effect all our exchanges on a cash basis, or as nearly so as possible; for debt and usury, now called interest, is the present curse of every civilized country on earth.

This accomplished, the Government should establish Postal Savings Banks in every city having a population of two thousand or more, where the people could deposit their surplus money, until needed, in perfect safety, paying a small per cent. just as they do for insuring their buildings.

There is always a ratio existing between the total volume of money, free to flow in the channels of trade, and all things on the market for sale, including labor. This ratio is called—price. Statistics show that we had our largest volume of money at the close of the Civil War. In 1866 we had $80.00 per capita. We then had high prices and every man willing to work was employed. There were no tramps on the road begging for work or something to eat.

The accursed policy of contraction then commenced, at the instigation of the “Power” that was aiming to “be master of our industries and commerce.” Contracting the money volume continued until 1878, when we had less than $20.00 per capita. Then our roads and city streets were full of tramps, so-called. No work was to be obtained. Shops and factories were closed and farmers did their own work.

In 1866 there were but 520 failures in the United States with liabilities amounting to $8,579,000. In 1878, there were 10,478 failures with liabilities amounting to $234,383,132. Such were the effects of contracting the debt-paying instrument of our country at the dictation of Wall Street money tyrants.

The Rothschilds in Europe are the “Power” that controls the volume of money in every one of the European countries, and the result is they are the “absolute masters of the industries and commerce” of every government in Europe.

Furthermore, it can be safely said that through their agent, August Belmont, and his clique in New York, they are aiming to become the “absolute masters of our industries and commerce” here in the United States.

Can it be possible that an American President would join in this crusade against the best interests of the American people? It would really appear so, for Theodore Roosevelt in his recent message to Congress recommends retiring of the greenbacks and “redeeming” the silver dollars in gold. That means that our gold coin shall be our only perfect money, with National Bank notes (the debts of the banks, drawing double interest, once on the bonds deposited to secure the notes, and again on the notes; for no bank note passes over the counter of the bank issuing it, until interest is paid in advance), as a substitute for money; thus giving the banks the power to increase or diminish our volume of money, just as it may suit their sweet will and avaricious purposes.

At this point of the discussion we are told that we must have a standard of value, and that gold is a never-varying standard of value the world over. In reply to that I find in Sir Frederick Eden’s table of English money, from the Conquest in 1066 down to 1601, that in 1551 gold was worth only 4 shillings 7½ pence per ounce in London—a little over one dollar of our money; and in Doubleday’s “Financial History of England,” page 277, that in 1813 gold was worth 5 pounds 10 shillings an ounce in London—twenty-seven dollars and a half in our money. Does that look as though gold was a never-varying standard of value?

Besides, there is and can be no such thing as a “standard of value.” We can have a standard for quantity, gravity, and extension, but not of value. We have the gallon, the bushel, the pound and ton, the yard, rod and mile, but where is the unit for value?

Some may say; “Why the dollar is the unit of value”—not correct. The dollar is the unit in the expression of price; and, as we have seen, price is the ratio, so the word dollar is not a unit of value. Not until we can measure an idea with a quart cup, measure it with a foot rule, or put it in the scales and weigh it, can we have a measure of value; for remember, value is an idea, an action of the mind, and what has civilization invented to measure an idea with?

Value is human estimation of desirable things, which are limited in quantity, or which require sacrifice to obtain.

There we have a full, clear and scientific definition of value, “Human estimation”—clearly an action of the mind—an idea.

Whenever there is a general inability to pay debts on account of an insufficient or low volume of money, we call it a—panic. We have had five such periods in the history of the American Republic, viz: in 1819, 1837, 1857, 1873 and 1893.

How much better it would have been for our Republic had our fathers, who framed our Constitution and established the Government under it, given us a safe, sound and scientific financial system; with all money, whether coin or paper, issued by the Government, and in sufficient volume to do a cash business; volume to be increased as population and business increased; all made a full legal tender for all debts public and private, and at no time to be a contraction or reduction in its volume. Then we would have had none of the periods called panics and our advancement in all branches of business and science would be far in advance of what it now is.

It may be said, and truthfully, that our fathers had no time to devote to the money question; but there were a few in those days who did study it and profited by it just as there are at the present time.

If the farmers, the mechanics and wage-workers,—the creators of wealth—in this country ever expect to get any relief from the tyranny and oppression of this octopus that is “aiming to be master of their industries and commerce,” they must go to work earnestly and systematically in their various organizations—the Grange, The Farmers’ Alliance, the Patrons of Husbandry and the various Labor Unions—to studying the money question, and if they persevere they will see clearly as President Garfield did over a quarter of a century ago, that “whoever controls the volume of money in this country will be absolute master of its industry and commerce.”

There were a few men even at the time our Government was organized who understood the money question. Tom Paine, Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin concurred in the theory that “good paper money, based on the credit of the people is the best money ever invented by man.” “Equal and exact justice to all men, special privilege to none,” was their motto.

Let me quote further from Garfield. In that same speech he said: “But I admit freely that no Congress is wise enough to determine how much money the country needs. There never was a body of men wise enough to do that. The volume of currency needed depends upon laws that are higher than Congress and higher than Government. The laws of trade alone can determine its quantity.”

Demand for use is the natural law of money supply, and the Government should furnish such an amount as may be legally demanded; the idea being that the business of the country will absorb as much as it needs, and no more.

My opinion is, the volume ought not to be less than $50.00 per capita; and, as I believe, $100 per capita would be none too much to effect all our exchanges for cash, which is the proper way to do a safe business.

According to the Treasurer’s Reports for 1864, 5 and 6, and Fawcett’s, “Gold and Debt,” we had in circulation at the close of the Civil War about $80 per capita, which was none too much. Then it was that we had high prices and good times.

Our present Comptroller of the Currency reports $31 per capita in the various kinds of money and substitutes for money now in circulation. This is altogether too small an amount for the production and exchanges required in this broad land of ours. The result is debts are being made and credits are expanding at a fearful rate, preparing the way for our next great panic.

As stated above, we have never yet passed beyond twenty years without having a panic, and a moment’s thought will present to the mind the fact that we are now on the last half of the twenty years since 1893.

It is coming, for we all know that “like causes always produce like results;” and the cause is an inadequate volume of the debt-paying instrument—money—to do the business with. The result is that deferred payments—debts—must be made, and, as we have seen, a panic is a prevailing inability to pay debts. So look out for breakers in the near future.

Our present situation is no time to advocate commodity money, for the defenders of hard money ought to know that hard money and hard times always go hand in hand.

Demand for use is the natural law of money supply; and, as the demand now is far in excess of the supply, it is safe to say, that unless more money is put into the channels of trade, there will be a severe money stringency; if not a genuine old-fashioned panic.

I have often wondered why $100,000,000 in gold is kept penned up in the Treasury Building in Washington. So far as doing the people any good it might as well be in the bottom of the ocean.

Money performs precisely the same function in the social organism that blood does in the animal organism. Blood is the vitalizing force in the human body, and money is the vitalizing force in the body politic. Everybody knows that the loss of blood causes weakness in a human person, and just so the loss of money—a contraction of the money volume—causes weakness in a government; hence no “Power” should be permitted to control our volume of money.

Every voter in this Republic has a head above his shoulders supposed to contain a think-shop; and, if the “Power” now controlling our money volume, and as a result our “commerce and industries,” is to be removed and better times secured, every think-shop must get down to business, with a full determination to see that our “commerce and industries” shall not be interfered with, that the volume of money be increased enough to effect rapid exchange of products and the payment of debts.

The difficulty in accomplishing this lies in the fact that so many think-shops are never used, and again, some never read any newspaper except “my party paper,” containing nothing for think-shops to work at, and the result is—ignorance.

Thought is the mother of ideas, and ideas move the world. The reading man will naturally be an observing man, a thinking man, always looking for the cause of results which are transpiring around him, either in politics or science.

The election in several States last fall indicated very clearly that more men were using their think-shops than in previous campaigns. The good work has commenced and may it continue until our Republic be free from any organization that dare attempt to be—“Master of our industries and commerce.”

_The Little Path to Peace_

BY MARY SMALL WAGNER

Save for the pewee’s plaintive cry, Along this way all sound doth cease. We christened it, the breeze and I, “The little path to peace.”

The dusty highway far behind, The vine-clad cottage as our goal, There lies what many strive to find— Peace for the heart and soul.

A mother’s voice drifts down the stair, Crooning a simple lullaby. See Mistress Puss and Fido there, In perfect amity;

And over all the scent of flowers, And over all the spell of home, Though simple, for the asking ours, Enthralling all who come.

O comrade with the restless eyes, And greater cares than I can name, With weariness you ill disguise, Plodding the road to fame—

Pause—where the trees lap overhead, Close the wee gate, nor seek release. And hand in hand we’ll lightly tread The little path to peace!

West from Ping-Yang, the old Korean capital, flows Tai-Dong River into the Yellow Sea. Where in its mouth the flood tide weakens, and junks with lumber slung over sides drop their brown mat sails; there, where the clean sharp hills most beautifully are tricked with mirage and blue mist, squats the town of Chinnampo.

Kuroki’s army landed there on the March night early in the war when the ice, as if by magic, ground out toward China. Oiled torches spiked to rafts bobbed on the chill stream, and the winches of blacker transports creaked and whistled to the snowy shore. From the holds swung aloft rice and fodder and knock-kneed, shaggy ponies. Impish guards of the Mikado in red and green, privates in long coats and spectacles, sprang forth rigidly on land. No noise, no fuss; the brown invasion of Asia was furtively begun. The long barracks were ready, and they that had watched Jap coolie sappers a-building them—beer and sweet-cake sellers from the islands, pioneers in the new westward hegira—sat proud and bland that night in their paper-slat doors. Meanwhile, from his desert of filth and thatched mud huts all about, crouched cousin Korean in the darkness, unsurprised and cynical, smoking a yard-long bamboo pipe as he dropped soft syllables of philosophy on the vanity of effort, and with disdain drew his wadded white robes closer.

Even when the red sun flag fluttered darkly up its pole, no cheers followed. But from a hill overlooking the town an oath arose.

“Damn these Japs, damn their mustard bellies,” growled Captain Cyrus Brewster, chewing a stogie on the porch of his lonely bungalow.

Isolated on his hill, the captain was just such a Yankee, thin-nosed, blue-eyed and muffin-mouthed but with an imperishable look of youth for all his curled gray hair, as you might find in a bungalow with a flag-pole in front were you wrecked, for instance, off Patagonia; which is to say he was an iconoclast, and hated the world. He shipped from Chinnampo two million dollars a year in bullion from a gold mine near the Yalu River, for which he was “agent;” passed white men’s food and chemicals through the custom-house, and swore at coolies loading them on the light-draught junks he ran to the head of navigation on the Tai-Dong, whence carts trundled to the mines.

But worse than the world he hated the Japanese, for they militantly coveted for barrack joists the only pine grove in the region, which adorned his homestead. They could not seize the land without stirring diplomatic mud, since the captain had bought his stake from the Russians, who had eked it from Seoul in ’96, when the Jap ambassador burned the old Empress in kerosene, and her son fled to the Slav legation. Therefore the Islanders had threatened eviction, with smiles and insults; dickered blandly with bows, lies, and tissue documents inkily fly-tracked, as the captain repulsed them with a fist blow on the table, and cable blanks inscribed with fiery messages to Washington, which he never sent.

“War news?” he’d exclaim to missionaries bound up river. “Don’t ask me, by crotch! I don’t bother the monkeys in their damned town, and they don’t come up here to me.”