in Massachusetts, sat right on that stone to make the bargain.  He was brought up there; he had gone back and forth by that piece of silver, rubbed it with his sleeve, and it seemed to say, “Come now, now, now, here is a hundred thousand dollars.  Why not take me?” But he would not take it.  There was no silver in Newburyport; it was all away off—­well, I don’t know where; he didn’t, but somewhere else—­and he was a professor of mineralogy.

I do not know of anything I would enjoy better than to take the whole time to-night telling of blunders like that I have heard professors make.  Yet I wish I knew what that man is doing out there in Wisconsin.  I can imagine him out there, as he sits by his fireside, and he is saying to his friends, “Do you know that man Conwell that lives in Philadelphia?” “Oh, yes, I have heard of him.”  “And do you know that man Jones that lives in that city?” “Yes, I have heard of him.”  And then he begins to laugh and laugh and says to his friends, “They have done the same thing I did, precisely.”  And that spoils the whole joke, because you and I have done it.

Ninety out of every hundred people here have made that mistake this very day.  I say you ought to be rich; you have no right to be poor.  To live in Philadelphia and not be rich is a misfortune, and it is doubly a misfortune, because you could have been rich just as well as be poor.  Philadelphia furnishes so many opportunities.  You ought to be rich.  But persons with certain religious prejudice will ask, “How can you spend your time advising the rising generation to give their time to getting money—­dollars and cents—­the commercial spirit?”

Yet I must say that you ought to spend time getting rich.  You and I know there are some things more valuable than money; of course, we do.  Ah, yes!  By a heart made unspeakably sad by a grave on which the autumn leaves now fall, I know there are some things higher and grander and sublimer than money.  Well does the man know, who has suffered, that there are some things sweeter and holier and more sacred than gold.  Nevertheless, the man of common sense also knows that there is not any one of those things that is not greatly enhanced by the use of money.  Money is power.  Love is the grandest thing on God’s earth, but fortunate the lover who has plenty of money.  Money is power; money has powers; and for a man to say, “I do not want money,” is to say, “I do not wish to do any good to my fellowmen.”  It is absurd thus to talk.  It is absurd to disconnect them.  This is a wonderfully great life, and you ought to spend your time getting money, because of the power there is in money.  And yet this religious prejudice is so great that some people think it is a great honor to be one of God’s poor.  I am looking in the faces of people who think just that way.  I heard a man once say in a prayer meeting that he was thankful that he was one of God’s poor, and then I silently wondered what his wife would say to that speech, as she took