Search America's historic newspaper pages from 1789-1924 or use the U.S. Newspaper Directory to find information about American newspapers published between 1690-present. Chronicling America is sponsored jointly by the
National Endowment for the Humanities and the Library of Congress. external link Learn more
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
Newspaper Page Text
upijwuiwi if Jimi 'fwligWPf"J''IL'' 'i'1 "'WMiifM'i''tw-l;'
, x By Mary R. Macarthur,
Secretary British Women's Trade
-Union League. j
To join a union is like planting
a seed in a flower' pot.
You plant the seed and go to
bed at night.
You wake up in the morning
and there is no change; nothing
Mary R. Macarthur.
seems to have happened during
The week passes, and still
there is no change.
But you know the change is go
ing on underneath.
You wait ; you give it water and
watch it, and then, some day, a
tiny little green shoot, comes.
You are overjoyed.
You take it to the sun, you
water it and watch jt, and in the
summer omes a beautiful blos
som, the result notonjjof sow
ing the seed but of patience and
The union is like that.
You have not only to pay dues,
but you have got to take an in
terest in your own trade and in
other trades. ,
You have got to go about
preaching the gospel of trade
unionism and persuading your
fellow workers to join, and this
not only for the sake of what they
can get out of it but for the sake
of what they are going to put into
'-" The Signs.
I know that spring is here at last,
It is not that the sun shines out
Or that the birds are on the wing,
And winter snows all put to
I know it by far truer, signs
The bock-beer sign upon the
The ball game on the corner lot,
And other such-like incidents.
They've got a new hunch as to
the reason things grow better in
spring. It isn't ram or wanner
weathe but just soil microbes
which inherit from their thousand-billionth
the disposition to get busy jn
Matches may be waterproofed
for outdoor use without, impair-,
ing efficiency by dipping their)
heads in melted paraffin.
The saddest hour is the hour,
after sunset, says a poet. Spe
cially if the home team loses. t
i inn mm i iim- iiinftiiiyfuiMifcfiiiihftataa