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Newspaper Page Text
THE MAN WHO WOULDN'T TAKE RAISE IN PAY
Erwin P. Smith, world famous for what he knows about plant diseases,
works for Uncle Sam at $4,000 a year. The Rockefeller institute offered
him $10,000. He wouldn't take it Says he likes his job, finds it full of in
terest and usefulness, has all he needs to live on and doesn't see why he
should bother to change.
And, indeed, why should he?
Above the 'line of urgent needs, the durable satisfactions of life are
really quite independent of money.
Dr. Smith finds his pleasure in doing interesting, useful work work
for work's sake. That saves him a lot of bother to which most of us are
prone, for he doesn't have to worry about the, Saturday night pay envelope
he knows TJncle Sam's good for if, and he isn't at all tempted to watch the
clock so as to be the first to cut and run when the legal workday is over.
Moreover, he has friends folks he likes to chum with, soul mates
whose fellowship makes up lif e's chief est charm. Why cut away from them
to go in pursuit of unneeded dollars?
Honest, now, don't you think he is wise? Wouldn't all of us be truly
happier if we dug deeper for the pleasures In the jobs we have and gave
less heed to the cash receipts?
Don't misunderstand. He'd have to change if he didn't get a living
wage an income that bridged his modest needs without imposing a burden
of continual fretting lest the ends shouldn't meet That much is a funda
mental of happiness everywhere; and somehow society will have to arrange
it for ALL if it is ever to get the pangs of poverty out of its system.
By A. M. Davidson.
My Soul and I had a talk one night,
I remember the clock was. still;
The half -filled lamp cast a feeble light
And the barren room was chill.
I said to my Soul, "Do you call this
This broken cup that is dry?"
I said, "I am tired of endless strife,
And I crave but the right to die.
"I am starved on crusts that I beg
And weary of friendless eyes;
My brain is crazed with its power to
The mockery of human lies.
"'There's a draught to drink, and the
game is done;
Say! Shall I drain it down?
I need not look on tomorrow's sun,
Nor chill at Dame Fortune's
My Soul said .to me'Poor Cowardly
That 'sees not beyond the veil;
Do you think you can drown life's
In a brew of Craven's Ale?
"Quaff of your glass, if your fearful
Is "the prompter of your hand.
You cannot cancel the slightest part
Of your life that God has planned.
"And the plan of God is this, poor
That you rise above the pain,
And make of your soul a perfect tool
To mould and shape His aim.
"And though you may whine and bar
ter and bribe,
And drain the cup of defeat;
Know that I, your'Soul, shall survive
'Till the plan of God is complete."
Since 1911, 585 people have been
killed and 4,068 seriously injured by
I autos in New York City.