314 



THE BEE-KEEPERS' REVIEW 



"Why, man, you are crazy 1 What 

 would you have me do?" The phj-- 

 sician mentioned hunting, fishing, 

 farming, raising of flowers, collecting 

 books or pictures, etc. The man cared 

 for none of these. "What did he care 

 for?" Zusi bji si )i ess. "That's what I 

 have been doing all my life; that's 

 what I am accustomed to; that's what 

 I like." Continuing, Mr. Smith says: — 



Poor devil. Poor, miserable. God-for- 

 saken pauper 1 Flowers might bloom, 

 brooks sing in the sunlight, cool winds 

 steal through the silent forests; there 

 were fishing and hunting, golf, horse- 

 back riding; pictures, books, curios — 

 an}' number of personal pleasures — 

 nothing of all that for lum. He must 

 continue to wear the same Chinese 

 shoe that he had put on when a boy. 

 Slowl}- but surely it had crushed ever}' 

 impulse outside of his daily task, and 

 strangled ever}' taste At twenty there 

 was a bouyancy in his step; life was 

 before him; he would make money fast, 

 then he would enjoy it. At thirty he 

 was still pegging awa_v — no time for 

 pleasure. At forty, the million came, 

 and with it the craving for another, 

 at fift}' his name stood the highest in 

 the street. At sixty came the end ! 

 Never once in all his life had he had 

 Txuy fun. 



I know how to sj'mpathize with these 

 men. I have seen the time when any- 

 thing outside of business seemed 

 scarcely worthwhile. Ordinary amuse- 

 ments were almost a bore to me. If I 

 went with my wife to see a play, I 

 tilled my pockets with letters to read 

 and p-onder over between the acts. 

 It was my aversion to everything out- 

 side of business that first attracted m}- 

 attention to my condition I at once 

 set about applying a remedy. For one 

 thing, I took up photography. I also 

 cultivated what might be termed the 

 small pleasures of life; and, after all, 

 they make up the greatest sum of our 

 happiness. Some of you might be sur- 

 prised to know some of the small 

 things in which I take pleasure. I de- 

 light to bring home delicacies for the 

 table — a nice bunch of celerj', a basket 



of grapes, a flower for the wife, a toy 

 for the little three-year-old grand 

 children, a magazine from which I can 

 read aloud an article when the evening 

 lamps are lighted. I have taken much 

 pleasure the past summer in the culti- 

 vation of a few simple flowers, such 

 as Nasturtiums, Aster and Morning 

 Glories. B}'^ the way, as I sit here 

 writing, I can look out of the window 

 upon a row of Japanese Morning 

 Glories, across one end of the porch, 

 that are all ablaze with great, three- 

 inch blossoms in all of the colors of the 

 rainbow. As I gaze upon those beau- 

 tiful blossoms there seems to pour out 

 from them a richness and sweetness of 

 feeling that reaches to my very soul — 

 it is a feeling that I can't describe, it 

 must be felt to be understood. The 

 days have passed when I can think of 

 and enjoy nothing except business. In 

 closing this little homilv', I think I can 

 do no better than to quote a short item 

 from the Star Monthly. It reads as 

 follows: — 



Business is a great game. We stren- 

 uousl}' strive for the vague goal of suc- 

 cess, the jo}' of the game in our hearts. 

 It is a great game, a grand game, it is 

 the only thing worth while to the man 

 with the shrewd brain, the iron nerve, 

 and the courageous heart. The only 

 trouble with the game is that it is too. 

 fascinating. The players are apt to 

 lose all sense of proportion, the game 

 fills their horizon to the exclusion of 

 ever3thing else in life. The game pos- 

 sesses its victim, he can't break awaj'^ 

 from it although the result of the con- 

 tinuous playing at high tension saps 

 the vitality of the player. For a time 

 he keeps up on excitement, vvhicii 

 shows in his glittering eye and stri- 

 dent voice, until one da}' he finds he can 

 no longer play the game. What is 

 left for him ? He is out of the only 

 game he knows, and is too old to learn 

 a new one. 



Stop and think a moment. Is it 

 worth while to play the game all your 

 waking hours, and dream about it in 

 your sleep, when the only result will 

 be to add you to the rapidly increasing 

 list of nervous business wrecks, victims 

 of "Americanitis" or over-strenuous- 

 ness ? 



