WHY NOT MORE BEAUTIFUL FACTORIES f 



27 



ell-Pratt Company, manufacturers of me- 

 chanics' tools, G-reenfield, Massachusetts, 



"I believe there is a business value in 

 pleasant surroundings in the case of a busi- 

 ness plant of any kind, sort or description, 

 to as great as and perhaps a greater degree 

 than there is a moral value under the same 

 conditions in a home. I do not believe it is 

 possible for anyone to do his best unless he 

 is in tune, so to speak, with his surround- 

 ings. ... In a large measure the secret 

 of the success of the American manufacturer 

 has been the intelligence of his workmen, 

 and this intelligence is certainly stimulated 

 by agreeable conditions." 



Mr. James Banyan, chairman of the 



Birmingham Trust and Savings Company, 



at Birmingham; Alabama, declares that 



his company has had no experience with 

 the effect of attractive surroundings on 

 workingmen, but "extensive experience of 

 the converse — drunken, shiftless people in 

 wretched ^homes/ He concludes by 

 saying: 



"If a man smokes aphides off a rose bush 

 with his pipe, he cannot be then smoking in 

 the saloon — the workman's curse. Books, 

 music and flowers are natural religion, and 

 the proper complement of revealed religion." 



There is no doubt of it. The business 

 men of the country are being converted 

 to the betterment idea. Is not this a good 

 subject for Thanksgiving meditation? 



''KISS ME, SWEETHEAET'^ 

 By E. Carl Litsey 



•'"T/'ITH me, thweetheart," slow lisped a 

 K tot 



^ Among the daisies in the meadow lot, 

 Chasing the June-bugs and the butterflies, 

 Hailing each capture with wide-open 

 eyes. 



"Kith me, thweetheart;" she turned her rosy 

 face 



Straight up to his, not heeding his embrace. 

 With pouting lips which held the sun's 



warm rays, 

 She kissed him, in the morning of their 



days. 



"Kiss me, sweetheart!" The autumn moon 

 hung low; 



He stood above her, on his cheeks the glow 

 Of love true born. His voice was passion 

 swept, 



Surcharged with feeling he had so long 

 kept. 



"Kiss me, sweetheart!" The pleading in his 

 voice 



Awoke her soul, and made her heart rejoice. 

 Slow sinking in his arms with love-lit gaze. 

 She kissed him, in the noon-tide of their 

 days. 



"Kiss — me, sweet — heart." The earth was 



cold and bare. 

 This plea the dying man's last earthly 



prayer. 



His head was white — like to the snow out- 

 side; 



His life was going, on the waning tide. 

 "Kiss — me, sweet — heart." Low breathed 



the dying prayer. 

 Again he saw her in the daisies there; 



And though her eyes looked through a 



misty haze. 

 She kissed him, in the evening of their 

 days. 



