Evening Round Up | Page 6

who is content to live
with small means and enjoys what he has to the full extent.
The wise man is he who gets the fullness out of life, happiness, respect,

content, freedom from worry, who is busy doing useful things, busy
helping his brother, busy training his children, busy spreading sunshine
and love and the close-together feeling in his home circle.
The corn-fed, hardened, senseless, money-mad, dollar-worshipper
knows not peace. Smiles seldom linger on his lips. Peace never rests in
his bosom, cheer never lights his face. He is simply a fighting machine,
miserable in solitude, suffering when inactive and sick when resting.
The money-chaser is up and doing, working like a Trojan, because
occupation takes his mind off the painful picture of his misspent
opportunity and his destroyed natural instinct. When fighting for gold
he forgets his appalling poverty of the really worth-while things in the
world.
Like the drunkard in his cups the intoxication makes him forget, and he
is negatively happy.
Money received as reward for doing things worth while is laudable.
We cannot sit idly by and neglect to earn money to provide food,
shelter and education for our loved ones, but between times we should
seek the wealth that comes from right mental employment.
The millionaire thinks, dreams and gets dollars and that is all.
The worth-while man thinks kindness, usefulness, self-improvement,
brotherhood, love, and he gets happiness.
The man who discovers means to help his fellowman, does a good act,
but it is the man with the dollars in front of his eyes that
commercializes the discovery and invention.
In the end the man that helped mankind fares better than the man who
made the millions.
It's a great crowd surging by, and very few have the good sense to learn
the value of TODAY. That great crowd I see below my window thinks

ever of tomorrow and forgets TODAY.
Those who think always of tomorrow will never get the beauties and
joys from life that comes to the little group, of Today, who appreciates
and enjoys the real Now, rather than the pictured Tomorrow that never
comes.
It's mighty interesting to watch the crowd go by and speculate on their
movements.
Save up your pennies, measure everything by the dollar standard, think
dollars, dream dollars, work, slave, push for the dollars and you will
build a fortune. You will never have peace or recreation, or joy; you
will live only in hope of a some day when you will retire. That's the
way the millionaires travel life's highway.
Some day the paper will announce the death of those millionaires and
then the dollars will be blown in by reckless heirs, and so the grinding
wheels roll on.
Surely there are many ways of looking at things. Surely there is much
of interest in the crowd. Surely there is an unending fund from which to
speculate, in that crowd way down on the street below my window.
What passions, what hopes, what joys, what sorrows, are in the hearts
of that hurrying, worrying crowd.
What noise this din of traffic makes, what activity man has stirred up.
A picture, a drama, a tragedy, a comedy, all these I see in the human
ants that run along below the hive where I sit and write these lines.
The phone rings and my little Nancy Lou's voice says, "Daddy, will
you please bring me a pencil and a tablet with lines on it."
So I must needs stop this, whatever you may call it, and push through
the crowd to get that tablet with "lines on it" for my Nancy Lou; and
there is some feeling of happiness and content and peace in Daddy's

heart as he lays down his pen, for Daddy is going Home, and that word
means a lot in his little family, where they all say "Daddy" instead of
Papa or Father.

DOING THINGS TWICE
A Common Habit That Saps Nerve Power
It is hard enough to do duty once, but doubly hard when you anticipate
mentally everything you have to do tomorrow.
This doing things twice is a habit easily acquired if you don't watch out,
and it means wasted energy.
I have just read the experience of a housewife who was resting on a
couch reading; her eye caught sight of a book lying on the floor across
the room.
Instantly her mindometer, if I may coin a word, registered, "when you
get up, pick up that book."
She went on reading, but her mind was not on the magazine she held,
but on that book on the floor.
So obsessed did she become that she was miserable until she got up and
picked up the book.
I was talking with a woman who was resting on her porch; her day's