英語六級晨讀美文100篇:Sorrow of the Millionaire

　　The unfortunate millionaire has the responsibility of tremendous wealth

　　without the possibility of enjoying himself more than any ordinary rich man.

　　Indeed, in many things he cannot enjoy himself more than many poor men do,

　　nor even so much, for a drum major is better dressed,

　　a trainers stable lad often rides a better horse;

　　the first-class carriage is shared by office boys taking their young ladies out for the evening;

　　everybody who goes down to Brighton for Sunday rides in the Pullman car;

　　and for what use is it to be able to pay for a peacocks brain sandwich

　　when there is nothing to be had but ham or beef?

　　The injustice of this state of things has not been sufficiently considered.

　　A man with an income of ￡25 a year can multiply his comfort beyond all calculation

　　by doubling his income.

　　A man with ￡50 a year can at least quadruple his comfort by doubling his income.

　　Probably up to even ￡250 a year doubled income means doubled comfort.

　　After that the increment of comfort grows less in proportion to the increment of income

　　until a point is reached at which the victim is satiated and even surfeited with everything that money can purchase.

　　To expect him to enjoy another hundred thousand pounds because men like money,

　　is exactly as if you were to expect a confectioners shopboy

　　to enjoy two hours more work a day because boys are fond of sweets.

　　What can the wretched millionaire do that needs a million?

　　Does he want a fleet of yachts, a Rotten Row full of carriages, an army of servants,

　　a whole city of town houses, or a continent for a game preserve?

　　Can he attend more than one theatre in one-evening,

　　or wear more than one suit at a time, or digest more meals than his butler?

　　And yet there is no sympathy for this hidden sorrow of plutocracy.

　　The poor alone are pitied.

　　Societies spring up in all directions to relieve all sorts of comparatively happy people,

　　but no hand is stretched out to the millionaire,except to beg.

　　In all our dealings with him lies implicit,

　　the delusion that he has nothing to complain of,

　　and that he ought to be ashamed of rolling in wealth

　　whilst others are starving.

　　The unfortunate millionaire has the responsibility of tremendous wealth

　　without the possibility of enjoying himself more than any ordinary rich man.

　　Indeed, in many things he cannot enjoy himself more than many poor men do,

　　nor even so much, for a drum major is better dressed,

　　a trainers stable lad often rides a better horse;

　　the first-class carriage is shared by office boys taking their young ladies out for the evening;

　　everybody who goes down to Brighton for Sunday rides in the Pullman car;

　　and for what use is it to be able to pay for a peacocks brain sandwich

　　when there is nothing to be had but ham or beef?

　　The injustice of this state of things has not been sufficiently considered.

　　A man with an income of ￡25 a year can multiply his comfort beyond all calculation

　　by doubling his income.

　　A man with ￡50 a year can at least quadruple his comfort by doubling his income.

　　Probably up to even ￡250 a year doubled income means doubled comfort.

　　After that the increment of comfort grows less in proportion to the increment of income

　　until a point is reached at which the victim is satiated and even surfeited with everything that money can purchase.

　　To expect him to enjoy another hundred thousand pounds because men like money,

　　is exactly as if you were to expect a confectioners shopboy

　　to enjoy two hours more work a day because boys are fond of sweets.

　　What can the wretched millionaire do that needs a million?

　　Does he want a fleet of yachts, a Rotten Row full of carriages, an army of servants,

　　a whole city of town houses, or a continent for a game preserve?

　　Can he attend more than one theatre in one-evening,

　　or wear more than one suit at a time, or digest more meals than his butler?

　　And yet there is no sympathy for this hidden sorrow of plutocracy.

　　The poor alone are pitied.

　　Societies spring up in all directions to relieve all sorts of comparatively happy people,

　　but no hand is stretched out to the millionaire,except to beg.

　　In all our dealings with him lies implicit,

　　the delusion that he has nothing to complain of,

　　and that he ought to be ashamed of rolling in wealth

　　whilst others are starving.