For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play.

_Robert Browning._

TO MELANCHOLY

The last invitation anybody would accept is "Come, let us weep together." If we keep melancholy at our house, we should be careful to have it under lock and key, so that no one will observe it.

Melancholy, Melancholy, I've no use for you, by Golly!

Yet I'm going to keep you hidden In some chamber dark, forbidden, Just as though you were a prize, sir, Made of gold, and I a miser-- Not because I think you jolly, Melancholy!

Not for that I mean to h.o.a.rd you, Keep you close and lodge and board you As I would my sisters, brothers, Cousins, aunts, and old grandmothers, But that you shan't bother others With your sniffling, snuffling folly, Howling, Yowling, Melancholy.

_John Kendrick Bangs._

From "Songs of Cheer."

THE LION PATH

Admiral Dupont was explaining to Farragut his reasons for not taking his ironclads into Charleston harbor. "You haven't given me the main reason yet," said Farragut. "What's that?" "You didn't think you could do it."

So the man who thinks he can't pa.s.s a lion, can't. But the man who thinks he can, can. Indeed he oftentimes finds that the lion isn't really there at all.

I dare not!-- Look! the road is very dark-- The trees stir softly and the bushes shake, The long gra.s.s rustles, and the darkness moves Here! there! beyond--!

There's something crept across the road just now!

And you would have me go--?

Go _there_, through that live darkness, hideous With stir of crouching forms that wait to kill?

Ah, _look_! See there! and there! and there again!

Great yellow, gla.s.sy eyes, close to the ground!

Look! Now the clouds are lighter I can see The long slow lashing of the sinewy tails, And the set quiver of strong jaws that wait--!

Go there? Not I! Who dares to go who sees So perfectly the lions in the path?

Comes one who dares.

Afraid at first, yet bound On such high errand as no fear could stay.

Forth goes he, with lions in his path.

And then--?

He dared a death of agony-- Outnumbered battle with the king of beasts-- Long struggles in the horror of the night-- Dared, and went forth to meet--O ye who fear!

Finding an empty road, and nothing there-- And fences, and the dusty roadside trees-- Some spitting kittens, maybe, in the gra.s.s.

_Charlotte Perkins Gilman._

From "In This Our World."

THE ANSWER

Bob Fitzsimmons lacked the physical bulk of the men he fought, was ungainly in build and movement, and not infrequently got himself floored in the early rounds of his contests. But many people consider him the best fighter for his weight who ever stepped into the prize ring. Not a favorite at first, he won the popular heart by making good. Of course he had great natural powers; from any position when the chance at last came he could dart forth a sudden, wicked blow that no human being could withstand. But more formidable still was the spirit which gave him cool and complete command of all his resources, and made him most dangerous when he was on the verge of being knocked out.

When the battle breaks against you and the crowd forgets to cheer When the Anvil Chorus echoes with the essence of a jeer; When the knockers start their panning in the knocker's nimble way With a rap for all your errors and a josh upon your play-- There is one quick answer ready that will nail them on the wing; There is one reply forthcoming that will wipe away the sting; There is one elastic come-back that will hold them, as it should-- Make good.

No matter where you finish in the mix-up or the row, There are those among the rabble who will pan you anyhow; But the entry who is sticking and delivering the stuff Can listen to the yapping as he giggles up his cuff; The loafer has no come-back and the quitter no reply When the Anvil Chorus echoes, as it will, against the sky; But there's one quick answer ready that will wrap them in a hood-- Make good.

_Grantland Rice._

From "The Sportlight."

THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME

Babe Ruth doesn't complain that opposing pitchers try to strike him out; he swings at the ball till he swats it for four bases. Ty Cobb doesn't complain that whole teams work wits and muscles overtime to keep him from stealing home; he pits himself against them all and comes galloping or hurdling or sliding in. What other men can do any man can do if he works long enough with a brave enough heart.

"The world is against me," he said with a sigh.

"Somebody stops every scheme that I try.

The world has me down and it's keeping me there; I don't get a chance. Oh, the world is unfair!

When a fellow is poor then he can't get a show; The world is determined to keep him down low."

"What of Abe Lincoln?" I asked. "Would you say That he was much richer than you are to-day?

He hadn't your chance of making his mark, And his outlook was often exceedingly dark; Yet he clung to his purpose with courage most grim And he got to the top. Was the world against him?

"What of Ben Franklin? I've oft heard it said That many a time he went hungry to bed.

He started with nothing but courage to climb, But patiently struggled and waited his time.

He dangled awhile from real poverty's limb, Yet he got to the top. Was the world against him?

"I could name you a dozen, yes, hundreds, I guess, Of poor boys who've patiently climbed to success; All boys who were down and who struggled alone, Who'd have thought themselves rich if your fortune they'd known; Yet they rose in the world you're so quick to condemn, And I'm asking you now, was the world against them?"

_Edgar A. Guest._

From "Just Folks."