Joseph Morris.

ON DOWN THE ROAD

Hazlitt said that the defeat of the Whigs could be read in the shifting and irresolute countenance of Charles James Fox, and the triumph of the Tories in Pitt’s “aspiring nose.”  The empires of the Montezumas are conquered by men who, like Cortez, risk everything in the enterprise and make retreat impossible by burning their ships behind them.

  Hold to the course, though the storms are about you;
    Stick to the road where the banner still flies;
  Fate and his legions are ready to rout you—­
    Give ’em both barrels—­and aim for their eyes.

  Life’s not a rose bed, a dream or a bubble,
    A living in clover beneath cloudless skies;
  And Fate hates a fighter who’s looking for trouble,
    So give ’im both barrels—­and shoot for the eyes.

  Fame never comes to the loafers and sitters,
    Life’s full of knots in a shifting disguise;
  Fate only picks on the cowards and quitters,
    So give ’em both barrels—­and aim for the eyes.

Grantland Rice.

From “The Sportlight.”

MEETIN’ TROUBLE

Some students of biology planned a trick on their professor.  They took the head of one beetle, the body of another of a totally different species, the wings of a third, the legs of a fourth.  These members they carefully pasted together.  Then they asked the professor what kind of bug the creature was.  He answered promptly, “A humbug.”  Just such a monstrosity is trouble—­especially future trouble.  Some things about it are real, but the whole combined menace is only an illusion, not a thing which actually exists at all.  Face the trouble itself; give no heed to that idea of it which invests it with a hundred dire calamities.

  Trouble in the distance seems all-fired big—­
    Sorter makes you shiver when you look at it a-comin’;
  Makes you wanter edge aside, er hide, er take a swig
    Of somethin’ that is sure to set your worried head a-hummin’. 
  Trouble in the distance is a mighty skeery feller—­
  But wait until it reaches you afore you start to beller!

  Trouble standin’ in th’ road and frownin’ at you, black,
    Makes you feel like takin’ to the weeds along the way;
  Wish to goodness you could turn and hump yerself straight back;
    Know ’twill be awful when he gets you close at bay! 
  Trouble standin’ in the road is bound to make you shy—­
  But wait until it reaches you afore you start to cry!

  Trouble face to face with you ain’t pleasant, but you’ll find
    That it ain’t one-ha’f as big as fust it seemed to be;
  Stand up straight and bluff it out!  Say, “I gotter a mind
    To shake my fist and skeer you off—­you don’t belong ter me!”
  Trouble face to face with you?  Though you mayn’t feel gay,
  Laugh at it as if you wuz—­and it’ll sneak away!