row!
Hoe yo' row!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

BORROWING TROUBLE

It is bad enough to cry over spilt milk. But many of us do worse; we cry
over milk that we think is going to be spilt. In line 1 sic=such; 2,
a'=all; 3, nae=no; 4, enow=enough; 5, hae=have; sturt=fret, trouble.

But human bodies are sic fools,
For a' their colleges an' schools,
That when nae real ills perplex them,
They mak enow themsels to vex them;
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them,
In like proportion less will hurt them.

_Robert Burns_

UNDISMAYED

A convict explained to a visitor why he had been sent to the
penitentiary. "They can't put you in here for that!" the visitor
exclaimed. "They did," replied the convict. So smiling seems a futile
thing. Apparently it cannot get us anywhere--but it does.

He came up smilin'--used to say
He made his fortune that-a-way;
He had hard luck a-plenty, too,
But settled down an' fought her through;
An' every time he got a jolt
He jist took on a tighter holt,
Slipped back some when he tried to climb
But came up smilin' every time.

He came up smilin'--used to git
His share o' knocks, but he had grit,
An' if they hurt he didn't set
Around th' grocery store an' fret.
He jist grabbed Fortune by th' hair
An' hung on till he got his share.
He had th' grit in him to stay
An' come up smilin' every day.

He jist gripped hard an' all alone
Like a set bull-pup with a bone,
An' if he got shook loose, why then
He got up an' grabbed holt again.
He didn't have no time, he'd say,
To bother about yesterday,
An' when there was a prize to win
He came up smilin' an' pitched in.

He came up smilin'--good fer him!
He had th' grit an' pluck an' vim,
So he's on Easy Street, an' durned
If I don't think his luck is earned!
No matter if he lost sometimes,
He's got th' stuff in him that climbs,
An' when his chance was mighty slim,
He came up smilin'--good fer him!

_James W. Foley._

From "Tales of the Trail."

A HERO

If defeat strengthens and sweetens character, it is not defeat at all,
but victory.

He sang of joy; whate'er he knew of sadness
He kept for his own heart's peculiar share:
So well he sang, the world imagined gladness
To be sole tenant there.

For dreams were his, and in the dawn's fair shining,
His spirit soared beyond the