s distinguish between appearance and true merit.
Pretence often gets the plaudits, but desert is above them--it has
rewards of its own.

No matter whence you came, from a palace or a ditch,
You're a man, man, man, if you square yourself to life;
And no matter what they say, hermit-poor or Midas-rich,
You are nothing but a husk if you sidestep strife.

For it's do, do, do, with a purpose all your own,
That makes a man a man, whether born a serf or king;
And it's loaf, loaf, loaf, lolling on a bench or throne
That makes a being thewed to act a limp and useless thing!

No matter what you do, miracles or fruitless deeds,
You're a man, man, man, if you do them with a will;
And no matter how you loaf, cursing wealth or mumbling creeds,
You are nothing but a noise, and its weight is nil.

For it's be, be, be, champion of your heart and soul,
That makes a man a man, whether reared in silk or rags;
And it's talk, talk, talk, from a tattered shirt or stole,
That makes the image of a god a manikin that brags.

_Richard Butler Glaenzer._

From "Munsey's Magazine."

HAVING DONE AND DOING

(ADAPTED FROM "TROILUS AND CRESSIDA")

A member of Parliament, having succeeded notably in his maiden effort at
speech-making, remained silent through the rest of his career lest he
should not duplicate his triumph. This course was stupid; in time the
address which had brought him fame became a theme for disparagement and
mockery. A man cannot rest upon his laurels, else he will soon lack the
laurels to rest on. If he has true ability, he must from time to time
show it, instead of asking us to recall what he did in the past. There
is a natural instinct which makes the whole world kin. It is distrust of
a mere reputation. It is a hankering to be shown. Unless the evidence to
set us right is forthcoming, we will praise dust which is gilded over
rather than gold which is dusty from disuse.

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honor travels in a strait so narrow
Where one but goes abreast: keep, then, the path;
For emulation ha