rife--that's the reward of merit--that is the balm of life!

I like the men who do things, who plow and sow and reap, who build and
delve and hew things while dreamers are asleep.

THE UTILITARIAN

We sat around the stove discoursing of mighty deeds that we had done;
of struggling up the Alps and forcing our way to summits then unwon; of
fights with lions and hyenas, of facing grim and ghostly shapes, of
dodging bailiffs and subpoenas, and many perilous escapes.

And one sat by, distraught and gloomy, and listened to each stirring
tale; his beard was long, his eyes were rheumy, his nose was red, his
aspect stale. And this old pilgrim, dour and hoary, on all our
pleasure drew the noose; for, at the end of every story, he'd sadly
ask: "What was the use?"

I told of how I went a-sailing to Europe in an open boat; the billows
raved, the winds were wailing till I could scarcely keep afloat. The
salt sea spray was on my features; I heard King Neptune's angry shouts;
I fought with whales and other creatures, and was pursued by
waterspouts. I sailed those seas for weeks together, and bore my life
in either hand, and very often doubted whether I'd ever bring my boat
to land. But still, resolved on winning glory, I sailed along like
Captain Loose. The old man broke into my story, and mildly asked:
"What was the use?"

Jones told of how, appareled thinly (the thirst for glory warmed his
breast), he scaled the heights of Mount McKinley and placed our flag
upon its crest. He placed the flag to thwart the scorner, the doubter,
and the man obtuse; and then the old man in the corner looked up and
asked: "What was the use?"

Brown told of how a cask he entered and floated o'er the Horseshoe
Falls, and how all eyes for months were centered on him; in cottages
and halls the people joined to sing his praises or level at his head
abuse; the old man heard his burning phrases, and sadly asked: "What
was the use?"

We smote him roundly in our anger, resolved to cook his ancient goose,
and still, above the din and clangor, we heard him ask, "What is the
use?"

FIRESIDE ADVENTURES

It is not mine the world to roam; when I was born the Fates decreed
that I should always stay at home, and deal in hay and bran and feed.
For mighty deeds I have no chance while I am rustling in my store; and
yet my life has its romance, and I've adventures by the score.

For evening comes, and then, serene, to my abode I take my way, a