That time when Learning's path was steep,
And rocks and fissures marred the way,
The few who dared were forced to creep,
Their souls oft quaking with dismay;
The goal achieved, their hairs were gray,
Their bodies bent like shepherds' crooks;
How blest are we who run to-day
The easy road of "How To" books!
The presses groan, and volumes heap,
Our dullness we no more betray;
To know the stars, or shear a sheep—
To live on air, or polo play;
The trick is ours, or we may stray
Beneath the seas, with science cooks,
And sprint by some reflected ray
The easy road of "How To" books!
Who craves the boon of dreamless sleep?
Who bricks would make, sans straw or clay?
"Call spirits from the vasty deep,"
Or weave a lofty, living lay?
Let him be heartened, jocund, gay,
Nor hopeless writhe on tenter-hooks,—
They meet no barriers who essay
The easy road of "How To" books!
ENVOY
The critics still will slash and slay
Poor hapless scribes, in sanctum nooks;
Lo! here's a refuge for their prey—
The easy road of "How To" books!
THE TREE-TOAD
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
"'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad,
"I've twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And I hollered till noon—
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!
"Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now,
There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!