You learn, first of all, how to take a good beating without losing your temper. You may be disappointed, but as everything has been fair, there is nobody you can be vexed with. You must acknowledge your defeat with a good grace, especially as the victors are your friends and playmates.
Another lesson you will learn in time is how to gain a victory without being puffed up, or boasting, or bragging about it. You will see that as there was in the case of defeat no reason for being annoyed at your conquerors, so, in the case of triumph, there is no reason for crowing over your antagonists. You will learn to play your best and fairest at all times without regard to winning or losing. You will admire a good player none the less because he is occasionally beaten, and see how a boy can lose a game without losing his honor. You will see, in fact, that the first thing in this world is to do your best, and to put up with the result, whatever it may be.
Nothing is better training for you than to play a good up-hill game where you are overmatched, and feel sure you can not win. An up-hill game brings out your best points, just as a struggle with adversity brings out a man's best qualities. At the same time that you are compelled to rely on yourself, for nobody but you, let us say, has the bat, still you must remember that there are others on your side, and you must play so that they can do their part also. You must remember that you are one of a society, and that if you are selfish, careless, ignorant, or unfair, all the society will suffer. Above all things, play heartily; then you will study heartily, and when you are men you will work heartily.
[EPH'S NEW-YEAR'S BOOTS.]
BY FRANK H. CONVERSE.
The ship Emerald, under topsails, is plunging and rolling over and through great mountains of storm-tossed wintry sea. Mr. Kendall, the sturdy little second mate, makes his way for'ard by clinging to the weather rail. He casts a glance at the side lights to make sure that they are burning clear, and then, in a cheery voice, hails the look-out.
"Only five minutes longer, Ned," he bawls, encouragingly; for cold as it is on deck, he knows that facing the bitter blast on the exposed forecastle is a hundred times worse.
Ned Rand returns the customary, "Ay, ay, sir," and vaguely wonders if he ever will be warm again. Not only is he drenched and chilled through and through, but the cold, which is growing more intense, has stiffened his soaked oil-clothes until they seem like a suit of tin armor. Like a dream the remembrance of a year ago that very night comes to mind, how, sitting around the glowing grate in the cozy home sitting-room, he, with the family, watched the old year out and the new in.
Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, sounds faintly from aft.