’Tis polished, like a sword or spear, And in the light will shine; Thus men of learning do appear, Where wit and sense combine. It moves around from coat to dress, As trouble one befalls; Thus men should hearken to distress, And go where duty calls. It oft assists to hide one’s shame Till needles can repair; Thus should it be the Christian’s aim To cover faults with care. If once ’tis sprung, ‘twill bend each day, And is no longer true; So thus in life, one step astray Will often lead to two. When bent, and blunt, and black at last, Who stoops to lift the pin? So thus the crowds do hurry past The crooked slave of sin. [Illustration] DUDLEY’S FIGHT WITH THE TEXAN. The poor cur, kicked and scalded during the day, at night can lie and lick his sores in peace. The scudding hare that can hold out ahead of the baying beagles, until black Hecate waves her wand between the hunters and the hunted, may hope to shake them off. The aeronaut, tiring of the clamor here below, can rise above the busy haunts of men and hold sweet communion with the gods in quiet. But I, alas, find no escape from the inexorable plague, “Jim Dudley.” He comes upon me like a thief in the night and mars my rest. Within the holy sanctuary even, he whispers in mine ear. Through the busy marts and thoroughfares he haunts me still; and tells of fights and hair-breadth escapes, with all the glibness of an old battle-scarred veteran who has primed his firelock in three campaigns. He talks of drawing deadly weapons as a dentist would of drawing teeth. In all likelihood the fellow never drew a weapon in his life, except, perhaps, at a raffle. I had long noticed a scar on “Jim’s” forehead, but never ventured to ask him how he got it, fearing a story would follow. Last night he detected me looking inquiringly, and without any query on my part the following infliction fell upon me:— “You see that scar that looks somethin’ like a wrinkle, over my left eyebrow, don’t ye? Wal, you can’t guess how I come by that. Cow kicked me? No, not by a long chalk, nor a hoss nuther. I got that scar the summer I was gwine through Texas. I’ll not forget how I got it nuther in a hurry, for I never did have sech a narrow dodge since the night dad’s old house burned down and I got out through the cellar drain.