XXX.

HUMAN STRAWS.

There is not much credit in being jolly when the joints of life are
well oiled and events move as smoothly as feathers drawn through cream.
The glory lies in maintaining your serenity under adverse
circumstances; in emulating Mark Tapley, and being jolly when there is
not a hand's breadth of blue in all the heavens. There are straws laid
upon us every day, which, if they do not break our backs, at least go
far to loosen the vertebrae of our temper. One of these straws is the
man who expectorates in public places. What shall I do with that man?
I cannot kill him, because there is a law against the violent removal
of even a human straw. To be sure, he is the most insignificant straw
that the wind of destiny blows across the waste of life. He never
will mature a head of wheat though you give him eleven eternities to do
it in. But he serves his purpose, and breaks the back of toleration.




XXXI.

A SALLOW FACED GIRL FOR YOUR PITY.

On the opposite corner sits a half-grown girl peddling apples. She