"It doesn't pay." Ah, me! How the commercial spirit of the age
plays whaley with the romance of existence! You shall not look.
long upon the showbill now that there is no money to be had from it.
"Youth's sweet-scented manuscript" is about to close, but ere it
does, let us turn back a little to the pages illuminated by the
glowing colors of the circus poster.
Saturday afternoon when we went by the enginehouse, its brick
wall fluttered with the rags and tatters of "Esther, the Beautiful
Queen," and the lecture on "The Republic: Will it Endure?" (Gee!
But that was exciting!) Sunday morning, after Sunday-school, there
was a sudden quickening among the boys. We stopped nibbling on the
edges of the lesson leaf and followed the crowd in scuttling haste.
Miraculously, over-night, the shabby wall had blossomed into
thralling splendor. What was Daniel in the Lions' Den, compared
with Herr Alexander in the same? Not, as the prophet is pictured,
in the farthest corner from the lions, and manifestly saying to
himself: "If I was only out of this!" But with his head right smack
dab in the lion's mouth. Right in it. Yes, sir.
"S' Posin'!" we gasped, all goggle-eyed, "jist s'posin' that there
lion was to shut his mouth! Ga-ash!"
The Golden Text? It faded before the lemon-and-scarlet glories of
the Golden Chariot.
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