RUNNING one day on the "Cinder,"
I led all the field with ease;
I felt I was going strongly,
I romped in quite "as you please."
I knew not what I was doing,
I was "fit as a fiddle" then,
And I made a "Record" that morning
I never shall make again.
It flooded the sporting papers,
I got the pedestrian palm.
They called me Champion of Champions;
The praise in my ears was balm.
But another "Ped."--confound him!--
"Cut" my record, in our next strife,
By exactly one-tenth of a second.
I should like to have his life!
I was Champion of Champions no longer,
Gone, gone was my pride, my peace.
Oh, the cheers for my hated supplanter!
I thought they would never cease.
I have struggled, but struggled vainly,
By practice and training fine,
To regain once more that "Record,"
Which for a brief month was mine.
It may be the man who licked me
Will be licked by yet better men,
But the "Record" I lost that morning
_I_ never shall win again.
* * * * *
AN "ORANGE FREE STATE" THAT SHOULD HAVE ITS LIBERTY CURTAILED.--Peel on
the pavement.
* * * * *
[Illustration]