And even if to-morrow fails to fork out the fustian there remains to-morrow's to-morrow and to-morrow's to-morrow's to-morrow. The secret of happiness is “adventure,” and “adventure” is facing to-morrow in the tin-hat of to-day with the sword of yesterday. And yet there are alleged human beings who crave to read the riddle of the “rubyat” by contemplating the “crystal,” lamping the lines of least persistence on their grist-gripper, or titillating the tannin-tips in the hope of reading the so-long from the Ceylon. They lack the spirit of the go-gadders such as Sir Walter Raleigh who sailed the seven seas for a fill of tobacco, and Columbus who founded the United Stakes by mistake. Neither knew whether the morrow would bring a pat on the back or a bat on the bean, but they got a kick out of kicks and preferred rather to borrow page 11 from to-morrows than to suffer the daze of to-days. If we knew our to-morrows life would be as flat as a road-roller's day-dreams and as damp as a walrus's whiskers.