A Clear Fire, A Clean Hearth, And

Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

Cards Are War, In Disguise Of A Sport.

We Are Ashamed At The Sight Of A Monkey--somehow As We Are Shy Of Poor Relations.

Those Evening Bells! Those Evening Bells! How Many A Tale Their Music Tells Of Youth And Home, And That Sweet Time When Last I Heard Their Soothing Chime!

We Do Not Go To The Theatre Like Our Ancestors, To Escape From The Pressure Of Reality, So Much As To Confirm Our Experience Of It.