A Mighty Good Sausage Stuffer Was Spoiled

There Is A Glorious Candor In An Honest Quart Of Wine, A Certain Inspitation Which I Cannot Well Define.

I Never Lost A Little Fish - Yes, I'm Free To Say. It Always Was The Biggest Fish I Caught, That Got Away.

How Gracious Those Dews Of Solace That Over My Senses Fall At The Clink Of The Ice In The Pitcher The Boy Brings Up The Hall.

Used To Think That Luck Wuz Luck And Nuthin' Else But Luck-- It Made No Diff'rence How Or When Or Where Or Why It Struck; But Sev'ral Years Ago I Changt My Mind, An' Now Proclaim That Luck's A Kind Uv Science--same As Any Other Game.

What Smells So? Has Somebody Been Burning A Rag, Or Is There A Dead Mule In The Back Yard? No, The Man Is Smoking A Five-cent Cigar.