Good Lord! Who Can Account For The

They Copied All They Could Copy, But They Couldn't Copy My Mind; And I Left Them Sweatin' And Stealin', A Year And A Half Behind.

There Are Few Things Sweeter In This World Than The Guileless, Hotheaded, Intemperate, Open Admiration Of A Junior. Even A Woman In Her Blindest Devotion Does Not Fall Into The Gait Of The Man She Adores, Tilt Her Bonnet To The Angle At Which He Wears His Hat, Or Interlard Her Speech With His Pet Oaths.

If You Can Think–and Not Make Thoughts Your Aim.

All We Have Of Freedom All We Use Or Know This Our Fathers Bought For Us Long And Long Ago

When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted And The Tubes Are Twisted And Dried, When The Oldest Colours Have Faded, And The Youngest Critic Has Died, We Shall Rest, And, Faith, We Shall Need It Lie Down For An Aeon Or Two, Till The Master Of All Good Workmen Shall Put Us To Work Anew!