I Am Not Old, But My Young

I Am A Neat Hand At Cookery, And I'll Tell You What I Knocked Up For My Christmas-eve Dinner In The Library Cart. I Knocked Up A Beefsteak-pudding For One, With Two Kidneys, A Dozen Oysters, And A Couple Of Mushrooms Thrown In. It's A Pudding To Put A Man In Good Humour With Everything, Except The Two Bottom Buttons Of His Waistcoat.

It Is Well For A Man To Respect His Own Vocation Whatever It Is And To Think Himself Bound To Uphold It And To Claim For It The Respect It Deserves

"there Is No Deception Now, Mr. Weller. Tears," Said Job, With A Look Of Momentary Slyness, "tears Are Not The Only Proofs Of Distress, Nor The Best Ones."

Train Up A Fig Tree In The Way It Should Go, And When You Are Old Sit Under The Shade Of It.

An Evening Wind Uprose Too, And The Slighter Branches Cracked And Rattled As They Moved, In Skeleton Dances, To Its Moaning Music.