She Plucked From My Lapel The Invisible

A Straw Vote Only Shows Which Way The Hot Air Blows.

There Is One Day That Is Ours. There Is One Day When All We Americans Who Are Not Self-made Go Back To The Old Home To Eat Saleratus Biscuits And Marvel How Much Nearer To The Porch The Old Pump Looks Than It Used To. Thanksgiving Day Is The One Day That Is Purely American.

This Fair But Pitiless City Of Manhattan Was Without A Soul ... Its Inhabitants Were Manikins Moved By Wires And Springs.

Each Of Us, When Our Day's Work Is Done, Must Seek Our Ideal, Whether It Be Love Or Pinochle Or Lobster à La Newburg, Or The Sweet Silence Of The Musty Bookshelves.

Now, Girls, If You Want To Observe A Young Man Hustle Out After A Pick And Shovel, Just Tell Him That Your Heart Is In Some Other Fellow's Grave. Young Men Are Grave-robbers By Nature.