There Are Chords In The Human Heart-

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day, Or Warren's Blackin' Or Rowland's Oil, Or Some O' Them Low Fellows; Never You Let Yourself Down To Talk Poetry, My Boy.

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

"ay," Said The Captain, Reverentially; "it's A Almighty Element. There's Wonders In The Deep, My Pretty. Think On It When The Winds Is Roaring And The Waves Is Rowling. Think On It When The Stormy Nights Is So Pitch Dark," Said The Captain, Solemnly Holding Up His Hook, "as You Can't See Your Hand Afore You, Excepting When The Wiwid Lightning Reweals The Same; And When You Drive, Drive, Drive Through The Storm And Dark, As If You Was A Driving, Head On, To The World Without End."

Over The Whole, A Young Lady Presided, Whose Gloomy Haughtiness As She Surveyed The Street, Announced A Deep-seated Grievance Against Society, And An Implacable Determination To Be Avenged.

An Inebriated Elderly Gentleman In The Last Depths Of Shabbiness... Played The Calm And Virtuous Old Men.