A mighty good sausage stuffer was spoiled when the man became a poet.

But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese.

Mr. Clarke played the King all evening as though under constant fear that someone else was about to play the Ace.

He is so mean, he won't let his little baby have more than one measle at a time.

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.

All human joys are swift of wing, For heaven doth so allot it; That when you get an easy thing, You find you haven't got it

Let my temptation be a book, which I shall purchase, hold and keep.