Here we have a baby. It is composed of a bald head and a pair of lungs.

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

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.

I never lost a little fish - Yes, I'm free to say. It always was the biggest fish I caught, that got away.

Here we have a baby. It is composed of a bald head and a pair of lungs.

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

Not so, however, with books, for books cannot change. A thousand years hence they are what you find them to-day, speaking the same words, holding forth the same cheer, the same promise, the same comfort; always constant, laughing with those who laugh and weeping with those who weep.