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

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

All good and true book-lovers practice the pleasing and improving avocation of reading in bed ... No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.

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.

No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.

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

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