The Guns, Thank God, The Guns.

The American does not drink at meals as a sensible man should. Indeed, he has no meals. He stuffs for ten minutes thrice a day.

And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, till the Devil whispered behind the leaves 'It's pretty, but is it Art?'

Let all who build beware The load, the shock, the pressure Material can bear. So, when the buckled girder Lets down the grinding span, The blame of loss, or murder, Is laid upon the man. Not on the Stuff - the Man!

He travels the fastest who travels alone.

A boy of to-day is affected by every change of tone and gust of opinion, so that he lies even when he desires to speak the truth.

There is no harm in a man's cub.