I step from the door with a shiver (This fog is uncommonly cold) And ask myself: What did I give h… The maiden a trifle gone-old, With the head of gray hair that wa…

O Abner Doble-whose 'catarrhal na… Budd of that ilk might envy-'tis a… Rude thing to say, but it is plain… Your name is to be sneezed at: its… Will 'fill the speaking trump of f…

‘Let there be Liberty!’ God said,… The red skies all were luminous.… Struck first Columbia’s kindling… One hundred and eleven years ago!' So sang a patriot whom once I saw

I stood upon a hill. The setting… Was crimson with a curse and a por… And scarce his angry ray lit up th… That lay below, whose lurid gloom… Freaked with a moving mist, which,…

A bull imprisoned in a stall Broke boldly the confining wall, And found himself, when out of bou… Within a washerwoman’s grounds. Where, hanging on a line to dry,

‘Sas agapo sas agapo,’ He sang beneath her lattice. 'Sas agapo’?' she murmured-'O, I wonder, now, what _that_ is!' Was she less fair that she did bea…

Ira P. Rankin, you’ve a nasal nam… I’ll sound it through ‘the speakin… And wondering nations, hearing fro… The brazen twang of its resounding… Shall say: ‘These bards are an un…

I saw-’t was in a dream, the other… A man whose hair with age was thin… One hundred years had bettered by… And still his step was firm, his e… Before him and about him pressed a…

If the wicked gods were willing (Pray it never may be true!) That a universal chilling Should ensue Of the sentiment of loving,

In that fair city, Ispahan, There dwelt a problematic man, Whose angel never was released, Who never once let out his beast, But kept, through all the seasons’…

Dull were the days and sober, The mountains were brown and bare, For the season was sad October And a dirge was in the air. The mated starlings flew over

FITCH: 'All vices you’ve exhausted, frien… So all the papers say.' PICKERING: ‘Ah, what vile calumnies are penne…

Baffled he stands upon the track The automatic switches clack. Where’er he turns his solemn eyes The interlocking signals rise. The trains, before his visage pale…

Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den A-chewin’ upon his quid. He thought it was Leo Thirteen, a… He bit it intenser, he did. The amber which overflew from the…

WITH saintly grace and reverent… She walked among the graves with m… Her every footfall seemed to be A benediction on the dead. The guardian spirit of the place