I muse upon the distant town In many a dreamy mood. Above my head the sunbeams crown The graveyard’s giant rood. The lupin blooms among the tombs.

It is a politician man He draweth near his end, And friends weep round that partis… Of every man the friend. Between the Known and the Unknown

Great Joseph D. Redding-illustri… Considered a fish-horn the trumpet… That goddess was angry, and what d… Her trumpet she filled with a gall… And all through the Press, with a…

I reckon that ye never knew, That dandy slugger, Tom Carew, He had a touch as light an’ free As that of any honey-bee; But where it lit there wasn’t much

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 Reverend Ravlin, once with soun… You shook the bloody banner of you… Urged all the fiery boycotters afi… And swore you’d rather follow them… Alas, how brief the time, how grea…

God said: ‘Let there be Man,’ and… Adam came forth and, thoughtful, w… The matrix whence his body was obt… An empty, man-shaped cavity, remai… All unregarded from that early tim…

Two villains of the highest rank Set out one night to rob a bank. They found the building, looked it… Each window noted, tried each door… Scanned carefully the lidded hole

When a fair bridge is builded o’er… Between two cities, some ambitious… Hot for distinction, pleads for ea… To push his clumsy feet upon the s… That men in after years may single…

Come, Stanford, let us sit at eas… And talk as old friends do. You talk of anything you please, And I will talk of you. You recently have said, I hear,

Here sleeps one of the greatest st… Of jurisprudence. Nature endowed him with the gift Of the juristhrift. All points of law alike he threw

Why ask me, Gastrogogue, to dine (Unless to praise your rascal wine… Yet never ask some luckless sinner Who needs, as I do not, a dinner?

The flabby wine-skin of his brain Yields to some pathologic strain, And voids from its unstored abysm The driblet of an aphorism.

A famous journalist, who long Had told the great unheaded throng Whate’er they thought, by day or n… Was true as Holy Writ, and right, Was caught in-well, on second thou…

OM JONESMITH _(loquitur)_: I… The night-a rather clever thing to… How soundly women sleep _(looks at… They’re all alike. The sweetest t… Is woman when she lies with folded…