Nobody Shoulders A Rifle In Defense Of

Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!

There Is Peace In The Swamp, Though The Quiet Is Death

If, Of All Words Of Tongue And Pen, The Saddest Are, It Might Have Been,' More Sad Are These We Daily See: 'it Is, But Hadn't Ought To Be!'

Which I Wish To Remark-- And My Language Is Plain,-- That For Ways That Are Dark And For Tricks That Are Vain, The Heathen Chinee Is Peculiar.

A Bird In The Hand Is A Certainty, But A Bird In The Bush May Sing.