The Guns, Thank God, The Guns.

More Men Are Killed By Overwork Than The Importance Of The World Justifies.

San Francisco Has Only One Drawback—‘tis Hard To Leave.

In The Jungle, Life And Food Depend On Keeping Your Temper.

We Never Pay Anyone Dane-geld, No Matter How Trifling The Cost; For The End Of That Game Is Oppression And Shame, And The Nation That Plays It Is Lost!

The Beasts Are Very Wise, Their Mouths Are Clean Of Lies, They Talk One To The Other, Bullock To Bullock Brothers Resting After Their Labors, Each In Stall With His Neighbors, But Man With Goad And Whip, Breaks Up Their Fellowship, Shouts In Their Silky Ears Filling Their Soul With Fears. When He Has Plowed The Land, He Says: "they Understand." But The Beasts In Stall Together, Freed From The Yoke And Tether, Say As The Torn Flank Smoke: "nay, 'twas The Whip That Spoke."