Women's Weapon, Water-drops.

No Friendship Is An Accident.

It's Said That Love Makes The World Go Around. Let Me Tell You, The Announcement Lacks Verification. It's The Wind From The Dinner Horn That Does It.

Perhaps There Is No Happiness In Life So Perfect As The Martyr's.

You Can't Appreciate Home Till You've Left It, Money Till It's Spent, Your Wife Till She's Joined A Woman's Club, Nor Old Glory Till You See It Hanging On A Broomstick On The Shanty Of A Consul In A Foreign Town.

But The Best, In My Opinion, Was The Home Life In The Little Flat--the Ardent, Voluble Chats After The Day's Study; The Cozy Dinners And Fresh, Light Breakfasts; The Interchange Of Ambitions--ambitions Interwoven Each With The Other's Or Else Inconsiderable--the Mutual Help And Inspiration; And--overlook My Artlessness--stuffed Olives And Cheese Sandwiches At 11 P.m.