. Book of the Royal blue . never tells a story; never cracks a funny joke; Of life he takes a pessimistic view;With weird gesticulations your attention hell invoke, And then hell ask, Is it hot enough for you? Hes just a public nuisance, and you cannot hush his tongue— A sweating, sweltering, torrid-looking cuss;On the ladder of placidity hes on the bottom rung, For hes always in a fever and a frets and fumes and fusses with himself the livelong day, And keeps his mind in one perpetual stew;No matter where you meet him, you will always hear him say, Ahem! —er—is t hot enough fo
. Book of the Royal blue . never tells a story; never cracks a funny joke; Of life he takes a pessimistic view;With weird gesticulations your attention hell invoke, And then hell ask, Is it hot enough for you? Hes just a public nuisance, and you cannot hush his tongue— A sweating, sweltering, torrid-looking cuss;On the ladder of placidity hes on the bottom rung, For hes always in a fever and a frets and fumes and fusses with himself the livelong day, And keeps his mind in one perpetual stew;No matter where you meet him, you will always hear him say, Ahem! —er—is t hot enough for you? He always has a kerchief wrapped around his collar-band, And one to mop his heated, streaming face;And with a solemn, sickning smile, half villainous, half bland, Hell enter into every known limp and hes disgusting, but he doesnt seem to care; Hell bore you with his actions through and wonder if theres not a haven of sweet repose somewhere, Where fools dont ask, Is t hot enough for you ?. L END your manly sympathies andhelp to the unfortunate, withoutregard to the cause of the effect. Absolute faith in those we love andtrust inspires in them a spirit of fidelitytowards us. A man is always a man; a womanfrequently only what a man makes her. If our efforts were only half asardent as our hopes, how smooth wouldbe the path to accomplishment. Where is the line drawn betweenincipient insanity and love? There is considerable consolation inthe fact that we can never becomethoroughly degraded until we have moreor less degraded ourselves. The existence of ignorance is theonly condition that makes intelligencepossible. Physical fear is master withoutquestion of mental courage. I prefer to be hated for what I amthan loved for what I am not. We only find real consolation in thefriendship of our friends after adversityhas tested their sincerity. The admission that we are some-times wrong is an honest, manly wayof establishing the fact that we arefrequently
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