* * * * *

The uglier a woman’s face, the nearer to her chin is the hem of her bathing skirt, no doubt to hide her blushes.

* * * * *

The French are steadfast of purpose. 
What purpose? 
Changing the Ministry!

* * * * *

English poet in the Soudan,—­“We are carrying ‘Sweetness and light’ into darkest Africa!”

Tommy,—­“Yes, we let the light in with the Lee-Metford and the Egyptian tax-collector will sweeten these coves later on.”

* * * * *

Mayor of New York,—­“We must return the ‘Torch of Liberty’ by the first French steamer.”

“What for?”

“To dispel the Dreyfus gloom.”

* * * * *

Irate Mother-in-law (to son-in-law about to marry second wife),—­“Is this the way you treat my daughter, lying in the dark grave?”

“Only striking a match to see into it.”

* * * * *

Out of the loins of pride and avarice comes the innocent child.  Why is this?  It cannot be chance.  It means something.  When we discover what that something is we shall remain innocent.

* * * * *

Greed grasps while poverty gasps.

* * * * *

The agony of despair breeds the monster, ‘Human Hate.’

* * * * *

The man who refuses to lend to the Lord distrusts the security.

* * * * *

The blood of the pauper shall smear the couch of the indolent.

* * * * *

The sweat of the poor, frozen into gold, gilds the rich man’s purse.

* * * * *

The time must come when the dragon’s teeth, sown by the rich, will bring forth a harvest of cold steel.

* * * * *

Mother in the kitchen at the wash tub.  Daughter in the parlor at the piano.  Quite proper; its a case of rub-a-dub-dub.

* * * * *

Why came we here?  By blind chance or design?  The books are full of guesses, half-truths and lies.  We only know that we are here.  From whence we came and whither we go is the problem.  Being here, our highest endeavors should be to do some little good.  Then close our eyes and wait for the answer.  We can find it in no other way.

* * * * *

Man and misery are not twins but father and son.

* * * * *

The woman to whom temptation never came cannot be said to be virtuous.

* * * * *

The blast of the golden bugle shall not always drown the wail of the poor.

* * * * *