th a hook, this makes the
market for them unstiddy, the supply allways exceeding the demand. The
muskeeto iz born on the sly, and cums to maturity quicker than enny
other ov the domestik animiles. A muskeeter at 3 hours old iz just az
reddy and anxious to go into bizzness for himself, az ever he iz, and
bites the fust time az sharp, and natral, as red pepper duz. The
muskeeter haz a good ear for musik, and sings without notes. The song ov
the muskeeto iz monotonous to sum folks, but in me it stirs up the
memorys ov other days. I hav lade awake, all nite long, menny a time and
listened to the sweet anthems ov the muskeeter. I am satisfied that
thare want nothing made in vain, but i kant help thinking how mighty
kluss the musketoze kum to it. The muskeeter haz inhabited this world
since its kreashun, and will probably hang around here until bizzness
closes. Whare the muskeeter goes to in the winter iz a standing
konumdrum, which all the naturalists hav giv up, but we kno he dont go
far, for he iz on hand early each year with hiz probe fresh ground, and
polished. Muskeeters must be one ov the luxurys ov life, they certainly
aint one ov the necessarys, not if we kno ourselfs.

THE TURNINGS OF A BOOKWORM

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Love levels all plots.
Dead men sell no tales.
A new boom sweeps clean.
Circumstances alter bookcases.
The more haste the less read.
Too many books spoil the trade.
Many hands make light literature.
Epigrams cover a multitude of sins.
Ye can not serve Art and Mammon.
A little sequel is a dangerous thing.
It's a long page that has no turning.
Don't look a gift-book in the binding.
A gilt-edged volume needs no accuser.
In a multitude of characters there is safety.
Incidents will happen even in the best regulated novels.
One touch of Nature makes the whole book sell.
Where there's a will there's a detective story.
A book in the hand is worth two in the library.
An ounce of invention is worth a pound of style.
A good name is rather to be chosen than great characters.
Where there's so much puff, there must be some buyer.

THE FEAST OF THE MONKEYS

BY JOHN PHILIP SOUSA

In days of old,
So I've been told,
The monkeys gave a feast.
They sent out cards,
With kind regards,
To every bird and beast.
The guests came dressed,
In fashion's best,
Unmindful of expense;