errupted me as I was growing hoarse. A rude, offensive
person he, a tactless man and coarse.

He said to Bildad, "Well, old pard! You are burned out I see! You
can't keep house here in your yard, so come and live with me!"

The neighbors who had gathered round applauded Johnson then, declaring
that at last they'd found the kindliest of men; not one appreciative
voice for me, who furnished tears, who made the sad man's heart
rejoice, and drove way his fears!

A DAY OF REST

I'm glad there is a day of rest, one day in every seven, when worldly
cares cannot molest, and we may dream of heaven. The week day labor
that we do, is highly necessary, but if our tasks were never through,
if they should never vary, we'd soon be covered o'er with mold, from
bridle-bits to breeching; so let the Sabbath bells be tolled, and let
us hear the preaching!

USE YOUR HEAD

If a man would be a winner, whether he's a clerk or tinner, whether
he's a butcher, banker, or a dealer in rye bread, he must show his
brains are bully, he must understand it fully that a man can't be an
Eli if he doesn't use his head.

There was old man Hiram Horner, once located on the corner, where he
sold his prunes and codfish and dried apples by the pound; he was
always mighty busy; it would fairly make you dizzy just to watch old
Uncle Hiram as he chased himself around. He got down when day was
breaking, always ready to be raking in the pennies of the people if
they chanced to come that way; he was evermore on duty till the
midnight whistles, tooty, sent him home, where he'd be fussing to begin
another day. Yet old Hiram soon was busted, and you'll see him now,
disgusted, whacking mules in worthy effort to attain his daily bread;
he was diligent, deserving, from good morals never swerving but he lost
his grip in business for he didn't use his head. He was always
overloaded with a lot of junk corroded, he was always short of goodlets
that the people seem to need; he would trust the dead beat faker till
he'd bad bills by the acre, and he's now at daily labor, with his
whiskers gone to seed.

There is Theodore P. Tally in his store across the alley; you will see
he takes it easy, not a button does he shed; you can hear the wheels
revolving in his brow while he's resolving to get rich by drawing
largely on the contents of his head.

It is well to use your fingers blithely while the daylight lingers, it
is well to use your trilbys with a fi