``I had hardly completed my course at the Real Gymnasium when I was
prostrated with a dangerous illness or rather, a score of them, and my
condition became so desperate that I was given up by physicians. During this
period I was permitted to read constantly, obtaining books from the Public
Library which had been neglected and entrusted to me for classification of
the works and preparation of the catalogues. One day I was handed a few
volumes of new literature unlike anything I had ever read before and so
captivating as to make me utterly forget my hopeless state. They were the
earlier works of Mark Twain and to them might have been due the miraculous
recovery which followed. Twenty-five years later, when I met Mr. Clemens and
we formed a friendship between us, I told him of the experience and was
amazed to see that great man of laughter burst into tears.''


"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...

Bob Crantz wrote:

We watched the weather all through that awful night, and kept an eye on
the
barometer, to be prepared for the least change. There was not the
slightest
change recorded by the instrument, during the whole time. Words cannot
describe the comfort that that friendly, hopeful, steadfast thing was to
me
in that season of trouble. It was a defective barometer, and had no hand
but
the stationary brass pointer, but I did not know that until afterward.
If I
should be in such a situation again, I should not wish for any barometer
but
that one.

--
Well, you got some bites but were they worth it? A tramp, a
broad, an other.

Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
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I detect a soupcon.

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
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What a wierdo !


"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
I detect a soupcon.

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
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Mike Mc wrote:

What a wierdo !

"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
I detect a soupcon.


And, apart from demonstrating your spelling abilities, your point
is...?

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
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He is the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum,
Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his voice like a saw-mill,
While as with fervour he sang there was borne o'er the shuddering wildwood,
Borne on the breath of the poet a flavour of rum and of onions.
He sang of the Deficit Demon that dqelt in the Treasury Mountains,
How it was small in its youth and a champion was sent to destroy it:
Dibbs he was salled, and he boasted, "Soon I will wipe out the Monster,"
But while he was boasting and bragging the monster grew larger and larger.

One day as Dibbs bragged of his prowess in daylight the Deficit met him,
Settled his hash in one act and made him to all man a byword,
Sent hin, a raving ex-Premier, to dwell in the shades of oblivion,
And the people put forward a champion known as Sir Patrick the Portly.

As in the midnight the tom-cat who seeketh his love on the house top,
Lifteth his voice up and is struck by the fast whizzing brickbat,
Drops to the ground in a swoon and glides to the silent hereafter,
So fell Sir Patrick the Portly at the stroke of the Deficit Demon.

Then were the people amazed and they called for the champion of champions
Known as Sir 'Enry the Fishfag unequalled in vilification.
He is the man, said the people, to wipe out the Deficit Monster,
If nothing else fetches him through he can at the least talk its head off.

So he sharpened his lance of Freetrade and he practised in loud-mouthing
abusing,
"Poodlehead," "Craven," and "Mole-eyes" were things that he purposed to call
it,
He went to the fight full of valour and all men are waiting the issue,
Though they know not his armour nor weapons excepting his power of abusing.

Loud sang the lunatic his song of the champions of valour
Until he was sighted and captured by fleet-footed keepers pursuing,
To whom he remarked with a smile as they ran him off back to the madhouse,
"If you want to back Parkes I'm your man -- here's a cool three to one on
the Deficit."






"Mike Mc" wrote in message
...
What a wierdo !


"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
I detect a soupcon.

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
Henpecked? Harrassed? Harangued? Join the chorus:
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I see you've subscribed to The Bulletin, but I didn't think our
mails were _that_ slow.

(Mind you, while I know when, and think I know where, I haven't a
clue about who, nor have I seen this before. Especially apposite
now as th Free Traders under other names have taken a whole
century to climb back up, and are now threatened by potential
parliamentary refusals to pass the FTA.)

Bob Crantz quoted:

He is the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum,
Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his voice like a saw-mill,
While as with fervour he sang there was borne o'er the shuddering wildwood,
Borne on the breath of the poet a flavour of rum and of onions.

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
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Surprise!

http://www.uq.edu.au/~mlwham/banjo/t...cit_demon.html


"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
I see you've subscribed to The Bulletin, but I didn't think our
mails were _that_ slow.

(Mind you, while I know when, and think I know where, I haven't a
clue about who, nor have I seen this before. Especially apposite
now as th Free Traders under other names have taken a whole
century to climb back up, and are now threatened by potential
parliamentary refusals to pass the FTA.)

Bob Crantz quoted:

He is the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum,
Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his voice like a saw-mill,
While as with fervour he sang there was borne o'er the shuddering
wildwood,
Borne on the breath of the poet a flavour of rum and of onions.

--
Flying Tadpole

-------------------------
Henpecked? Harrassed? Harangued? Join the chorus:
http://music.download.com/internetopera
http://www.internetopera.netfirms.com