Fuss iz like an old setting hen when she cums oph from her nest.
Fuss iz like kold water dropt into hot grease--it sputters, and
sputters, and then sputters agin.
Fuss iz haff-sister to Hurry, and neither ov them kant do enny thing
without gitting in their own way and stepping on themselfs.
Thare iz more fuss in this world than thare iz hurry, and thare iz a
thousand times more ov either ov them than thare iz ov dispatch.
Fuss works hard all day, and don't do enny thing, goes to bed tired at
night, then gits up next morning, and begins agin whare she left oph.
Oh, dear! whi iz this sutch.