THE wind has blown the clouds away, and now we have a perfect day, the
sun is sawing wood; we jog along ’neath smiling skies, the sounds of
grief no more arise, and every gent feels good. Life seems a most
delightful graft when nature once again has laughed, dismissing clouds
and gloom; we find new charms in Mother Earth, our faces beam with
seemly mirth, our whiskers are in bloom. That is the use of dreary days,
on which we’re all inclined to raise a yell of bitter grief; they fill
us up with woe and dread, so when the gloomy clouds are sped, we’ll feel
a big relief. That is the use of every care that fills your system with
despair, and rends your heart in twain; for when you see your sorrow
waltz, you’ll turn three hundred somersaults, and say life’s safe and
sane. If there was not a sign of woe in all this verdant vale below,
life soon would lose its zest, and you would straightway roar and beef
because you couldn’t find a grief to cuddle to your breast. So sunshine
follows after storm, and snow succeeds the weather warm, and we have fog
and sleet; all sorts of days are sliding past, and when we size things
up at last, we see life can’t be beat.
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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that:
was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);.