THE URCHIN AT THE ZOO 132 FELLOW CRAFTSMEN 139 THE KEY RING 144 "OWD BOB" 150 THE APPLE THAT NO ONE ATE 167 AS TO RUMORS 174 OUR MOTHERS 181 GREETING TO AMERICAN ANGLERS 186 MRS. IZAAK WALTON WRITES A LETTER TO HER MOTHER 190 TRUTH 193 THE TRAGEDY OF WASHINGTON SQUARE 195 IF MR. WILSON WERE THE WEATHER MAN 202 SYNTAX FOR CYNICS 205 THE TRUTH AT LAST 209 FIXED IDEAS 211 TRIALS OF A PRESIDENT TRAVELLING ABROAD 215 DIARY OF A PUBLISHER'S OFFICE BOY 217 THE DOG'S COMMANDMENTS 219 THE VALUE OF CRITICISM 221 A MARRIAGE SERVICE FOR COMMUTERS 224 THE SUNNY SIDE OF GRUB STREET 226 BURIAL SERVICE FOR A NEWSPAPER JOKE 236 ADVICE TO THOSE VISITING A BABY 238 ABOU BEN WOODROW 240 MY MAGNIFICENT SYSTEM 242 LETTERS TO CYNTHIA 1 IN PRAISE OF BOOBS 245 2 SIMPLIFICATION 250 TO AN UNKNOWN DAMSEL 256 THOUGHTS ON SETTING AN ALARM CLOCK 258 SONGS IN A SHOWER BATH 259 ON DEDICATING A NEW TEAPOT 261 THE UNFORGIVABLE SYNTAX 263 VISITING POETS 264 A GOOD HOME IN THE SUBURBS 270 WALT WHITMAN MINIATURES 272 ON DOORS 292 MINCE PIE ON FILLING AN INK-WELL Those who buy their ink in little stone jugs may prefer to do so because the pottle reminds them of cruiskeen lawn or ginger beer (with its wire-bound cork), but they miss a noble delight. Ink should be bought in the tall, blue glass, quart bottle (with the ingenious non-drip spout), and once every three weeks or so, when you fill your ink-well, it is your privilege to elevate the flask against the brightness of a window, and meditate (with a breath of sadness) on the joys and problems that sacred fluid holds in solution.