Charon informs me that the waste-baskets last week turned out forty-two reams of our best correspondence paper on which these poets had scribbled the first draft of their verses.

Now I don't think the club should furnish the poets with the raw material for their poems any more than, to go back to Confucius's shoemaker, it should supply leather for our cobblers." "What do you mean by raw material for poems ?" asked Sir Walter, with a frown.
"Pen, ink, and paper.

What else ?" said Demosthenes.
"Doesn't it take brains to write a poem ?" said Raleigh.
"Doesn't it take brains to make a pair of shoes ?" retorted Demosthenes, swallowing a pebble in his haste.
"They've got a right to the stationery, though," put in Blackstone.

"A clear legal right to it.

If they choose to write poems on the paper instead of boring people to death with letters, as most of us do, that's their own affair." "Well, they're very wasteful," said Demosthenes.
"We can meet that easily enough," observed Cassius.