"Furnish each writing-table with a slate.

I should think they'd be pleased with that.
It's so much easier to rub out the wrong word." "Most poets prefer to rub out the right word," growled Confucius.
"Besides, I shall never consent to slates in this house-boat.

The squeaking of the pencils would be worse than the poems themselves." "That's true," said Cassius.

"I never thought of that.

If a dozen poets got to work on those slates at once, a fife corps wouldn't be a circumstance to them." "Well, it all goes to prove what I have thought all along," said Doctor Johnson.