Comedy is tragedy, plucked unripe. - Joseph Furphy

Better we were cold and still, with our famous Jim and Bill, Beneath the interdicted wattle-bough,
For the angels made our date five-and-twenty years too late, And there is no for us now.

Age cannot limit him, nor use exhaust his infinite mendacity.

The gods will give us some faults to make us men; therefore no man is up to the husband-ideal of a loving woman. The bachelor may reach this standard-for why shouldn't he be magnanimous, and mettlesome, and debonair; prepared to do all that may become a man, and sometimes even things that don't? And if he should fall a trifle short of the real Mackay-a contingency that you may safely count upon-he is in no way compelled to flaunt his own worthlessness before the feminine eye.