Caught on the Fly.

When Misfortune concludes to pay you a visit, she pushes the door open and walks in without knocking.

Woman's inhumanity to man,--the one she has and the other she wants,--maketh the divorce lawyer fat with ali-money.

Temptation is the dangerous banana-peel on the side-walk of upright conduct; and even the bare foot sometimes takes a fall-down.

Too Busy.

Trouble will double If trouble gets room, But will pine if you leave her And die in her gloom; For trouble is lonesome And moans from the start If you face her with firmness And lock up your heart

Sorrow will borrow Wherever she can, But will leave when you tell her You're never her man; Don't flirt with the vixen, Don't welcome her face, But exhort her to leave you For some warmer place.

Make Trouble and Sorrow,-- The couple that moans-- Keep out of your pathway And limp on the stones Just let them go weeping Through all of the years; For a man is too busy To join in their tears.

"When the Crow's Feet Come."

When we reach the Land of Forty, And the hot blood cools a jot, There's a mighty sight of changes In our vision, like as not; And we sober down a little As we figure up life's sum When we waken in the morning And the crow's feet come.

When they scratch their little wrinkles Round the corner of the eyes We begin to chase the creatures In a horrified surprise; But they cling with cool persistence And our hearts are stricken dumb For we know they'll never leave us When the crow's feet come.

We may tonic and cosmetic, We may take our beauty sleep; We may rub and punch and powder But the claws go deep and deep; And before we understand it All our beauty's on the b.u.m For the years are turning yellow When the crow's feet come!

But it's all the way of Nature!

There's no use to sob or sigh, 'Cause the chin takes on a wobble And the wrinkles wrap the eye; If we heap our hearts with gladness Life with music still shall hum, Though we reach the Land of Forty And the crow's feet come!

A Welcome for Winter.

I.

A welcome for Winter! Though summer shall fade, There is joy on the prairies her bounties have made, And the Land of the Sunshine all happiness knows Through the days of the shadows and nights of the snows!

II.

A welcome for Winter! What matters the cold Which the harvest has warmed with the russet and gold?

All the valleys of plenty shall laugh through the white Of the snow-laden day and the storm-ridden night.

III.

A welcome for Winter! Though June, rosy-red, Has plucked all her blossoms and frightened far fled, There are hives with their honeys and granaries sweet, And the fiddles of music with spring for the feet!

IV.

A welcome for Winter! If far from the days All the lilies have gone from the violet ways, There is joy that will dance o'er the meadows and sing, Where the carols of plenty their blessedness bring.

V.

Then, ho, for the Winter! There's love on the hills, There is laughter and peace by the ice-covered rills, And the hearts shall rejoice in the songs that arise In the raptures that roll under storm-laden skies!

Caught on the Fly.

Some people act on an idea that work is so sacred they fear to touch it least they profane its divine nature.

Opportunity is a beautiful bird, but so shy that it feeds on the wing and never alights long enough for a common man to pluck its plumage.

Every man has within him the essentials of exalted greatness; but most of us are so enmeshed in small follies that the greatness cannot break through.

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"I've lived off en on in this land of Trouble fer mor'n seventy years,"

said Uncle Ezra Mudge, as he adjusted a shingle-nail in place of a missing b.u.t.ton for a suspender hold. "En I never yit got a chance ter shake han's with him. I hev hearn tell thet he is a mighty big feller, but my observation is thet when you onct git up close to whayre he's a-stayin', he shrivels up so under a brave look frum honest eyes thet you hev ter git a maggifyin' gla.s.s ter diskiver the kind ov an animile he actu'lly is!"

When Willie Goes to School.

When Willie goes to school, it seems The house has lost its light, And silence like a shadow dreams Of sunshine out of sight; The place a.s.sumes a somber air, And lonely musings rule The moments slowly pa.s.sing there When Willie goes to school.

We hustle him from bed, and tell To quickly wash and comb, His breakfast eat, and gather well The books he carried home; We brush his coat and fix his tie, And with him fuss and fool, And kiss him as he hurries by When Willie goes to school.

And all day long we anxious wait To hear his foot-steps fast, Make music sweet there at the gate When he comes home at last!