guns
Will never find us where we dwell with wives and little ones!
Every rabbit in his burrow and each lion to his lair,
When this Teddy comes a-huntin' and all loaded up for bear!"

They voted "aye" unanimous; and fast and far they hied
O'er dale and desert, wood and plain, each to his ingle-side!
They hid themselves so closely that no hunter cared to roam
Where these the timid subjects each had fashioned him a home!
They were too wise for Teddy and they still life's blessings share,
Though Teddy went a-huntin' them all loaded up for bear!

Sooner Sayings.

Blood tells when it comes to annuities and allotments.

God made the country, but it never fruited till the boomer boomed it.

The greatest heroes of the world are not those extolled in song or
glorified with monuments and statues. They are the undiscovered ones who
in tears and darkness lived their uttermost for the accomplishments of
lofty purposes and failed utterly just before the triumph came.

All town-sites look alike on the map.

A claim in the run is worth two in the lottery.

One contest beats a fire, and two are worse than a ship-wreck.

A stake on a home-stead is more valuable than a palace on an Indian
allotment.

As smoke to the eyes and vinegar to the teeth, so is a contest to the
poor man seeking a home.

Little Sermons.

Eloquent sermons never saved a sin-sick soul.

Hate would narrow heaven to a one man's closet.

Charity is the first lesson in the school of righteousness.

The religion that feeds only the heart can never hope to save hungry
souls.

If you shake hands with sin as you leave it, you will find it at the
station to meet you when the train stops.

In April Days.

The budding trees
Perfume the breeze
With breath of blossomed mysteries,
And soft winds play
By grassy way
Through every laughing April day!

Suns rosy rise
Through turquoise skies,
And life looks out through tender eyes;
While cloudlets lift
Through rent and rift,
Where floating islands drive and drift.

Clear waters sing
From stream and spring,
With music in their murmuring,
And where they drip,
With thirsty sip
A lonely violet lifts its lip.

The balmy croons
Of tender tunes
Sing through the drowsy afternoons,
And faint perfumes