derful wings
In the Little Boy Land of the Soul.

III.

There are mother's fond kisses, enraptured with love;
There are joys never sullied with stain;
There are dreams brighter far than the dreams born above,
And the raptures that banish all pain;
And the world is so good that it cannot be true,
And its paths lead to Heart's happy goal,
While the joys of content every longing imbue
In the Little Boy Land of the Soul.

IV.

O, Little Boy Land! How afar into wrong
From the vales of your virtues I roam!
How far, since the croon of her lullaby song
I have wandered from mother and home!
But here is a heart that can never forget
Where the joys of our kingdom's yet roll,
And I see through the mists of the eyes that are wet
All the Little Boy Land of the Soul.

Caught on the Fly.

Faith and hope count a hundred, while idleness and discouragement are
getting ready to figure.

There are many different motives concealed in the various compartments
of man's being, but Vanity holds the key that unlocks them all.

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"The feller thet is so wibbly-wobbly thet he can't trust his own idees,"
said Uncle Ezra Mudge as he stopped in the midst of his wood-chopping
and leaned up against a log to rest, "is the kind of a feller who never
amounts ter shucks in a cow pen. It takes a man who hez kep' hisself in
sich a condition thet he knows jist whut he kin depend on when the
firin' begins, who allus wins in the bayonet charge. En it don't pay to
fool aroun' huntin' up other people's idees before you strike hard
licks. Ef you do, the chances air your wood'll be scarce when the cold
days blow aroun'!" And the old man spat on his hardened palms and went
on with his labor.

In the Best Society.

"It sho'ly costs like ebryti'ng to move in de bes' socieety at Saint
Looey!" said a newly arrived Guthrie coon to an old resident. "It jes'
erbout takes all de money yuh kin make to keep up wid de pace ob de high
flyahs in dat ole town. So I jes' come down heah whar a pooah coon kin
hab a good time en save some ob de coin on foh dollahs a week, en git in
de bes' culled socieety foh an ole banjo in de week days en two bits in
de collection hat on de Sunday mohnin's!"

Be Strong to Dare.

Not he whose craven soul rejects the fight
And flees abjectly from the booming strife
Achieves the summits of hi