It isn't every dude that wears patent leathers and parts his hair in the middle, who hasn't sense enough to flag the bread-wagon when it comes tearing down the pike. Dreaming. Let those who prefer it Keep hatching their schemes, But all through life's summer I'll cherish my dreams! Go on with your struggles, Your worries and wrongs; I'll camp with the lillies And list to their songs. I'll dream with the daisies That sweeten the sod; I'll dream with the roses That whisper of God; I'll dream with the wild birds That sing of the right, And out of the shadows Dream garlands of light. I'll dream through the darkness Of sorrow and strife, Till love brings the morning And laurels the life; And over the meadows My happy feet roam, Still dreaming, still dreaming, Till Love takes me home! A Jolly Good Game. I. You may talk as you please about Life's necromancy;-- 'Tis a journey of smiles or of tears as you fancy-- For I always have found,--and I'm happy to say it,-- 'Tis a jolly good game if one knows how to play it! II. The Dealer sits yonder,--the hands that he serves us-- The brains and the beauty and courage that nerves us,-- And strength for the struggle; and then he gives warning, To play to the ceiling till dawn of the morning! III. And mighty the stakes that he sets us to try for! Fame, Fortune and Honor, and Love, that men die for! The Sword, or the Crown, or the Star, or the Garter, And all the high winnings men bargain and barter! IV. He deals us the hand,--and no one may discard it! The game must go on with no power to retard it! And whether the hand be a good one or bad one, He asks of us only to play it a glad one. V. Then let people talk about life as they see it; You can make it for you what your heart may decree it; For I always have found--and I'm happy to say it,-- 'Tis a jolly good game if you know how to play it! A Contented Farmer. Wheat-crop heapin' in de shock, Corn jes' keeps a-bumpin'; Oats a-yallerin' in de sun,-- Cotton des a-jumpin'! Millet, Kafir-corn an' cane Bust their selves a-growin'; Oklahoma's home for me Till Gabriel goes to blowin'! Hell and Heaven. "Doan't tell me dat hell am away off yander," said an old darkey as he stood before the display window of the vegetable market where a dozen water-melons, the first of the season, reposed in unconscious temptation. "Dem millyuns cost a dollar apiece, an' I hain't got but thirty cents ter save me from the bad place. Go 'way, man! I tell you hell am right hyar, an' hebben only sebenty cents away!" Caught on the Fly. Of course, it is all right to aim high, but it's the fellow that never shoots at all that fails to bring down the game.