Almost every other evening jest as reg'lar as the clock When we're settin' down ter supper, wife and I, there comes a knock An' a high-pitched voice, remarking', "Don't get up; it's _me_, yer know"; An' our mercury drops from "summer" down ter "twenty-five below," An' our cup of bliss turns sudden inter wormwood mixed with gall, Fer we know it's Sister Simmons come ter make her "reg'lar call." In she comes an' takes the rocker. Thinks she'll slip her bunnit off, But she'll keep her shawl on, coz she's 'fraid of addin' ter her cough. No, she won't set down ter supper. Tea? well, yes, a half er cup. Her dyspepsy's been so lately, seems as if she _should_ give up; An', 'tween rheumatiz an' as'ma, she's jest worn ter skin an' bone. It's a good thing that she told us,--by her looks we'd never known. Next, she starts in on the neighbors; tells us all their private cares, While we have the fun er knowin' how she talks of _our_ affairs; Says, with sobs, that Christmas comin' makes her feel _so_ bad, for, oh! Her Isaiah, the dear departed, allers did enjoy it so. Her Isaiah, poor henpecked critter, 's been dead seven years er more, An' looked happier in his coffin than he ever did afore. So she sits, her tongue a-waggin' in the same old mournful tones, Spoilin' all our quiet evenin's with her troubles an' her groans, Till, by Jude, I'm almost longin' fer those mansions of the blest, "Where the wicked cease from troublin' an' the weary are at rest!" But if Sister Simmons' station is before the Throne er Grace, I'll just ask 'em to excuse me, an' I'll try the other place. * * * * * "THE FIFT' WARD J'INT DEBATE" Now Councilman O'Hoolihan do'n't b'lave in annixation, He says thim Phillypynos air the r-r-ruin av the nation. He says this counthry's job is jist a-mindin' av her biz, And imparyilism's thrayson, so ut is, so ut is. But big Moike Macnamara, him that runs the gin saloon, He wants the nomina-a-tion, so he sings a different chune; He's a-howlin' fer ixpansion, so he puts ut on the shlate Thot he challenged Dan O'Hoolihan ter have a j'int debate. _Ho, ho! Begorra! Oi wisht that ye 'd been there! Ho, ho! Begorra! 'Twas lovely, Oi declare_; _The langwudge, sure 't was iligant, the rhitoric was great_, _Whin Dan and Mack, they had ut back, At our big j'int debate_. 'T was in the War-r-d Athletic Club we had ut fixed ter hear 'em, And all the sates was crowded, fer the gang was there ter cheer 'em; A foine debatin' platfor-r-m had been built inside the ring, And iverybuddy said 't was jist the thing, jist the thing. O'Hoolihan, he shtarted off be sayin', ut was safe Ter say that aich ixpansionist was jist a murth'rin thafe; And, whin I saw big Mack turn rid, and shtart ter lave his sate, Oi knew we 'd have a gor-r-geous toime at our big j'int debate.