Some people are so unreasonable that if the Lord sent them a turkey they would raise a row because he didn't furnish a barrel of cranberries, too. A Valentine. Don't you dare to tell me Love is old and gray! He's as young and rosy As the blooms of May! Don't you dare to tell me Love is wed with wrong! All his deeds are holy With the smiles of song! Don't you dare to tell me Love is only strife! Hands of his shall lead us To the perfect life! Love and hope with happy Feet shall scale the sky, Through the dismal shadows To the bye and bye! Its Principal Work. "Has the Legislature done much?" inquired one anxious citizen of another. "No, not much," was the answer. "Its principal act was to pass a bill repealing Ground Hog day, but they fear the Governor will veto it." Life's Way. When the heart grows weary Of the storm and strife, Don't you worry, dearie, 'Tis the way of life! 'Tis the way we wander Through the world of wrong; Sorrow makes us fonder Of the smile and song. Don't you weep or weary At the storm and strife: Love shall lead us, dearie, Through this tangled life! Caught on the Fly. Some one's contrariness is responsible for nine-tenths of life's tragedies. Popularity is an ice-box where men are preserved in cold storage against the fickle mob's changes in temperature. When you board the train of life for the city of happiness, don't let Conductor Sorrow ring the bell and drop you off at the wrong station. Check your baggage through, and don't use the sleeping-car too much. Uncle Joe and Statehood. (Note: The press dispatches indicate that Uncle Joe Cannon, Speaker of the House of Representatives, is doing all he can to defeat the Statehood bill.) If Uncle Joe'd come off the perch and let us build a state We'd resolute to beat the band and call him wise and great; We'd hand him taffy, chunk on chunk, and sling the sugar out Till that old duffer'd surely think he's what you read about: But your Uncle Joe is mighty and he has a stubborn will, And he's done malicious murder to the Statehood bill! It is true the bill is faulty; it is true if we'd our way, It would need a lot of fixing ere it saw the light of day; But we beggars are not choosers, and just any sort of state Now would set the anvils roaring when we came to celebrate; And we think he's small potatoes and quite scanty in the hill When he sets himself to knocking on the Statehood bill! If he'd just be rather friendly, we would praise him up a bit And we'd give him such a jolly that he'd lose his nerve and quit; But he carries him so haughty and he bangs his hands so loud That he scares the day-lights out us and he frightens all the crowd; And whate'er his plan or purpose, it is plain he's bound to kill That sweet child of all the statesmen that we call the Statehood bill!