They push and jostle with delight No matter what the day; They follow him through all the night To hear what he may say; They leave old friends divinely sweet To chase this new one down, And fall devoutly at his feet When Money comes to town. Forgotten all the scenes of yore,-- The joys of other years; The perfect bliss that went before And gladdened toils and tears; Behold! The old things pass away, And new ones come to crown The dazzling glories of the day When Money comes to town. O, Mister Money! What's your rush! Why do you hurry so! Entangled up in all the crush, I can't get next, you know! Just come and camp with me and mine! You'll never see us frown; To have you with us will be fine Whene'er you come to town! Caught on the Fly. When a man barters his honor for money, he never gets a chance to rue back. Running this big world must be quite a job, but every man who talks politics thinks himself capable of bossing the whole works. The next crop that needs looking up in the quotations is the length of the pole required for the persimmons about election day. Feelin' Fine. Roas'in' eahs dar on de stalk,-- Millons 'tween de rows; Eb'ry t'ing a-makin' talk Gin de crop ob woes; Hebben come en settles down On de millon vine; Dis heah dahkey's shuah in town Feelin' mos'ly fine! The Little Feet. Little feet that weary so Down the dusty roads, Pebbled are the paths you go With your heavy loads,-- When the restless hours are o'er And you cease to weep, Little limbs shall ache no more In the arms of sleep. Little feet that weary so On their journey long, You shall lose the hurts you know In the smiles of song! All the lullabies of light, All the smiles of play, Romp across the darks of night Into brighest day. Little feet that weary so! Come and let me take All the heart-aches of your woe For your baby's sake! Cuddle on my lap, and flee From the world's distress; Let us run away and be Where the fairies bless! Caught on the Fly. The fellow that "soldiers" too much in the hay-field generally soldiers too little in the battle-field of life. The smile is a lightning-express train that carries you fast and far, while the frown is only a wheel-barrow that you have to push along. In the battle of life, nothing is gained by deserting your guns to the enemy. Stand by them till the ammunition is gone, whether they are popguns or flint-locks. * * * * * If you ever feel inclined to blame a man for making mistakes, just look in the glass and behold the manner of man he is. * * * * * The Sunday School is undoubtedly a good place for a boy, but as a corrective measure it cannot be compared to an apple tree limb and a handy wood-shed.