If he'd listen to our troubles and his haughtiness relax, Then the bill we love and cherish would escape the butcher's ax But with him across the pathway, it as plain as day appears That our hopes are only rainbows and we chase them down the years; Oh, we wish him every gladness and we never wish him ill, But we hope he'll quit his meanness to the Statehood bill! Uncle Joey! Uncle Joey! Won't you for the once be good? Won't you let us find fruition for the hopes misunderstood? If you'll only mend your manners and repenting let us in We will jolly you forever, we will pat your cheek and chin; Or we'll lay for you till doom's-day and we'll then be hoping still That the boys will overrule you and will save the Statehood bill! Small Bills. "Is the Legislature passing any big bills?" inquired Weston. "No I think not," said Preston. "I was over there the other day, and I couldn't even hear the crinkle of one bigger than $10!" Caught on the Fly. The homely virtues may be old, but they are still young enough to carry the world's burdens. The crust on the pie at a charity dinner may be long, but it covers a multitude of culinary sins. Every good thing in this world costs money; and since experience is the best thing of life it is always expensive, also. The Sunny Side. Oh, no matter what the weeping, Or what awful ills betide! Let us walk the ways of gladness On the happy, sunny side! When the sorrows come and settle With their tears and cares and pride, Don't believe their tales of sadness, For there's still a sunny side! What's the use to go to weeping When the shadows wander wide? For the sun is shining somewhere And there's yet a sunny side! It's no diff'rence what the weather, What the flow of wind or tide; There's the holy joy of living And God keeps a sunny side! Keep Busy. Don't sit down so lonesome Through the speeding years; Drink the wines of gladness And forget the tears. Life goes down the distance Swift as eagle's flight; Stop to say "Good-morning." And it ends "Good-night!" Wait Awhile. Don't you worry at the winter! There's a streak of shine about, And before the storm is over There's a daisy peeping out! Spring is coming clothed in beauty, And her lilies laughing white Wait beneath the melting snow-drifts For the days of their delight! Over yonder smile the gardens, And the sky above is blue; And your sweet-heart trips the meadows With the roses red for you! Little Sermons. A man's conscience preaches more eloquent sermons than the Savior on the Mount. If men were less evil, it would be much easier for their fellows to walk the narrow way. If the Bible reduced virtue to a mathematical demonstration of its cheapness over Vice, the mourner's bench would break down with the repentant sinners. At the End.