If the Kingdom of Heaven was like a mustard-seed two thousand years ago, it has not changed its appearance any since; it seems so small now-a-days that it is pretty hard to find down here below.

The Women and the Bill.

(EXPLANATORY NOTE:--The press reports state that the women of America are strenuously opposing the statehood bill, and demanding that it provide for Equal Suffrage and Prohibition in the new state.)

It was years and years in coming, but it hove in sight at last, And we hoped our cares were over and our disappointments past; It was fought for on the hustings, in the platforms was declared, And with all the big campaigners it has every honor shared; And we thought we surely had it where no evil hands could kill, Till the women went to knocking on the Statehood Bill!

Don't the last of you remember how we whooped it up with might Through the speeches of the daytime and orations of the night; How resolved and re-resolved, and then resolved again, That our people were the people, and our men the very men?

And we shouted out the story of our deeds with honest will;-- But the women now are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

Don't you now recall distinctly how we speechified till hoa.r.s.e, Trying to convince the people what was just the proper course?

How much time and toil we lavished in the beauty of our schemes Just to save the state from danger to the dearness of our dreams!

But, alas! we see the finish! And alas! for manly skill!

For the women all are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

We have seen the new star rising from the territorial seas, We have seen it mount the zenith where the old flag split the breeze; And we boasted of our glories in rejoicings grand and great As we thought we raced for honors in the new-created state!

Vanished now the dreams of sal'ry and the offices to fill, For the women all are knocking on the Statehood Bill!

O, the grave and mighty Senate! Mr. Beveridge mighty too!

We can understand your pickle and we know just what you'll do; There is only one escaping, only one to ransom us From the rumpus we have kicked up and the madness of the muss: Give the women all they ask for! We were chumps to treat them ill.-- We're undone if they keep knocking on the Statehood Bill!

A Hard Winter Ahead.

"Yessuh, we am lookin' foh de hahdest wintah dis yeah dar hez bin foh a long time; but ef de neighbohs keeps on erraisin' chickens en de possums doan't git too scahse, I belieb we kin pull thew toh gra.s.s widout a-sellin' ob de houn' pup!"

The Charity Ball.

Rich man foh de pooh man dance One night in de yeah; Pooh man foh de rich man prance All times, do yuh heah?

Pooh man play de violin While de rich man swing; Pooh man squeeze de fiddle in When he wants toh sing!

Mistah rich man, hab yoh fun Makin' grub foh us; Min' dat stohy ez yuh run 'Bout ole Lazaruss!

Guess yuh'll dance some ober dah, Jes' ez like ez not; Swing dem pahtnehs fas' en fah 'Foh de fiah git hot!

Little Sermons.

The man who can't live right in this world can't expect to get the chance in the next.

There may be more devotion in tears than in laughter, but I'll tie up with the latter and take the risk.

No one except Christ ever called the devil Satan to his face; and then they went up into the high mountain and into a private place where no one else could hear the muss.

The Santa Claus Boy.

The Santa Claus boy is the latest thing out; He's the rage of the season, they say, And wherever you wander, you'll find him about With his beautiful, dutiful way; He's as spick and as span as a dandified man.

And his look is a heavenly joy; And however he does it, whatever his plan, We know he's the Santa Claus boy!

He jumps out of bed in the morning himself, And he never lies still for the rest; He dresses in haste with the skill of an elf, And he washes and combs with the best; He does up the ch.o.r.es while his small sister snores, And his whistle no longer annoys; He's the pride of the house and the king of out-doors,-- This wonderful Santa Claus boy!

He hastens to school with a heart full of glees, And he never turns truant to play: His lessons he learns with the greatest of ease,-- He recites in a beautiful way; And the teacher's so glad that the boy who was bad All his failings has learned to destroy; And she smiles with delight as she breaks up her gad, At the change in the Santa Claus boy!

When the Sabbath day comes with its Sunday School hours, He is never once absent or late; And the verses he speaks beat the memory powers Of the sages exalted and great; But he dreams of a Tree, full of presents to be, And with treasures that know not alloy; And the vision he sees fills his bosom with glee For the Sunday School Santa Claus boy!

Ah, well, this old codger laid up on the shelf, In the rubbish piled high on life's ways, Knows how it all is,--he has been there himself,-- He has romped through the Santa Claus days; Whatever appears, whether laughter or tears, Let a song every moment employ, As the world tosses gifts through the beautiful years To the glad-hearted Santa Claus boy!

Caught on the Fly.

Young woman, learn to cook. No man wants his home turned into an experiment station for biscuit making.

In these last days, a man is known by the patent medicine promoter to whom he sends his testimonial photograph.

The man who gets stooped shoulders from carrying other people's heavy burdens went to the wrong school in his youth.

Religion is a mighty good thing, but it never pays the rent bill; and the Christianity of warm clothes and wholesome food beats its balance on the record books of the angels.

"'Twill All Come Right."

O, brother, don't you worry, When the sorrow brings the night!

It is never long till morning, And 'twill all come right.

Do the loads seem hard and heavy As you bear them with your might?