surpasses the greatness divine
Of the sword and the miter that saddened the earth!
From the poverty-ways where his fellows hard toil
All the blessings arise that our sorrows shall ban;
He's a hero, indeed! He's the king of the soil!
Then a song and a crown for the Meal-Ticket Man!

Our Joe's at Home Agin.

Yaas, our Joe he run fer office:
Said he'd try his hand a bit;
Thet the kentry needed savin'
An' he'd tinker some at it;
But the 'lection now is over,
An' our Joe he didn't win;
But we're glad,--me an' his mother,--
'Cause our Joe is home agin!

Joe made quite a race fer sartin'!
He's a pollytishun right,
An' he's jest a bully feller
At a foot-race er a fight;
You jest ort ter hear his speeches!
How they cheered with mighty din!
But the 'lection now is over
An' our Joe is home agin!

Spent two months a polly-tickin';
Workin' every day and night;
Says its harder work then thrashin';
Beats rail-splittin' out o' sight!
But to hear the brass-ban's playin'
Nerves him up, he says, like sin;
But we're glad,--me an' his mother,--
'Cause our Joe's at home agin!

Course we'd like our Joe elected,
But it makes no diff'rence now;
If the kentry needed savin'
Guess she'll manage it somehow;
Fer she's got to do without him,
An' we're glad he didn't win;
An we'll keep him,--me an' mother,--
Sence our Joe's at home agin!

Caught on the Fly.

Nobody has to take a dog and gun and go out to hunt trouble. It
generally calls you up by 'phone and says it's coming around for lunch.

"Politics makes strange bed-fellows," no doubt; but the candidate for
office seldom goes to bed, and he manages to get along on very little
sleep till the returns get in.

It may be doubted whether "the Devil takes care of his own" in every
way, but we'll bet our old hat that he never allows them to get hard up
for fire-wood in the winter season.

In the Shine.

I

As through the world we wander
Through comforts fair and fine,
Let's miss the ways of shadow
And travel in the shine!

II.

No matter what the weather,
Just watch the danger sign;
Keep off the roads of shadow
And travel in the shine!

III.

The paths run every which way
To fool you, brother mine!
Pass out of every shadow
And travel in the