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?
Love will lift the bending burdens,
And 'twill all come right!

Do you feel the hate and malice
Of the foolish ones that fight?
They will find your heart is worthy,
And 'twill all come right!

Do your duty to the utmost!
Then the foes shall vanish quite;
Let the world howl on with censure,--
It will all come right!

God awaits us over yonder,
Where his lilies blossom white;
In his love the griefs shall perish,
And 'twill all come right!

The happy days when the mistletoe makes raptures for young hearts and
loving lips will soon come 'round again. Heaven grant us all to be young
and confidi