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A Village Fiasco.—Gifted Amateur (concluding pet card trick). "Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have seen the pack of cards burnt before your eyes, and the ashes placed inside the box, which mysteriously transformed itself into a rabbit, which, in turn, disappeared into space. I will now ask this gentleman to name the card he selected, when it will at once appear in my hand. Now, sir, what card did you select from the pack?" Giles (who has been following the trick most intently). "Blessed if I recollect!"

AFTER THE FIRE

Rustic (to burnt-out Farmer). "We r—r—rescued the b—b—beer zur!"

LOCAL PECULIARITIES

At Bilston they always hit the right nail on the head.

At Bolton it is impossible for those who run up ticks to bolt off.

At Broadstairs the accommodation for stout visitors is unrivalled.

At Colchester they are all "natives."

At Coventry, strange to say, they can furnish no statistics of the number of persons who have been sent there.

At Kidderminster there is certain to be something fresh on the tapis.

At Liverpool they are extremely orthodocks.

If you write to Newcastle (Staffordshire) take care to under-Lyne the address.

At Newmarket they take particular interest in the question of races.

At Portsmouth everything is ship-shape.

At Rye you will meet none but Rye faces.

At Sheffield you will always find a knife and fork laid for you.

"A GOOD WIT WILL MAKE USE OF ANYTHING"

Shakespeare, Henry the Fourth.

Scene—A Pit Village.     Time—Saturday Night.

Barber (to bibulous customer). "Now, sir, if you don't hold your head back, I can't shave you!"

Pitman. "A'well, hinney, just cut me hair!"

What our Architect has to put up with.—Our Architect (Spotting Sixteenth Century gables). "That's an old bit of work, my friend!"

"Oi, sir, yeu be roight, theer, that you be!"

O. A. (keen for local tradition). "You don't know exactly how old, I suppose?"

"Well, noa, sir; but old it be! Whoi, I's knowed it myself these noine years!"

Our Village Industrial Competition.—Husband (just home from the City). "My angel!—crying!—Whatever's the matter?"

Wife. "They've—awarded me—prize medal"—(sobbing)—"f' my sponge cake!"

Husband (soothingly). "And I'm quite sure it deserv——"

Wife (hysterically). "Oh—but—'t said—'twas—for the best specimen—o' concrete!"

Our Choir-master (after lamentable failure on part of Pupil). "Confound it! I thought you said you could 'Read at sight'?"

Pupil. "So I can. But not first sight."