progressive euchre party, and where's the party? I told you how it would come out, and here we are! Mrs. Bowser, I—I——"

But he was too full for further utterance, and went to bed.

—Detroit Free Press.

Reasonable.

Postmaster—The letter is too heavy; it wants another stamp.

Countrywoman—Why, that will make it heavier still!

—Humoristische.

Actors may have no end of animosities in private life, but they always make up before they appear on the stage.

—Greenville Advocate.

AN ICY RECEPTION.

Bromley—Why, Digsby, what's the matter? you look chilled.

Digsby—Right you are, deah boy, the fact is, I attended a social the other evening and everything they served was iced.

By H. C. R.

Dakota has a town named Patronage. Patronage is generally considered a good thing out of which to make capital.

—Boston Transcript.

"Men who have anything in their heads find plenty to do with their hands."—J. Howard, Jr., in N. Y. Press. That's so. We saw a tramp the other day who evidently had something in his head, and both hands were in use.

EFFECTS OF A DOSE OF THE ELIXIR.

Jones' better half had presented him with twins. When nurse brought them into the room for inspection the poor man was so bewildered at the multitudinous character of his happiness that he asked: "Am I to choose?"

—Judge.

A Chicago man tried to commit suicide by perforating his head with a bullet. The bullet passed through his skull all right, but did not touch the brain. Before a man goes gunning for his own brains, he ought to acquire the requisite skill by practicing at a pea in a peck measure for a time.

—Binghamton Republican.

Few Things Boston Girls Don't Know.

He—Of course you know what a garter snake is?

She (from Boston)—If you refer to that representative of the serpentine family with the same propensities characteristic to an elastic band used to retain hosiery in a stationery position, I do.

—Binghamton Democrat.

Saved His Honor.

Smith—I was sorry to hear, Brown, that you had failed in business.

Brown—Yes, I struggled hard, but I lost everything, save my honor, thank Heaven, and the property I was wise enough to settle on my wife when I found myself getting into trouble.

—Texas Siftings.

A Bricklayer.

Several Irishmen were disputing one day about the invincibility of their respective powers when one of them remarked:

"Faith, I'm a brick."

"And I'm a bricklayer," said another, giving the first speaker a blow that brought him to the ground.

—Sunday Mercury.

A Business Term.

Clara—How comfortable pants must be. Wish I was a man.

Her Mother—My dear, you shock me. You should say trousers.

"I don't care. Charlie always says pants."

"You forget that Charlie works in a clothing store."

—Clothier and Furnisher.

NOW SHE IS THIN AND HE IS FAT.

The Wonderful Case of the Mullenhausers, Who Bathed at Coney Island.

The familiar figures of Mr. Germain Mullenhauser and his wife are no longer seen daily braving the surf at Coney Island. They have returned to their Brooklyn residence, where their ablutions are made in the bath tub, and it is very doubtful whether any of the seaside resorts will ever see them again. An estrangement has grown up between them, and they are not happy.

Their story is a strange eventful history. Two months ago Mrs. Mullenhauser could readily turn the scales at 210 pounds, while her husband weighed about the ninety pounds necessary to aggregate 300. They were proud of their proportions, viewed collectively, and neither was jealous of the other. But in an evil hour a friend told Mr. Mullenhauser that he was beginning to look like a scarecrow, and slightingly nicknamed him "Praise-God Bare-Bones," in pointed and scornful recognition of the office of deacon in a Brooklyn church. Mr. Mullenhauser consulted a doctor with the view of gaining flesh.

About the same time an attenuated female acquaintance told Mrs. Mullenhauser that if she grew any fatter she would stand a chance of bursting, and would certainly become dropsical. The stout lady was alarmed, and she too, sought the advice of a medical practitioner relative to the best method of shedding some of her superfluous tissue. Neither husband or wife cared to take counsel with the family physician. They stated their cases to different doctors, and only told each other what they had done when their courses had been mapped out for them.

"Dr. Jones seems to be a very intelligent person," said the lady. "He says that by surf bathing I can reduce my weight at the rate of fourteen pounds a week."

"Why, he must be an imbecile," exclaimed her husband, hotly. "If you go wallowing, like a whale, in the ocean it will add just two pounds a day to your bulk. That is what Dr. Brown promises that sea bathing will do for me, and I am going to begin to try it to-morrow."

"Germain, you have been imposed upon by an ignorant quack," replied Mrs. Mullenhauser, severely. "If you risk your light body in those great rollers at Coney Island you will be swept away. Be contented with your small proportions and try to show that you make up in mind what you lack in matter."

"I won't," cried the small man, angrily. "I'll take Dr. Brown's advice, and I'll soon be as fat as you are now. Though Lord knows what size you'll be then, if you follow the directions of that ass, Jones," he added sarcastically.

Thus was made between them the fissure that has since been widening daily. They went down to Coney Island together and engaged board and lodging. They kept up a show of friendliness before the public to save appearances, but they ate their meals in silence and bathed at different parts of the beach.

The other frequenters looked at them with amazement, for a great change was soon perceptible in each. Drs. Brown and Jones were both right. At the end of sixty days their joint weight was still 300 pounds, but Mr. Mullenhauser now tipped the scales at 210 pounds and was threatened with dropsy, while his wife could only turn them at 90 pounds, looked like a scarecrow, and feared to breast the waves, as she had formerly done, lest they should sweep her away.

They fled by different trains from the seaside and tried to consult the slighted family physician, but he refused to be consulted, and advised them, cynically, to see Drs. Jones and Brown. Mrs. Mullenhauser is half a foot taller than her spouse, and much better adapted, anatomically, to carry the heavier burden of flesh. She looks like a greyhound, and he like a puncheon standing on its end. It is likely that before the bathing season