returns, Brown, the ignorant quack, will prescribe for the lady, and Jones, the ass, for her husband.

—N. Y. Sun.

Was Qualified.

"Well, Herr Schulze, what are you going to do with your boy?"

"I think I shall have to let him join the police, for I never can find him when I want him!"

—Fliegende Blätter.

Fannie tried very hard to be polite and speak correctly. At church one day she met a little friend who had been sick for some time. In asking about her affliction Fannie said: "Did you enjoy much pain when you were ill?"

—Youth's Companion.

Where They Might Economize.

Bagley—I hear that Mrs. Mosenthal has presented you with twins, Solomon.

Mr. Mosenthal—Yes, it vas a fact, twin boys or I'm a liar.

"Must be quite an expense, eh?"

"Yes, but dere's vone good t'ing I t'ought of. De same photograph will do for little Ikey or little Jakey; dey look so mooch like."

—America.

Just Why.

—Birmingham Age-Herald.

She Knew One When She Saw It.

The following is related as an actual occurrence during the presentation of "Virginius" by the amateurs of Macon. Those who have seen the play will doubtless remember the scene where the ashes of Virginia, who has been killed by her father, after which the body was cremated, are brought on the stage in an urn. A young lady in the audience turned to her escort with the remark: "That's a crematory."

"No," said he, "you are mistaken; that is not a crematory."

"Well, I say it is," she remarked; "I guess I know a crematory when I see one."

The curtain drops.

—Americus Recorder.

An Incentive to Study.

"Pa, where was Captain Anson born?"

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"Where was John L. Sullivan born?"

"I don't know that either."

"Pa, I wish you would buy me a history of the United States."

—Chicago Herald.

"WE'VE BOTH BEEN THERE BEFORE, MANY A TIME."

Connoisseurs.

Mrs. True Genteel—Good morning, Mrs. Carrots. Going to New York to do a little shopping?

Mrs. Gusby Carrots (whose husband has hit Standard Oil and acquired sudden riches)—No, I've just returned. I bought a nice Rubens this morning, and I declare! when I called at my husband's office he told me he had bought a Rembrandt by the same artist yesterday afternoon.

—Once a Week.

THE LIMEKILN CLUB.

How Major Drawbar Jones Escaped Expulsion on Serious Charges.

On the opening of the meeting the secretary announced a communication from Eufaula, Ala., making charges against Major Drawbar Jones, an honorary member of the club. He was charged with:

1. Going on a rabbit hunt while his wife lay at the point of death.

2. Putting burrs under the saddle of his old mule to get up an artificial enthusiasm.

Brother Gardner said that it was a question for debate, and Giveadam Jones arose and observed that he could never vote to convict a brother on the first charge. While there might be no question that Major Jones went out to hunt rabbits while his wife was dying, what was his object? Was it for amusement, or was it to provide her with rabbit soup? The accused should be given the benefit of the doubt. As to charge No. 2, that was a different matter. A man who would put burrs under his saddle, whether that saddle was on a horse or a mule, deserved the severest condemnation.

Waydown Bebee couldn't excuse the Major for going on that rabbit hunt. A dying wife does not care for soup of any sort. As to the burrs under the saddle, they might have got there by accident. Even if they were put there by design, there was no evidence that the mule objected. He owned a mule, whose demeanor could not be changed one iota by all the burrs in the State of Michigan.

Shindig Watkins, Elder Toots, Samuel Shin, and others argued pro and con, and the question of whether the Major should be bounced was put to a vote. The vote stood 43 for, and 44 against, and he thus escaped by the skin of his teeth.

—Detroit Free Press.

A Good Trade.

Prison Keeper—You will have to work here, Moriarty, but you may select any trade you wish.

Prisoner—Well, if it's all the same to you, sor, Oi'd like to be a sailor.

—Munsey's Weekly.

A Poetical Cook.

Ferguson—So our cook is going, is she? Well, I hope the next one will be of a more literary turn.

Mrs. Ferguson—What do you mean by that?

Mr. Ferguson—A more earnest disciple of the art of Browning, don't you know.

—Boston Post.

Knowledge Is Power.

Freddie—Papa, what does "filly" mean?

Papa—(willing to give the boy a lift)—A young mare, Freddie.

Freddie—Well, then, what do they call a young cow, papa?

Papa—(slightly staggered)—Oh! ah! a—er—filly de bœuf.

—Columbia Spectator.

A Good Reason for Stopping a Newspaper.

I happened to be in the office of the Mercantile Review and Live Stock Journal recently in time to hear one of the best reasons ever given for stopping a newspaper.

A German boy entered, removed his hat, and asked:

"Is Mr. Vepsider in?"

"He is," replied Charles H. Webster, looking up from a mass of tissue live stock reports which he was winnowing.

"Vell, Mister Bitters don't want to take dot paber no more. He vos dedt last nide alretty."

The name of the late Mr. Bitters, a cattle dealer, was duly erased from the delivery sheet.

—Buffalo Truth.

With Interest.

"Old Mr. Skinner is a very charitable man, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes; of course. But if he ever casts his bread upon the waters, be sure he expects it to come back a meat sandwich."

—Tid Bits.

A Paris despatch says: "Sarah Bernhardt is overworked." Oh, well; Sarah has one great advantage over all other actresses —she may be overworked, become nervous, take to her bed with a