sickness nigh unto death, but she can't fall away any in flesh.

—Kentucky State Journal.

Three Periods of Love.

I.

II.

III.

—Somerville Journal.

Where Hens Are Useful.

A dozen eggs will get you a yard and a half of gingham at the Cadmus Grange store next week. They have secured an immense line of summer ginghams; in fact, more than they have room for, therefore this unparalleled offer. "The early bird catches the worm."

—La Cygne Journal.

To forget a wrong is the best revenge, particularly if the other fellow is bigger than you.

—Liverpool Post.

A DIFFICULT JOB.

Miss Birdie—Is this the place where you recover umbrellas?

Clerk—Yes'sum.

Miss Birdie—Well, I wish you would recover mine. It is a real new one, with a crooked handle, and some one stole it from the Church last Sunday night.

—Chicago Liar.

There is now not a single justice on the Supreme bench of the United States—they are all married.

—Madelia Times.

Not so Mad After All.

Physician—Your husband is quite delirious and seems utterly out of his mind. Has he recognized anyone to-day?

Wife—Oh, yes. He called me a dragon this morning, and he constantly speaks of the governess as an angel.

—Boston Beacon.

HE SURPRISED HIMSELF.

Amateur Contortionist—Now, Billy, when I goes in this barril, you just turn it over and I'll come out the other end.—Judge.

Practical Theology.

Two well known clergymen lately missed their train, upon which one of them took out his watch and finding it to blame for the mishap, said he would no longer have any faith in it.

"But," said the other, "isn't it a question not of faith, but of works?"

—Living Church.

How it Affects Them.

Mrs. Prim—It's dreadful the way the men drink these days; isn't it? My husband's head is so weak he can't drink. A glass of vichy makes him roaring.

Mrs. Blim.—Yes, and my husband can't read the label on a beer bottle without getting a headache.

—Cincinnati Commercial.

!!!

Cheap Postage.

"Talk about cheap postal rates. I've seen 125 pounds go for a two-cent stamp," remarked Mr. Keeplent.

"When was that?" said Mrs. K., laying down her paper.

"This morning, my dear, when you went to the corner drug store for a stamp."

—Chicago Herald.

A MODEST TALE.

It Is Cheerfully Told by a Georgia Munchausen.

"I hardly feel like telling a modest tale," said another, "after the wonderful things we have heard; but I will give you a true story which was told me by a North Georgia cracker."

"Tell it, tell it!" they said.

"Well, then, once upon a time a man who lived by a creek in North Georgia discovered that the corn was disappearing from his crib. He watched and at length found the secret of the theft.

"A squirrel came down to the edge of the creek on the opposite side, dragged a shingle to the water's edge, launched it, and jumping on himself hoisted his tail for a sail. He soon sailed across and anchored his shingle at the bank. Stealing up to the crib, he got out an ear of corn and carried it to the creek, put it on the shingle and ferried it across."

"How strange!" said some one.

"That's only the beginning," said the narrator.

"When the man saw his ear of corn disappear in a hollow tree he determined to recover his lost property, and started, ax in hand, to wade the creek. It was a little over waist deep, and he had on a heavy overcoat fastened by one big button at the top. As he came up out of the water the coat seemed exceedingly heavy, and looking down he saw that both the big side pockets were full of shad."

Here a chorus of laughter interrupted, but with a solemn face the story teller went on:

"That was a small matter to those that follow. When the man came up out of the water the weight of the wet overcoat, further weighed with the fish, broke off the button, and it flew off to one side where a rabbit crouched in the bush. The button hit him in a tender spot behind the ear, and he keeled over, and with a few pitiful kicks expired."

Here the laughter was so boisterous as to interrupt the narrator for nearly a minute, and then he proceeded:

"Picking up the rabbit, the man concluded it was not the kind of game he wanted, and he flung it aside. It was late in the evening, and just at this moment it so happened that a covey of partridges had huddled together for the night, with their heads bunched together in the center, according to their habit."

Here a suppressed titter ran round the company.

"Oh," said the narrator, with some indignation, "it is well known that partridges huddle together in just that way."

"Go on," they said.

"When the rabbit fell its head struck the bunch of heads and killed all the partridges." (Laughter.)

"When the man had picked up the partridges he went to the hollow tree and cut it down. He got back fifty bushels of corn, and it