proved to be a bee tree, so that he got ten barrels of honey. Not only this, but the top of the tree fell in the stream, and the creek ran sweet for twenty years."

This took the cake, which will be served next Sunday.

P. S.—There is no space here to tell about the Georgia hen that turned gray after the snakes got her chickens, or the young partridges that afterward hatched under her sitting and became the solace of her declining years. All this and much more I would tell if I had time.

—W. G. C. in Atlanta Constitution.

Hugging the Shore.

—Wasp.

A Night of Terror.

Miss Debut—Do you know, Mr. Reimer, I dreamed last night that I was reading your poetry?

Mr. Reimer—Indeed! you flatter me highly, I am sure.

Miss Debut—I don't know about that; I remember that I tried with all my might to wake up and couldn't.

—Once a Week.

Where the Gold Comes From.

Bostone—How long do you suppose these gold mines out here will continue profitable, Mr. Boomer?

Boomer—Just so long as our Eastern stockholders will stand the assessments without kicking.

—Lowell Citizen.

His Cure for Sleeplessness.

"Do you ever want to sleep, Major, when you can't?" I asked of a very convivial friend.

"Of course, of course, sah."

"Well, what do you do?"

"What do I do? You blamed idiot, what would any man with a brain do? Why, when I want to sleep and feel so wide awake that I could go out and read in the dark I go take a good, long drink of my customary beverage, sah. You know what that is. Then, sah, if that fails, I go take anothah. If that does not kiss down my eyelids I go and take two. If Morpheus refuses to lock me in his arms I go and take three more, and by that time I don't care a continental darn whether I ever go to sleep or not."

—Toledo Blade.

Hard to Believe.

"Pa," said a lad to his father, "I have often read of people poor but honest; why don't they sometimes say 'rich but honest?'"

"Tut, tut, my son, nobody would believe them," answered the father.

—Liverpool Post.

AFTER A CLEW.

Methods of the Modern Detective Illustrated by a Small Incident.

"I'll follow him to the ends of the earth! He shall not escape me!"

The tall, powerfully built man, attired in a suit of dark blue, who hissed these words through his set teeth, stood in a shadow of a one-story coal house in a dark, noisome, Philadelphia-like alley, and watched with widely staring eyes a figure moving slowly along down the Hong Kong district of Clark street.

The watcher was wide awake, and the saloons had not yet closed for the night.

It was evident he was not a policeman.

Emerging from the alley he followed stealthily the object of his pursuit like a sleuth hound on the track of its prey. Moving along in the shadow of the buildings and halting now and then, but never relaxing for one instant his eager watchfulness, he kept his man in sight for nearly an hour.

Down Clark to Harrison, west on Harrison to the river, across the bridge to Canal, up Canal to Monroe, and westward on that street for many and many a weary block moved this singular—or rather plural—procession.

"He little thinks he is followed," muttered the relentless pursuer. "I'll shadow him to his lair now if it takes till the next centennial!"

At last the man whom he was following halted at a modest dwelling, opened the gate that afforded the entrance to the little yard in front, and as he turned to close it his face, plainly visible in the glare of a street lamp close by, was for one brief moment exposed to the hawk-like gaze of the mysterious pursuer in the dark blue suit, who had crouched in the shadow of a friendly Indian cigar sign across the way. The next instant he had disappeared within the house.

With a smothered cry of exultation the eager watcher took out a note book and pencil and jotted down a memorandum. His fingers trembled with excitement.

"I saw his face!" he said in a hysterical whisper. "I was not mistaken. And now I have his street and number. At last I am on the trail. If he finds out anything about that mysterious disappearance I'll know just where he goes to get it. Ha! At last! At last!"

He was a high-priced detective shadowing a $15-a-week newspaper reporter to see if he could find some clew to the latest mystery that was baffling the entire force.

—Detroit Free Press.

Two of a Kind.

A bright little girl was taken by her father out into the country to visit an uncle whom she called Walsh. As the two drove along the country road, the little one spied a scarecrow in a field, and exclaimed: "Oh, papa, there's Uncle Walsh." Papa laughed hugely at the joke, but told her that she was mistaken; that what she saw was only a scarecrow. A little further along and Uncle Walsh's farm was reached, and way out in the field was Uncle Walsh at work. The little girl's eyes were the first to catch sight of him, but she wasn't to be fooled so easily this time. "Oh, papa," she cried, "look at that scarecrow!" Papa did look, and has not got through laughing yet.

—Buffalo Express.

A Change of Manœuver.

Guide to battlefields (sure of his party, he thinks)—Yes, sah, hit were jest hyer that the rebels gin to run, an'——

Tourist (bantering him)—Come, now! run? I was a reb myself and don't believe they ran.

Guide—Hole on, boss; you ain't let me get through. I didn't say which way dey wuz runnin'; 'twas to'ards de enemy.

—Harper's Weekly.

The Latest Style.

Customer (who has brought material for a gown and trimming for a bonnet eight days before)—This costume appears to be very short and tight! Did you use all the goods?

Modiste—Great Heavens! Can it be that I made the gown out of the bonnet trimming and trimmed the bonnet with the dress pattern?

—Fliegende Blätter.

If the Prince of Wales' serious attack of the gout continues much longer, it will begin to affect the walk of swell