Part 2

"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 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.

I went one day to sail in a yacht With the very best girl I had, And indeed I was thankful at my lot, Which you'll see was not at all bad.

The sea ran high far away outside; And as, in the sea's dread lore, I was not well versed, I concluded to glide Near by, so I hugged the shore.

Anon, as the twilight round us fell, I spooned with the lively maid, And what I did but the stars could tell, And they will not, I'm afraid.

And anon again I asked her to show How a maid could a man adore; And she showed me how till I could but know, And again I hugged the show-er.

--_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 Manoeuver.

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 young men in New York.

--_Kansas City Journal._

CHOLLY--Aw, Fweddie, did you see her smile at me? Quite angelic, doncher know.

FWEDDIE--Smiled, did she? Well, I cahn't blame her. Youah looks sometimes make me smile, bah jove.

--_Chicago Liar._

A number of the school-ma'ams are employing their Summer vacations in educating the blind. Their only pupil is a bad boy named Cupid.

--_Chicago News._

Certainly.

"I understand the progressive dinner party craze has struck St. Louis," said Miss Societie, of Lucas avenue to Mr. Featherhide.

Mr. Featherhide (dryly)--"Yes, but such dinners are simply a matter of course."

--_St. Louis Critic._

Knew All the Ladies.

A street car going west on Madison street last Saturday afternoon was loaded with women returning from the matinee. In one corner of the car a countryman sat. When the car reached May street the conductor opened the door and called "May!" A woman left the car at this street. When he reached Ann the conductor called that name and another woman got off. At Elizabeth Street he called out "Elizabeth!" and two women got off. When he called "Ada!" still another woman got up and left.

The countryman went out on the platform and said to the conductor:

"Do you know where I want to get off?"

"I do not."

"Do you know my name?"

"No, sir; I don't."

"Do you know all the women in Chicago?"

"Well, I should say not. Why?"

"Nothing. I heerd you callin' them women that have jist been gitting off by their first names, an' you knowed jist where they wanted to stop, an' I thought you was acquainted with all the people in town."

--_Chicago Mail._

The Collar Line.

Doddle--I say, Coddle, old boy! What's the ideah of having a howid big flap on a fellah's ear? Couldn't we have heard pwetty nearly as well without it?

Coddle--Pwobably, Doddle, but it dwaws the collar line, don't yer know; it sawter keeps the collar from wunning up and knocking our hats off.

--_Glens Falls Republican._

A Foregone Conclusion.

Young Doctor--Well, I've got a case at last.

Young Lawyer--Glad to hear it. When you get him to the point where he wants a will drawn, telephone over.

--_Life._

A Simple Fish Story.

A bass weighing one pound in 1880 was returned to the Potomac with a small sleigh bell attached to its tail with a wire. A few days ago it was caught with the bell still attached, the fish weighing six pounds. This may seem like a fish story, but some of our readers will remember that a one-pound bass caught in the Eastern branch five years ago was returned to the water with a penny tin whistle attached to its tail. Three years later the bass was caught near the same spot. It still weighed a pound, but the whistle had grown into a fog horn.

--_New Orleans Picayune._

An Unwelcome Invention.

"I think that fellow is real mean," said Marie, throwing down the paper.

"What fellow?"

"Why, the one it speaks of here who has invented a car window that will open and shut readily by touching a spring."

"Well, I think it is a great thing. Why do you object to it?"

"Simply because now I can never have, when traveling, some fascinating drummer bending over me to open or shut the window for me."

--_Wasp._

No Balm on Sunday.

A certain politician holding office in Washington comes from Gilead, N. H. and he is proud of his native town. It is told of him that on one occasion a visiting clergyman preached in the village church and during the course of his remarks, he exclaimed:

"Is there no balm in Gilead?"

Mr. Blank jumped to his feet at once.

"Of course there is," he sung out, to the horror of the congregation, "but you can't get it on Sunday."

--_Troy Telegram._

An Explanation.

Mrs. Smith--John, has Mrs. Thompson done anything to offend you? She complains that you spoke very rudely to her when you came in yesterday evening.

Mr. S.--Oh, I'm sorry for that. I'm always glad to see Mrs. Thompson, and wouldn't like to hurt her feelings. Fact is, when I came in, the room was rather dark and I mistook her for you.

--_Toronto Grip._

She Could Smell It.

Little Johnny McSwilligen, surreptitiously sampled his mamma's brandied peaches yesterday, and soon after had occasion to use the telephone.

"A little later Mr. McSwilligen called his wife to the 'phone to inform her that he would be late getting home.

"Yes, I know why," she replied.

"Ah, how do you know?"

"Why, you're drinking again, and intend to make a night of it."

"Indeed I am not," protested McSwilligen. "I have not touched a drop for a year."

"Oh, you can't impose on me that way," insisted his wife. "I can smell your breath."

And she hung up the receiver with a rattle that almost dislocated the instrument.

--_Pittsburgh Chronicle._

Offended.

Insulted Montanian (to tenderfoot newspaper correspondent)--Lookee here, young man, you want to be a little more keerful how you write things that ain't so to them newspapers back East. This is a high-toned town, by Jinks, and the boys won't stand it.

Terrified Tenderfoot--Why, I--I--what have I written?

"Why, you writ to a Chicago paper that we lynched thirteen men here last month, and it's a lie."

"I--I--thought it was true, or--I----"

"Well, it wasn't. We didn't lynch but twelve, and we only rid the other on a rail and peppered him a little with buckshot. Stick to facts, young man, that's all we ask of you."

--_Time._

Journalistic Comprehensiveness.

A little fellow who was earnestly searching the columns of a certain religious journal for something in the juvenile department, found the paper rather bulky to manage and spread it upon the floor. In reply to his little sister, who was impatient at his slowness, he defended himself by saying: "Well, you must remember that this paper has two parts--the religious and the sacrilegious!" It was the same boy, by the way, who announced that the Scripture lesson at school one morning was from the Book of Collisions.

--_Troy Times._

A Fatal Mistake.

Bliffers--What's wrong to-day, Bluffers? You look blue.

Bluffers--I'll never forgive myself. I kicked a caller out of my house last night.

"Huh! I've kicked out many a one. Young fellow, I suppose?"

"No; past middle age."

"Well, these old codgers have no business to be coming around sparking young girls. I kicked out one of that sort last week."

"Yes, but I've found out this man wasn't courting my daughter. He was after my mother-in-law."

--_Philadelphia Record._

Successful Speculation.

"Maria," said Mr. Cuteboy yesterday, "I made $20 this morning."

"Indeed," said Mrs. C. curiously. "Did Reading go up?"

"Not exactly," was the quiet rejoinder, "but your brother John asked me to lend him that sum and I didn't happen to have it at the time."

--_Philadelphia Inquirer._

Her Business.

Old woman presents herself at the booking office and asks for a third-class ticket. "Where for?" inquires the clerk.

"That's my business!" is the reply.

--_Dictionnaire Universal._

That the moon is made of green cheese is a mere idle fancy, but that the honeymoon is made of taffy is an established fact.

--_Terre Haute Express._

Burdette on Womankind.

Why am I a woman suffragist?

Because I am.

Because a woman has more good, hard, common sense than a man.

Because she makes less bluster about her rights, and quietly maintains them better than a man.

Because she won't give $1.50 for an article that she knows very well she can get for 75 cents.

Because she does not stalk loftily away from the counter without her change if the robber behind it is a little reluctant about counting it out.

Because she is too independent to pay the landlord $2.25 for her dinner, and then pay the head-waiter $1 to send her a waiter who will bring it to her for 50 cents.

Because she will hold her money tightly in her own good little right hand for two hours until she first gets a receipt for it from the fellow who made her husband pay the same bill three times last year. Not any "just give you credit for it" for her.

Because one day a Pullman porter complained to me "No money on this trip; too many women aboard. Don't never get nothin' out of a woman 'ceptin' just her regular fare." I had just paid him 25 cents for blacking one of my boots and losing the other; and when he said that, when I saw for myself the heroic firmness of those women, traveling alone, paying their fare and refusing to pay the salaries of the employes of a wealthy corporation, I said: "These women have a right to vote. To vote? By all that is brave and self-reliant and sensible, they have a right to run the government!"

--_New York Star._

"Urtication" is a new cure for rheumatism. It means pricking the skin with a bunch of fresh nettles. Perhaps "hurtication" would be a better word for it.

--_San Francisco Alta._

What a glorious world this would be if people lived up to the epitaphs on their tombstones.

--_Hutchison News._

It Was a Bad Mixing Up.

In an English country church the curate had to give out two notices, the first of which was about baptisms and the latter had to do with a new hymn book. Owing to an accident he inverted the order and gave out as follows: "I am requested to announce that the new hymn book will be used for the first time in this church Sunday next, and I am requested to call attention to the delay which often takes place in bringing children to be baptized; they should be brought on the earliest day possible. This is particularly pressed on mothers who have young babies."

"And for the information of those who have none," added the rector, in gentle, kindly tones and who, being deaf, had not heard what had been previously said--"and for the information of those who have none, I may state, if wished, they can be obtained on application in the vestry immediately after service to-day. Limp ones, one shilling each: with stiff backs, two shillings."

--_Chicago Chronicle._

Last Year's Trouble.

Stranger--Your town seems awful dead. Had a scourge of any kind?

Citizen--No.

"No small-pox or yellow fever?"

"No."

"No floods or famine?"

"No."

"Well, what ails your town this year?"

"Nothing ails it this year, but a boom struck it last year."

--_Omaha World._

America is not given to jewelry, gauds or trappings, but those familiar with the business say that she has a seal ring.

--_Detroit Free Press._

Some one suggests that John L. Sullivan's bust be placed on the new two-cent postage stamps. But Sullivan can't be licked.

--_N. Y. News._

At the Ball.

George (referring to young lady just entering, in evening dress)--Ah, here is something pretty nice coming in!

Clarence--Something coming out, I should say.

--_Journal Amusant._

A Thrilling Social Episode.

There was a young lady named Moll Who purchased a new parasol, With a handle so long That she had to be strong Or she couldn't have lugged it at all.

She met a young man who, 'twas plain, Was staggering with might and main To steady his gait 'Neath the terrible weight Of his dreadfully cumbersome cane.

So intent was the beautiful Moll In lugging her long parasol, That she passed the young swain With the cumbersome cane And never once saw him at all.

What a narrow escape for that swain! Had she recognized him he would fain Have lifted his hat; But how could he do that And carry his cumbersome cane?

--_Washington Post._

Some of the Vassar girls have organized a gum-chewing association. They meet for cul-chaw.

--_Burlington Free Press._

It is not good to take tea in the middle of the day. The man who tried it in an Austin grocery store when he thought the clerk was not looking is our authority.

--_Texas Siftings._

THE IRISH WIDOW.

Mrs. Magoogin's Promised Donation to the World's Fair Committee.

"Did ye hear about the Wurruld's Fair, Mrs. McGlaggerty?"

"Sorra's the wurrud, me frind. Fwhat's there about id, Mrs. Magoogin?"

"Noo Yarrick is goin' to have id."

"Is that so, now?"

"Yis, an' they're roisin' the money fur id, avourneen," said the Widow Magoogin. "A committay's bin appinted to go around an' ax payple fwhat they're willin' to shushcroibe an' they pits down the names an' prints thim in the papers, an' there's a hully-balloo an' jubilorum, an' uv'rybody sez Noo Yarrick is a fine place, an' that brings the Wurruld's Fair to iz, Mrs. McGlaggerty. Now, thin, fwhat ar' you goin' to shushcroibe fwhin the committay calls round to see ye, Mrs. McGlaggerty?"

"Divil a cint Oi have to give thim, Mrs. Magoogin," said the neighbor.

"Fy fur shame, Mrs. McGlaggerty--that's no way to be afther thraiting the committay. Fwhere's yer h'art, woman? Have ye no sinse, at all, at all, alanna? Fwhisper an' I'll tell ye fwhat Berdie Magoogin's goin' to say to thim fwhin they comes an' axes her to shushcroibe. 'Gud mawrnin', Mrs. Magoogin.' they'll say to me. 'The same to ye, sors,' Oi'll say to thim. 'Fwhat'll ye shushcroibe to the Wurruld's Fair this foine mawrnin', ma'am?' they'll ax me nuxt. 'Fwhat did the McGuffin's beyant give ye?' Oi'll ax thim. 'Nawthin',' they'll say to me. 'Thin id's breakin' their h'arts they ar' intoirely givin' nawthin' to an interproise av this koind, sors,' Oi'll say to thim. 'An' fwhat'll we put ye down for, ma'am?' they'll say to me. 'Well, gintlemin av the committay,' Oi'll say to thim, puttin' an me Sunda' shmoile an' howldin' me head as proud as a paycock--'well, gintlemin,' Oi'll say, 'it isn't mooch that Berdie Magoogin has--there's only the shanty an' the goat an' a bit av furnicher, some av fwhich is in pawn--but Oi'll tell ye fwhat Oi'll do, gintlemin,' Oi'll say to thim. 'Berdie Magoogin'll agree to give twinty-noin thousan' eight hundhert an' tin dollars out av her own pocket to the Wurruld's Fair, aff the committay kin foind noineteen other widdy womin an Cherry Hill that'll do the same thing, an' how diz that praposishun shoot ye, gintlemin?' Oi'll say to thim. Thin they'll go away shmoiling an' they'll tell uv'rybody about id, an' uv'rybody'll say how ginerous is Mrs. Magoogin'v!

"But sure'n ye haven't no twinty-noine thousand dollars to give thim, me frind?" the neighbor interposed.

"No more has th' other noineteen widdies, Mrs. McGlaggerty--so ye see there's no danger av anny av iz losin' mooch, an' ow, wow, but won't payple think that we're gin'rous. Id's a byootiful bloof Oi'll be afther givin' thim, Mrs. McGlaggerty--nawthin', acushla, but a byootiful bloof."

--JOHN J. JENNINGS _in Sunday Mercury_.

His Awful Confession.

"Were you ever engaged in a train robbery?" asked the prosecuting attorney, looking at him keenly.

"I was never indicted for train robbing," answered the witness, evasively.

"That is not the question," said the lawyer. "I will ask you again. Were you ever a train robber?"

"Judge," said the witness, turning imploringly to the dignitary of the Bench, "must I answer that question?"

"You must," answered the judge. "And remember you are under oath."

The witness turned pale and his knees knocked together.

"I suppose it's got to come out. I sold books and bananas on the cars for a whole year when I was a young fellow," faltered the miserable man.

--_Chicago Tribune._

"The greatest point," writes a specialist in the treatment of obesity, "is to find the right diet." But the greatest point in these cases, after all, is the embonpoint.

--_Philadelphia Ledger._

While there is a great variety of conditions submitted with the handsome donations made to aid the fair, it is noticeable that there is entire unanimity in one thing--the "if."

V. S.

An Accommodating Boss.

A gang of men were at work on a city street, when a slight, beardless youth laid down his pick, and approaching the foreman, said to him:

"Can I take a fit, sir?"

"Take what?" asked the foreman.

"A fit--I feel one coming on," replied the young man, without emotion.

"Why, certainly," said the foreman.

So the young man walked over to a bit of grass under a leafy tree--it was a new street in the suburbs--and had a fit.

Then he went and washed his face, came back to his place in the line, took up his pick and struck into work. After the day's work was over the young man said to the foreman: "You don't mind my having fits?"

"No--I guess not if you do a fair day's work."