him. The dialogue
went like this:

"Ye'll be a brither o' the corp?"

"No, I'm no' a brither o' the corp."

"Weel, ye'll be his cousin?"

"No, I'm no' a cousin."

"At ony rate ye'll be a frien' o' the corp?"

"No, I'm no' that either. Ye see, I've no' been very weel masel," the
stranger explained complacently, "an' my doctor has ordered me carriage
exercise, so I thocht this would be the cheapest way to tak' it."

WORTH A CHANCE

The small boy stood at the garden gate and howled and howled and howled.
A passing lady paused beside him.

"What's the matter, little man?" she asked in a kindly voice.

"O-o-oh!" wailed the youngster. "Pa and ma won't take me to the pictures
to-night."

"But don't make such a noise," said the dame, admonishingly. "Do they
ever take you when you cry like that?"

"S-sometimes they do, an'--an' sometimes they d-d-don't," bellowed the
boy. "But it ain't no trouble to yell!"

CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

"We were bounding along," said a recent traveller on a local South
African single-line railway, "at the rate of about seven miles an hour,
and the whole train was shaking terribly. I expected every moment to see
my bones protruding through my skin. Passengers were rolling from one
end of the car to the other. I held on firmly to the arms of the seat.
Presently we settled down a bit quieter; at least I could keep my hat on
and my teeth didn't chatter.

"There was a quiet-looking man opposite me. I looked up with a ghastly
smile, wishing to appear cheerful, and said:

"'We are going a bit smoother, I see.'

"'Yes,' he said, 'we're off the track now,'"

BIG CHANCES BOTH WAYS

The famous physician and the eminent clergyman were deep in a discussion
which threatened to become acrimonious.

"You see," said the minister sarcastically, "you medical men know so
much about the uncertainties of this world that I should think you would
not want to live."

"Oh, I don't know," responded the physician caustically. "You clergymen
tell us so much about the uncertainties of the next world that we don't
want to die."

WARNING TO AUTHORS

One of Mr. Kipling's trees was injured by a bus, the driver of which was
also landlord of an inn. Kipling wrote this man a letter of complaint,
which the recipient sold to one of his guests for ten shillings. Again
the angry author wrote, this time a more violent letter, which
immediately fetched one pound.

A few days later Kipling called on the