oo fat and heavy to have any
light-fingered proclivities.

Clearly not the Piper himself, for he was playing his bagpipe and could
prove an alibi.

There was no one left but TOM. Circumstances pointed him out: he loved
good eating and hated work, and had been noticed gazing upon the charms
of the missing family pet. It was settled, then. TOM was the thief, and
the offender must be punished. But how? Law was too uncertain and
expensive, TOM was too poor to pay for the pig, so it was resolved to
take the worth of it out of him by beating. The poet tells us

"TOM was beat."

Undoubtedly TOM was glad when they got through, and although he

"Went roaring down the street,"

it was a matter of rejoicing with him that he had saved his bacon. It
was impossible to get that out through his hide, and they had no stomach
pumps in those days.

* * * * *

Scene.--A. City Restaurant.

_Waiter, (to customer, who is winding up his repast_.) "Anything more,
sir?"

_Customer_. "H'm--well--yes; bring me an omelette souffle."

_Waiter_. "Omelet Shoo-fly, sir? Yessir."

(_Exit, humming the popular tune_.)

* * * * *

Unintentionally Appropriate.

The Sun tells a very large story of its own circulation, and then
innocently requests the "False Reporting" _Tribune_ to copy it!

* * * * *

BY GEORGE!

(_Continued_.)

LAKE GEORGE, Sept 5.

DEAR PUNCHINELLO:--In my last I promised to finish my trip on the Lake
and give you some reliable rumors about the "Rogers' Slide."

I am prepared to do this to-day, in a happy and congratulatory frame of
mind.

I have had breakfast this morning.

When I say this I mean that I have had this morning's breakfast this
morning.

Any one who has achieved so remarkable a success, at this place, can
safely plume himself on his patience and physical endurance.

For instance, this morning, for the first time, I ordered broiled Spring
Chicken.

The waiter gave me a disconsolate look and proceeded to gird up his
loins with a base ball belt.

In a few moments he dashed past the window in hot pursuit of a fowl of
venerable appearance, but of a style of going that would have put to
shame any ostrich that Dr. LIVINGSTONE ever saw.

I asked the head waiter if he called that a _Spring Chicken_?

He said he guessed that chicken could out-Spring any chicken in the
place.

This clears up an