ttermilk.

After Ransom had insulted his Digestive Apparatus for many years with
the horrible Concoctions of the Gents' Cafe he resolved to go back to
his native Town and visit some of his Blood Relations so that he could
get at least one more Crack at real American Grub.

He wrote that he was coming and his Kin became greatly Agitated.

"Our celebrated Cousin, the Hon. Ransom Peabody, is coming to visit us,"
they said. "We must make unusual Preparations to receive the big
Battleship. He is Rich and High-Toned and has been living at one of
those $6-a-Day Palaces and we must cut a big Melon when he shows up. He
is accustomed to City Food and we must not insult him with ordinary
Provender."

So they began framing up Dishes out of a Subscription Cook Book
purchased the year before from a Lady with Gold Glasses and a grand flow
of Language.

The Hon. Ransom arrived late one Evening and all Night he lay awake in
the Spare Bed-Room, gloating over the prospect of a Home Breakfast.

"Me for the Sausage Cakes with the good old Sage rubbed into them," said
Ranse. "I will certainly show the Buckwheats how to take a Joke and the
way I'll dip into that Coffee will be a Caution. And mebbe I won't go to
those Eggs direct from the Hen!"

He arose early, but had to wait two Hours. As he was from the City, the
Family had postponed Breakfast until 9 o'clock. When he faced up to the
Table he was Wolfish. First they gave him Grape Fruit au Kirsch. Then
the Finger Bowl with the cute Rose Leaves floating idly on the dimpled
Surface. Then a dainty Lamb Chop with an ornamental Fence around it and
a sweet little cup of Cocoa in the China that Uncle Henry bought at the
World's Fair. Then French Toast and Eggs a la Gazaza, with Christmas
Trees stuck into them.

The Hon. Ransom arose and howled like a Siberian Wolf, which was
Impolite of him. Before he went Home he did manage to get a little real
Eating, but every one said he was very Eccentric to prefer such a simple
dish as Fried Chicken.

Moral--Hurry up and get it before the Chef and the Cook-Book have us
entirely Civilized.

NOTHING TO WEAR

BY WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER

Miss Flora M'Flimsey, of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,
And her father assures me, each time she was there,
That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris
(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery),
Spent six consecutive