suit the
place exactly. He became a doctor in two hours, and it only cost him
twenty dollars to complete his education. He bought a book, Sir, and
read the chapter on fevers, that was enough. He was called to see a sick
woman indeed, and he felt her wrist, looked into her mouth, and then,
turning to her husband, asked solemnly, if he had a 'sorrel sheep?'
'Why, no, I never heard of such a thing.' Said the doctor, nodding his
head knowingly, 'Have you got a sorrel horse then?' 'Yes,' said the man,
'I drove him to the mill this morning.' 'Well,' said the doctor, 'he
must be killed immediately, and some soup made of him for your wife.'
The woman turned her head away, and the astonished man inquired if
something else would not do for the soup, the horse was worth a hundred
dollars, and was all the one he had. 'No,' said the doctor, 'the book
says so, and if you don't believe it I will read it to you: Good for
fevers--sheep sorrel or horse sorrel. There, Sir.' 'Why, doctor,' said
the man and his wife, 'it don't mean a sorrel sheep or horse, but--'
'Well, I know what I am about,' interrupted the doctor; 'that's the way
we doctors read it, and we understand it.' "Now," continued the
speaker, amidst the roars of the house, "unless my sorrel doctor can be
one of the professors, I must vote against this bill." The blow most
effectually killed the bill, it is needless to state.

EDITORIALS.

A NOTED chap once stepped in the sanctum of a venerable and highly
respected editor, and indulged in a tirade against a citizen with whom
he was on bad terms. "I wish," said he, addressing the man with the pen,
"that you would write a severe article against R----, and put it in your
paper." "Very well," was the reply. After some more conversation the
visitor went away. The next morning he came rushing into the office, in
a violent state of excitement. "What did you put in your paper? I have
had my nose pulled and been kicked twice." "I wrote a severe article, as
you desired," calmly returned the editor, "and signed your name to
it."--_Harrisburgh Telegraph._

COMPENSATION.

A MISERLY old farmer, who had lost one of his best hands in the midst of
hay-making, remarked to the sexton, as he was filling up the grave:
"It's a sad thing to lose a good mower, at a time like this--but after
all, poor Tom was a great eater."

JUST RIGHT.

"IS that clock right over there?" asked a visitor. "Right over there?
Certainly; 't