said to her. "I suppose you do not know where
Boston is?"

"Oh, yes, I do," answered the little girl eagerly. "Our Sunday-school
has a missionary there."

The motorist was a stranger in Boston's streets. It was evening. A man
approached.

"Sir," said he, "your beacon has ceased its functions."

"What?" gasped the astonished driver.

"Your illuminator, I say, is shrouded in unmitigated oblivion."

"I don't quite--"

"The effulgence of your irradiator has evanesced."

"My dear fellow, I--"

"The transversal ether oscillations in your incandenser have been
discontinued."

Just then a little newsboy came over and said:

"Say, mister, yer lamp's out!"

Senator Hoar used to tell with glee of a Southerner just home from
New England who said to his friend, "You know those little white round
beans?"

"Yes," replied the friend; "the kind we feed to our horses?"

"The very same. Well, do you know, sir, that in Boston the enlightened
citizens take those little white round beans, boil them with molasses
and I know not what other ingredients, bake them, and then--what do
you suppose they do with the beans?"

"They--"

"They eat 'em, sir," interrupted the first Southerner impressively;
"bless me, sir, they eat 'em!"

The newly married couple had gone West to live, and as the Christmas
season drew nigh she became homesick.

"Even the owls are different here," she sighed.

"And how is that?" he asked.

"Here they say 'To-hoot-to-who,' and in Boston they say
'To-hoot-to-whom.'"

"Lay down, pup. Lay down. That's a good doggie. Lay down, I tell you."

"Mister, you'll have to say, 'Lie down.' He's a Boston terrier."

"Well, the Red Sox won the world's series."

"Yes," said the Boston girl, "we feel very proud of the Red--er--the
Red Hose."

BOY SCOUTS

_A Boy Scout's Will_

I, John W. Bradshaw, pioneer scout of the Wolf Patrol, having attained
the age of maturity and realizing that my Boy Scout days are numbered,
do hereby give, devise and bequeath my scout assets, tangible and
intangible, as follows, to wit:

My uniform, pack and equipment, to Larry O'Toole, the son of my
mother's laundress, to be preserved for him until he is old enough to
use them;

My scout's manual, axe and compass, to George Washington Jackson, 3d,
son of my father's handy man, with the admonition that he organize, if
possible, a troop of scouts among the colored boys of the village;

My strap watch with th