The Dog (looking pathetically up to her)-I am very hungry.

The Woman (alias Mother Hubbard, smiling kindly, keeping herself well in hand)-Well, dearie! You shall have enough -your fill for once! What say you to a tenderloin of beef, garnished with vegetables? To a tender fowl, basted to the point of rapture; to a nice dish of lump sugar, topping off with a delightful shin bone?

The Dog (his mouth watering at the thought)-Ah! You are too good! Can it be that you have all this in mind for me?

The Woman (playing with his feelings, and gloating over him)-And more! Do I not hate thee enough to love thee well? Am I not a woman, and therefore to be believed? Wait. In yon cupboard

The Dog (frantic with joy, his tail vibrant)-Is what?

The Woman (her eyes feasting on his expression as she goes to the cupboard, and swiftly returns, thrilling him with a look)-Nothing!

The Dog-Fiend!

The Woman-Fudge!

(Curtain.)

THE DINNER.

THE 'HE idea of the dinner is to spend as much money as possible

on food for a given number of persons who haven't the courage to refuse to attend. Competition is not only the life of trade, but of society, and it is only by competition that dinners have come to their present state of indigestibility.

The first dinner party given was in the Garden of Eden, when Eve asked Adam to be present at an informal apple opening, and since then the idea has been steadily growing. There is supposed to be nothing like a dinner to promote social inter

course. Social intercourse is the ability to talk without thinking, and the food that taxes the stomach most takes all the more blood away from the brain, thus rendering the function much easier to social novices. This is why men can usually be persuaded to attend a dinner, when they would run from an after

noon tea.

The ability of the average human being to enjoy, a modern dinner depends upon the proportionate size of his brain to that of his stomach. A man with a large brain and a small stomach has no innings at a dinner, but the process of evolution is rapidly developing a race of beings who are all stomachs and no brains, and who absorb food with the same ease that they use their tongues to talk with. The proper accompaniment to all dinners should be wind, women and wittles. The gentle breezes of ordinary dinner talk should be succeeded by after-dinner speeches in the shape of well-worn witticisms that arouse gales of merriment. As for the women, they should never be absent from a dinner, which, without them, is fit only for politics; and as for the wittles, anything that under no circumstances a man would ever eat by himself is considered to be the best form.

A lover is known by the pulse he keeps.

For a literature to be successful, the people who write must know almost as much as those who do not write.

Religion is like a serial story-to be continued in our next.

THE WALL STREET POINT OF VIEW.

HAVING been down in Wall Street for several weeks, and being obliged now to write for a living, I am prepared to give to all the result of my experience. I am one of those philanthropic souls who, when they have a real good thing, ache and burn to impart it to the world.

One of the first things to learn in the Street is the terms that are used. When you have mastered all the terms, you are then a "financier." We will therefore plunge at once into the heart of the subject. It is distressing enough to have lost your money, but not to be able to define your transactions in fitting language is extremely humiliating.

Wall Street is made up, first, of operators. An operator is a man whose business it is to make money out of other people, or to lose money that other people make. When you begin to speculate you immediately become an operator.

Operators are divided into two classes-bulls and bears. When you first go into the Street you are a bull. After you have been there a little while you are a bear. Then you become a looker-on. A looker-on is anyone who has seen better days.

A margin is the money you put up when you first go into the Street. Increasing your margin is what you do after you have bought any stock.

"Going short" is selling out something you haven't got, with

AB WALKER

the idea that if you should ever have to get it, you will lose what you have got.

A "blind pool" is an organized band of robbers, who usually get together on Sunday, having found out that you have been buying a certain stock, and agree to keep on selling it until you haven't a cent left in the world. When you are one of a blind pool, however, it is then a solid array of the ablest financiers in the country.

"Rigging" a stock up is what happens to it immediately after you have sold it out at a loss.

A tip is something given to you by an insider as a guide. It is the evidence of things unseen, the substance of things hoped for, and it always turns out the opposite from what you expected. An insider is anyone who has acquired a certain amount of ignorance about a particular stock.

A "gilt-edged" security is anything which some other fellow has more than he wants of, and wishes to sell to you.

There are a great many more terms used in Wall Street, but these are all I learned. At this point my collateral gave out. Collateral, by the way, is what you leave behind you when you leave the Street.

Before marriage a man holds an umbrella over a woman's head to keep her from getting wet-after marriage, to keep her hat from getting wet.

A Trend of Modern Thought met a Great Idea.

"Where are you going?" said the Great Idea.

"I'm going to make a successful novel," said the Trend of

Modern Thought.

"Let me go with you."

"No, thanks. You might spoil the whole affair.”

THE WOMAN OF HIS CHOICE.

WHITTLER let himself in mechanically with his latch-key, hung up his hat and coat in the closet under the stairs and walked soberly up to the second floor. He remembered afterwards that he was wondering at this particular moment just what there would be for dinner, and just how much he would enjoy it.

On the landing in the hall above he was confronted by a tall young woman, very trim and very stylish. It took only one glance to see that she was pretty.

"Who are you?" asked Whittler.

"I'm your wife."

"My wife! Why, I never saw you before."

Whittler began to wonder whether he was alive or not.

"Oh, yes, you have seen me before. It's all right. Come in here and sit down and we'll talk it over."

Whittler looked at her again.

Yes he had seen her before, but to save his life he couldn't remember where. He felt that there was something wrong. Perhaps he was being buncoed. Perhaps this person was a female burglar in disguise. Perhaps she had escaped from some asylum. He would be careful. He wouldn't irritate her. He smiled.

"Ah, yes," he replied, "certainly. Excuse me a moment. I just want to go in here and brush my hair."

"Certainly," said the lady. "I know what you want. By all means do it. Time is no object to me. I've got all the time in the world. Look around and see if you can find her."

Whittler, although startled to think that the lady had guessed his very thought, lost no time in following out his impulse. If he could only find his real wife, she would explain. He passed on rapidly through her dressing-room. Not there. Then in through the other bedrooms in rapid succession. Not there. Then he started at the attic and went over the entire house down to the