IKE PARTINGTON AND PUGILISM.

Mrs. Partington was much surprised to find Ike, one rainy afternoon, in the spare room, with the rag-bag hung to the bed-post, which he was belaboring very lustily with his fists as huge as two one cent apples.

"What gymnastiness are you doing here?" said she, as she opened the door.

He did not stop, and merely replying, "Training," continued to pitch in. She stood looking at him as he danced around the bag, busily punching its rotund sides.

"That's the Morrissey touch," said he, giving one side a dig; "and that," hitting the other side, "is the Benicia Boy."

"Stop!" she said, and he immediately stopped after he had given the last blow for Morrissey. "I am afraid the training you are having isn't good," said she, "and I think you had better train in some other company. I thought your going into compound fractures in school would be dilatorious to you. I don't know who Mr. Morrissey is, and I don't want to, but I hear that he has been whipping the Pernicious Boy, a poor lad with a sore leg, and I think he should be ashamed of himself." Ike had read the "Herald," with all about "the great prize fight" in it, and had become entirely carried away with it.