I took the almanac, and turned over some of its leaves. There was not a particle of information in the book, except what related to the sun, and moon, and stars, and that formed but a small portion of the volume. "My son," said I, pleasantly, "what do you buy this book for?"
"To make me laugh," said he.
"But is that all you read books for—to find something to laugh at?" I inquired.
"No, sir," he replied, "but then this book is so funny. Giles Manly has got one, and"—he hesitated.
"He has a great time over it," I interrupted, to which the little boy nodded, as much as to say,
"Yes, sir, that's it."
"Did your father send you after this book?" I asked.
"No, sir."
"Did your mother tell you to get it?"
"No, sir. But my mother gave me a shilling, and told me I might buy just such a book as I liked."