"Hoh!" cried little Janie, as the photographer came down to take a picture of the ocean. "He'll never get a picture of the ocean. It don't never stand still long enough."
A TERRIBLE CHANGE.
After Polly had been at the seashore for a week she ran in to her mother weeping.
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" she cried, holding up her brown little hand. "I'm a-turnin' into a 'ittle darky goyl!"
A FISH STORY.
There is an old darky who can be found any day perched on such freight as may rest on the platform of the little station at S—— up in Maine. He has a cheerful word for every one that will greet him, and was never known to lose his good-humor except on one occasion. One morning he was as usual perched on a bale of straw, but instead of whittling at a piece of stick, a habit of his, he sat with his face in his hands, gazing mournfully out over the little lake that stretched away among the hills. It was then I noticed that his nose had assumed enormous proportions, almost shutting out his eyes.
"Why, Ike, what's the matter with your nose?"
He shook his head sadly, and inquired if I had a little "baccy." I handed him some, and waited for an explanation about his nose.