Mr. Jones.—Yes, ma'am: so is the measles. I know two gentlemen who were kept away from their base-ball last Saturday afternoon by the measles.
Mrs. Smith.—What an affliction! Is that horse of yours safe? Does he ever kick?
Mr. Jones.—I never knew him to kick in my life; but, as you see, he is a little restive: he may step on your toes.
Mrs. Smith.—Oh, pray hold him in, Mr. Jones! Don't let him be so gay.
Mr. Jones.—Madam, my horse seems to be of the opinion that we have talked long enough: so I will wish you a very good-morning.
Mrs. Smith.—Good-morning, Mr. Jones. Pray don't run over any little boys in the street.
Mr. Jones.—Little boys must not come in my way. Good-by, Mrs. Smith! Good-by, Miss Aldabella!
JAMIE'S LETTER TO A LITTLE UNCLE.
My dear little Uncle,—You see I have not forgotten that long ago you wrote me a letter. My mamma told me to-night that she would answer it for me, because something happened yesterday that I want you to know.