literary luncheon. Your right overshoe has a large block of
Buffalo mud just under the instep, the odor of a Utica cigar hangs about
your clothing, and the overcoat itself shows the slovenly brushing of
the porters of the through sleepers from Albany, and stenciled upon the
very end of the 'Wellington' in fairly plain lettering is your name,
'Conan Doyle.'"

DETERMINATION

After the death of Andrew Jackson the following conversation is said to
have occurred between an Anti-Jackson broker and a Democratic merchant:

MERCHANT (_with a sigh_)--"Well, the old General is dead."

BROKER (_with a shrug_)--"Yes, he's gone at last."

MERCHANT (_not appreciating the shrug_)--"Well, sir, he was a good man."

BROKER (_with shrug more pronounced_)--"I don't know about that."

MERCHANT (_energetically_)--"He was a good man, sir. If any man has
gone to heaven, General Jackson has gone to heaven."

BROKER (_doggedly_)--"I don't know about that."

MERCHANT--"Well, sir, I tell you that if Andrew Jackson had made up his
mind to go to heaven, you may depend upon it he's there."

DIAGNOSIS

An epileptic dropped in a fit on the streets of Boston not long ago, and
was taken to a hospital. Upon removing his coat there was found pinned
to his waistcoat a slip of paper on which was written:

"This is to inform the house-surgeon that this is just a case of plain
fit: not appendicitis. My appendix has already been removed twice."

DIET

Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye diet.--_William Gilmore
Beymer_.

There was a young lady named Perkins,
Who had a great fondness for gherkins;
She went to a tea
And ate twenty-three,
Which pickled her internal workin's.

"Mother," asked the little one, on the occasion of a number of guests
being present at dinner, "will the dessert hurt me, or is there enough
to go round?"

The doctor told him he needed carbohydrates, proteids, and above all,
something nitrogenous. The doctor mentioned a long list of foods for him
to eat. He staggered out and wabbled into a Penn avenue restaurant.

"How about beefsteak?" he asked the waiter. "Is that nitrogenous?"

The waiter didn't know.

"Are fried potatoes rich in carbohydrates or not?"

The waiter couldn't say.

"Well, I'll fix it," declared the poor man in despair. "Bring me a large
plate of hash."

A Colonel, who used to assert
That naught his digestion could hurt,
Was forced