THE ANSWER.

A MAN, desperately in

love, once sought a philosopher for a cure.

"I have had," said the man, "about all I can stand of this sort of thing. Between terrific quarrels and midnight make-ups I'm about dead. I want to withdraw with honor and a whole skin."

"Your case is a pathetic one," said the philosopher. "My advice to you is to study the workings of your own mind.

You will find then that what you deem real is only, after all, the phenomena of being. This creature that you love is in reality only an illusion, a subjective projection, and exists only in terms of empirical consciousness. After awhile, by reflections of this sort, you will rise above such folly."

So the man went away and began to reflect upon the transcendental æsthetic, and the properties of space and time. But he found the relief was only temporary, for when the girl came and put her arms around his neck he was as badly off as ever. So in despair he went to a wise man.

"I'm in love," he said, "and don't like it. I want to be calmer and do things worth while."

"Study astronomy," said the wise man. "After you have been at it for awhile your own insignificance will appall you.

You and your girl will fade away. Then when you come back to earth take care to bring only yourself."

So the man looked at the stars.

But there was the girl behind him, with her soft hands in his hair, and at last he gave it up. "What are a few picayune planets," he cried, "compared with her caresses?"

And then he was obliged to acknowledge that still he was not his own master.

And after the next quarrel he went to an alchemist.

"Mix me a drug," he said, "that will cure me of love."

The alchemist smiled.

"My friend," he replied, "to be candid with you, a great many fine stories have been floating around about sundry old potions for this purpose, but they are all quack remedies. The only cure I know of is prussic acid."

The man smiled grimly. "I don't want to die quite yet," he said. "I want to get rid of this love feeling. It's the worst agony I ever experienced. It blows hot and it blows cold."

"Well," said the alchemist, "go and ask that clown over yonder. Maybe he'll tell you."

So the man went to the clown and told his story.
"Want to know the answer?" the clown grinned.
"Yes, yes," said the man, impatiently.

"Marry the girl," said the clown.

Fame is like a light-some strike it with a match, others use a candle, while some others use lamps. But in the end they all flicker out.

The unhappiness of the wealthy is expressed concretely in ostentation.

THE LAST WORD.

THE youthful couple who had just moved into the suburban town stood irresolutely at the door of the church.

His Imperial Majesty, gracefully concealing his cloven foot behind a flower bed, smiled pleasantly at them from the rustic seat near the entrance.

"Pardon me," he said pleasantly, "but I wouldn't go in there."

"Why not?" chorused the man and his wife.

"You'll find it somewhat of a bore. You"-addressing the man-"will be put on commit

tees, and have to pass the plate. If you go to the theatre too much, have a wine supper occasionally, or are seen on the links on Sunday morning, you'll have it rubbed into you. And you"addressing the woman-"will have to belong to sewing circles that you don't care for, and foreign mission societies which you don't believe in."

"I never thought of that," said the man.

"Nor I," said the woman.

"There's a good deal of humbug about it," said his Majesty. "And besides, it's expensive. They are begging all the time. It's pew rent, and the church debt, and the choir, and incidentals -there's no end of it. Better stay out."

"We will," exclaimed the man and the woman simultaneously, and prepared to withdraw. But at this moment the pastor,

who had overheard the conversation, appeared on the scene with outstretched arms.

"My dear friends," he observed, with the utmost confidence, "please allow me to observe that my church is the church of the place. And it is only through my church that you can expect to get into society."

And they hurried in precipitately.

CINDERELLA UP TO DATE.

THEY had just returned from a wedding, and the two sisters were discussing all they had seen with their usual volubility. Cinderella alone remained silent.

"Yes," said one sister, "we, who have been through a private seminary and a college, have been taught to observe, and it is natural that, between us, nothing should escape our observation. Is it not so? Let me ask you, then, if you took it all in?"

"Indeed I did," replied the other sister. "I noticed first the gowns of every one of the relatives, and by inwardly comparing their styles and make I could tell within a hundred dollars of just how much each relative was worth. Not only this, but their actions toward each other revealed to me but too plainly just what their opinions of each other were. And then, the bride!"

"Yes, the bride!" exclaimed the other. "She was dressedAnd in thirty-five minutes by the clock she described what the bride wore.

"And you," said the first sister, turning to Cinderella, "tell us what you saw."

Cinderella was silent until she spoke.

"I saw all you saw, and more," she said.
The sisters gazed at her superciliously.
"Indeed!" they chorused.

didn't see?"

"What did you see that we

"I noticed the groom," said Cinderella.

AFTER READING A POPULAR NOVEL.

NOTE.-Anyone supplying the correct answers to these questions will be given a trip to the North Pole.

him?

Why did the town nestle among the hills?

Why did she feel a mantling blush steal over her cheeks?
How did it happen that a strange sense of unrest swept over

What was it that she swept out of the room?

Why did she never look more strangely beautiful than upon that evening?

What made him fleck the ashes from his cigarette?

How long did her heart stand still?

Who deserted the ballroom, and why?

Why did the cold wind that fanned their cheeks feel so good? Why did it seem to her as if all the light had gone out of her young life?

What made the house stiller than death that night?

When confronted by the lawyers, why was he visibly affected?

Why was she the life of the whole gathering when her heart told her that all was lost?

Why did the dog look up at that moment and wag his tail, as if he too understood her?

What choked his utterance?

What made her look back on that day all the rest of her life?
Why was there a long pause?

Why were her hands so nerveless when she let the telegram drop?

What made her suspect that he had been drinking?

Why did he clutch the photograph so wildly?

What made her feel intuitively?

Why did his voice have a ring of triumph as he spoke?