Utterly Crushed.

The following report of a conversation heard near a tenement appeared in a recent number of Lippincotts Magasine: "Did that there woman from the mission give ye a call yistidy?" "Deck and she did. Them kind makes me tired. Didn't she set for a good hour talking to me about sanytation an' hygeeny an' how I ought to give civilized milk to my baby, an' all that sort o' rubbish, until I got tired an' I sez to her sez I, 'Did she have any babies of her own?' An' when she looked foolish an' said as how she was 'Miss Brown,' I sez, sez I, 'Well seein' that Iv'e buried ten, I don't see as no one has any call to tell me how to rare up babies, 'speshly some one as never rared up none of her own.' I guess that dashed her so she won't be apt to come round givin' me no more of her gab about civilized milk an' sannytation an' sich nonsense."

Gangrenous Patriotism. At Marty Maloney's wake a tinge of patriotism is manifest: "Phat did he die of, Mrs. Maloney?" "Gangrene, Mr. Finnegan!" "Well, thank Hivin for the color, Mrs. Maloney!"-Exch.