Twas SUSAN B. ANTHONY.

"How do, PUNCHY?" said she; "I've left the _Revolution_. Yes, left it
now, and we've got a new editor, and she's beautiful and don't charge a
cent."

"Why, that's like me!" said Mr. P.

"Oh, PUNCHY!" said the gentle SUSAN, wringing the water out of her
flannel skirts, "none of your joking here. Come, take my arm."

Here Mr. P. drew back in apprehension.

"Why, what's the matter?" said SUSAN. "Are you afraid of a little water,
and you a man, too? See me! I'm as wet as sop. Don't keep me waiting
here, now, or I'll feel like saying "Damn" again, and that sort of thing
won't do too often. I want you to come along with me up to LESTER
WALLACE'S place--the 'Hut,' you know. I'm stopping with him. It's two or
three hours yet before lunch-time, and we can have a good talk."

Just at this minute Mr. PUNCHINELLO saw a sea-gull skimming past, and he
said he would like to catch it and give it to LESTER for his menagerie.
So he hurried after it.

The next day, Mr. P. went out fishing. He hired a boat, and a man to
sail it, and while the man was getting ready to put off, Mr. P. took his
seat in the bow and began to fix his lines. He always likes to sit in
the bow. The tiller don't knock him so often in the back, and the boom
don't bother his head so much. What he particularly wanted was to catch