Mr. Jones.—Good-morning, madam. It is a fine day. Are you going out for a walk?

Mrs. Smith.—I was just taking my little Aldabella out for an airing. Poor child! She has been kept in the house so long by the bad weather, that she has lost all her color.

Mr. Jones.—Be careful, and don't let her catch the whooping-cough.

Mrs. Smith.—O sir! you alarm me. Is it much about?

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!