CEREMONY AND ETIQUETTE _By ANNA WENTWORTH SEARS_ WHAT GIRLS ARE DOING _By a New York Girl._ * * * * * 10 Cents a Copy. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. $4.00 a Year. HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York [Illustration: SYMPATHY.] * * * * * "Jimmie," said Mrs. Hicks, "won't you have some brown bread?" "No, thank you," said Jimmie; "I'm afraid to eat it." "Afraid?" asked Mrs. Hicks. "Yes," said Jimmie. "You see, ma'am, my papa says red beef will give me red cheeks, and I'm afraid brown bread will make a darky out of me." * * * * * "Pat," said Tommie to the gardener, "what is nothing?" "There ain't any such thing as nothin'," replied Pat; "becaze whin ye find nothin', and come to look at it, there ain't nothin' there." * * * * * An absent-minded old gentleman went into a shop to buy a new cane. "That's a very nice one," he said, picking one up from the counter. "How much is that?" "That's the one you brought in with you. You just laid it down there, sir," said the shopkeeper. "Oh, really?" said the old gentleman. "Then I don't need a new one. Good-day." And he walked out. * * * * * "What is the baby crying about?" asked his mother. "He doesn't want to get in the bath-tub without his rubbers on," said the nurse. "He's afraid he'll get his feet wet." * * * * * A WITTY DECISION. A good story is told of Dr. Arne, the composer of the English national hymn "Rule, Britannia." He was called upon one day to judge between two singers, neither of whom was worthy of a moment's consideration. After patiently hearing them, he said to one of the contestants, "You are the worst singer I ever heard in my life." "Ah!" cried the other, exultingly, "then I win?" "No," said Dr. Arne. "You can't sing at all." * * * * * "Well, my son," said the Freshman's father, "I am very glad you have gone on your class football team. Have you got everything you need?" "Everything, father, except a new set of teeth, and I may be able to get through the year without losing those that I have," replied the Freshman. * * * * * Jack got asking his grandmother questions the other night. One of them was: "Grandma, if you was a centipede, would you always insist on putting on fifty pairs of rubbers before you walked on the grass?" Up to this hour the dear old lady has not made up her mind on the important point. * * * * *