Untrustworthy

Fame has its own peculiar bitterness. "Isn't it pleasant to go back Tith laarela to your old home?" asked som'e one of a celebrated artist, who replied, qiïizzically: "It woulil be, except th.it many öi" ny townsmen think :ue a house painter. TW.at is a worthy trade, but still it i.s not mj trade." Yet snch a stiüg is not the shnrpest to be imagined. A century ajío tiiere iived a famoiis almanac maker, uamed Partridfte. One day, wliile tniveJinj? in the country, he stoppel for dinner at an inn, and afterw&rd calied for hi.s horxe, in order to continue his jouri'ey. "If you wil] take my advice, sir,"said the hoscler, "you wiü stay where you are, unltws you want to be overtakeu by a heavy rain." "Konsense," was the reply. "It doesn't look in the least like rain." He proceeded on his way, and was thor oufjhly drciiched by the shovver in whicli ho had refused to believe. Turninp; back, be was iut by the hostler with a broad Krin. "Well, sir," said the man, "you see I was right, after all." "Yes, you were right, and now you must teil me how you came to know about the rain." "Well, sir," replied the man, "you see we have a book at our houso calied 'Partridge's Almanac,' and wbenever that fellow promises us a fair day we know it will rain. Now this day is put down in the almanac as settled fine weather.' I looked at the prediction before I biought your horse out, and that was how I could put youon yourguard."-