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A certain "funny rúan," whose name is familiar to those who read the comie papers of the day, was rnakiug a deposit of sonie checks at his bank when the receiving teller remarked: "Oh, well, Mr. B , I suppose the bard times don't affect raen of your profession? People must have poetry, I take it." "Yes," said Mr. B cheerfuily. "We poets thrive in hard times or easy times." "I presume so," continued the teller. "It must be a pretiy good business. I imagine that a poem of yours must be good for a hundred dollars anyvvhere you please to offer it." " Ye-e-e-s," said Mr. B thoughtfully. "Oh, of course, of course," he added. Two days later he went into the bank again and handed a deposit slip lo the teller. It read thus: Cash $14 80 Checks 36 10 Four poems 400 00 Total $450 90 Rut-, Air R 's lvmkbook showed a posit of only ?f0.90.-