A nut-brovm naaid is attracted by a brilliant red and yellow soarf. She asks the Bleepy merchant, nodding before his wares: " What íb this rag worth ?" He answers, with profound indifference : "Ten reals. "Hombre! are you dreaming or crazy?" She drops the coveted neck-gear, and moves on, apparently horror-strioken. " Don't be rash ! The soarf is worth twenty reals; but, for the sake of Santissima Maria, I offer it to you at half price. Very well ! You are not suited. Wliat will you give ?" " Caramba ! Am I a buyer and seller as well ? The thing is worth three reals - more is simple robbery." "Maria! José! and all the family ! We cannot trade. Sooner than sell for eight reals I shall raise the cover of my brains ! Go, thou ! It is 8 in the morning, and still thoudreamest." She lays down the scarf reluctantly, saying: "Five." But the outraged merchant snorta, soornfully: "Eight was my last word ! Go !" She moves away, thinking how well that soarf would look in the Apollo Gardens, and casts over her shoulder a Parthian glance, and bids - "Six !" " Take it ! It is madness, but I cannot waste my time in bargaining." Both congratúlate themselves on the operation. He would have taken five, and she would have given seven. A man ordered sorae spring chickens for dinner, and, whoa ho atteiaptod to carve them, one of them sprung intohis lap. "That settles it," he remarkesd ; "these are undoubtedly spring chickens, bnt they have seen a fall or two before this. " - Chicago Commercial A dvertiacr.