A half famished fellow in the Southern States, tells of a baker (whose loaves had been growing small by degrees and beautifully less) who when going his round to serve his customers, stopped at the door of one of them, and knocked, when the lady within exclaimed: "Who's there?" and was answered: "The baker." "What do you want?" "To leave your bread." "Well, you needn't make such a fuss about it-put it through the keyhole!"