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About The Corvallis gazette. (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 30, 1885)
Con allis Weekly Gazette.
GAZETTE PUBLISHING HOUSE, Pubs.
THE MORTGAGED FARM.
Drought in Deccan and floods in
Bengal have combined to destroy the
crops of the present season, and the
cable brings intelligence from Calcutta
that there is consternation at the
prospect of the famine now impending.
Georgia has. just been provided with
a local option law which leaves the
mat ter of permitting or forbidding the
sale of liquors of any kind entirely
with the people of each county. An
election must be held on the question
whenever one-tenth of the voters pe
tition for it; and in the event of a de
cision in favor of license, another elec
tion may be held two years later.
The papers print a correspondence
between an Israelite and Mr. Howells'
the novelist. The Israelite, who pro
fesses admiration for Mr. Howells'
works, objects because Mr. Howells
has intimated in his last magazine
story that a settlement of Israelites in
a fist class street tends to depreciate
the value of adjoining estates. And
the obliging novelist agrees to omit the
passage in the book when published.
The Israelite was undulv sensitive.
BY THEO. D. C. MILLER, M. D.
We are both growing aged together,
And Jennie has left the old h ome,
To walk by the wide of another.
As on through life's journey they roam
While John, who was faithful and loving!
ias lerc us without hiB strong arm.
And now, when we need their protection
Alley tell us to mortgage the farm.
I thought John would be our protectc-
xie always was kind when n- boy,
And Betsey, my wife, true and loving,
Oft called him a fond mother's joy!
But he was led off by companions,
In ways that bring evil and harm.
And 1. ft his old parents in sorrow,
To suffer or mortgage the farm.
Last night, while in sleep, I lay dreamini
That Jennioand John were both true;
But when I awakened iivranture.
The sweet vision passed from my view
I Know, wife, we re aged and feeble,
And feel that this life hath no charm.
But love the dear home of our childhood
And cling to the old, cherished farm.
Now we arc both loveless and childless,
The wrinkles are deep on our brow
Our hair has grown aged and whitened,
Our footsteps are tottering now!
While we are so feeble and helpless,
With none to protect us from harm,
We only can suffer in silence,
And tearfully mortgage the farm.
A MWSPAPEE FILE.
Senator Plumb of Kansas predicts
that within the next decade "immi
gration, instead of coming from the
East to the West, will be returning
from the West to the East, and that
the young men of New England,born in
sight of the sea, instead of folio wing the
example of their fathers in seeking in
vestment of ambition and capacity
and skill, in the West, will find their
chance upon the sea or in foreign
countries, where they can better
realize their ambition for fortune than
upon American soil." Most people
will regard this prediction as very wild.
The Pacific railroads owe the Gov
ernment about $64,600,000 as prin
cipal of the bonds issued to aid in their
construction, and about as much
more for accrued interest which they
have not paid. They hope to get re
leased from a portion if not all of this
debt before the bonds mature, but
that is hardly possible. Another
scheme is to allow the government to
foreclose and sell, and then bid in the
property for a small percentage of the
There are now living nine ex-Senators
who were members of the United
States Senate at the beginning of the
War of the Rebellion, and who took
their seats at the memorable first ses
sion of the Thirty-seventh Congress,
on July 4, 1861. They are Willard
Saulsbury, of Delaware; Lyman Trum
bull, of Illinois; James Harlan, of
Iowa; Samuel C. Pomeroy, 6f Kan
sas; Henry M. Rice and Morton S.
Wilkinson, of Minnesota; Daniel
Clark, of New Hampshire; John Sher
man, of Ohio, and James R. Doolittle,
Bishop William Taylor's missionary
band is pushing into the interior of Af
rica, and the enterprise seems likely to
be successful. Some of them are now
400 miles from the west coast. Dr.
Taylor hopes next year to push on to
the Tushilange and Basonge countries,
some 700 or 800 miles fromthecoast,
the goal he originally had in view.
Only one member of the party has
thus far died. He was a blindly en
thusiastic young man who believed in
faith cures. When he was seized with Af
rican fever no persuasion could induce
him to take medical treatment until
he thought he was dying, and then it
was too late. Bishop Taylor writes
that the natives are giving his party
a very friendly reception, and are
eager to have the white people settle
among them. Some of the chiefs have
offered to help build the mission sta
tions, and they hold out all the induce
ments they can command to get the
missionaries t,n ma.lrptViirVimnpa wifl-i
"I write seventeen columns a week
of this infernal stuff," said the editor
of a society paper, who was much too
good for his position, "and I write
my brain numb. The most I aim to
do is to keep clean from gross humbug
and toadying, but what more can I do?
There is no occasion for anything bet
ter people immediately say it is too
far above them. I ask myself some
times if there can be any lower depth
than this where I find myself. There
is one of the persons who can read
columns of such trash and enjoy it.
Do the variety actors ever make
faces at the audience from the wings,
I wonder, or does the clown in the
ring ever wish he might hit the public
in the nose with his mightiest kick if
he went under the sawdust the next
moment?" Perhaps they may do these
things and perhaps not, but readers
ought to know that in the circles of
bright editors and reporters society
news is always designated as "rot"
It was two days after Aunt Priscilla's
funeral, and Sue and I were sitting to
gether by the kitchen fire, with that
hush over our spirits still which follows
death and a burial. All the afternoon
we had been busy in getting the house
to rights, not meddling yet with the
things which had been hers, and were
now ours, but by dint of open windows,
sunshine, and furniture dusted and re
arranged, trying to restore to the
rooms that familiar look which they
had lost during three weeks of anxiety
and trouble. A few days more and we
must face a future which was full o
terrors. Meanwhile, custom as well as
inclination accorded a brief respite in
which to think of her who was gone
and of each other, with the clinging
fondness of those whose lives, never be
fore parted, were about to separate
i Sue sat on a low stool, her head
! against the chimney jamb. It was the
; chimney of Aunt Priscilla's youth;
: she never would alter it one of the
I wide, old fashioned kind, -with pot
hooks and blazing logs, and bake oven
! at one side. The soot blackened bricks
and faint red glow made abackground
, for my sister's head, with its great
I twist of fair hair and lily like slender
throat. Sue is very pretty, prettier
j than anybody I ever saw. I recollect
a picture of Cinderella sitting in just
i such an attitude by the chimney side.
She was equally picturesque at that
moment; so far as looks go, equally
j worthy of a prince; but, alas! no fairy
: godmother was likely to emerge from
j the apple room for her benefit. Aunt
: Pris, who in a small way, had enacted
that part towards us, was gone, and
j her big rocking chair which we had no
i heart to sit in, swung empty in its ac
! customed place, type of a like empti
i ness which we were conscious of in oth
: er things, and would feel for a long
I time to come.
Neither of us spoke for a while. We
were tired and spiritless, and John
Slade was coining presently to talk
i over things, so we saved our words.
Dr. Slade John was Sue's lover.
: Their poor little engagement had been
; formed two years ago. How many
years it was likely to last nobody could
guess, but they held on to it bravely,
i and were content to wait. Pretty
! soon, as we sat waiting, his step sound
ed without on the gravel, and with a
1 little tap courteous, but unnecessa-
ry, for the door was never locked he
entered, gave Sue a gentle kiss, me an
other, and sat down between us in
aunty's rocking chair. It wae a com
fort to have him do that. The house
seeTnd less forlorn at once.
"Well, children, how has the dav
gone?" he asked.
"Pretty well," replied Sue. "We
have been busy, and are tired to-night,
I think. I'm glad you are come, John
dear. We are getting lonely and dis
mal, Cree and I.
Lucretia is my name, but Sue and
Aunt Priscilla always called me ' 'Cree."
John adjusted a stick on the embers,
and with one daring poke sent a ton
gue of bright flame upward before he
answered. Then het took Sue's hand
in his broad palm, and patting it gen
"Now let's talk over matters. We
ought to decide what we are to do, we
That "three" was very comforting
to me, but John always is a comfort.
He was "made so" Aunt Pris said.
And he certainly carries out the pur
pose of his creation.
"Did your aunt leave any will? he
"Only this;" and I brought from be
tween the leaves of the big Bible, where
we had found it, a half sheet of note
paper, on which dear aunty had stat
ed in her own simple form, that she
left all she had to be equally divided
between her nieces, Susan and Lucre
tia Pendexter. Squire Packard's name
and Sarah Brackett's, our old wash
erwoman, were written below as wit
nesses. "Very well, said John, that's good
in law, I fancy; or if not, you are the
nearest relatives, and its yours any
way. What property did vour aunt
own besides this house?"
"She had an annuity of $250 a year
and $50 more from some turnpike
stock. That's all, except the house
and furniture, and there is a mortgage
of $300 on that. The annuity stops
now. doesn't it?"
John looked as though he wanted to
whistle, but refrained.
"Your aunt was a clever manager,"
he said "a capital manager. She
made a very little go a great way,
didn't she? I don't know any one else
who could live on $300 a year, with
mortgage interest takn out. You
have always seemed cozy and comfort
"We always have been. But wehad
the garden you know, and the cow
that gave us two-thirds of our living
Aunty was a wonderful housekeeper
though. Isn't it a great deal cheaper
to ieea women than men.' she always
"I suppose it is. Men are carnivor
ous. A diet of teaandvegetablesdon't
suit them very well; they are apt to
grumble for something more solid
Well, my dear girls, our summing up
isn t, very satislactory. liven without
the mortgage, you couldn't live on fit
ty dollars a year;"
"No. And I've been thinking what
we could do. So has Cree, though we
haven t spoken to each other about it
I might teach a district school, per
naps. And Cree "
"I could take a place as plain cool
There isn't anything else I could do so
well. Plain cooking, with dripping
lllVA ByjlbyLtW uy WOW Ul JClljU10HjC3,
and I gave a laugh which was meant
to be merry,
"It is hard," said John, with
moody look on his face which was
foreign to its usual frank brightness.
"How much a little money would
sometimes do for people who can't get
it, ana how little it is worth to other
people, who fling it away without a
thought ot its valuo! A thousand dol
lars, now! Any rich man would con
sider it a mere bagatelle in his expen
ses; but if I could command the sum,
it would make us three comfortable
"How do you mean? What would
you do with a thousand dollars if you
naa it, jonnr'
"I'll tell you. Langworthy is going
to sen his practice.
"It is a large practice for the coun
try, vou know. It brings him m six
or eight hundred a year sometimes
more. He has a chance to go into
partnership with his brother, out
West, somewhere, and he'll sell for a
Jut, John, some people like you
better than they do Dr. Liang
"Yes, some peopledo. Buttheques-
tion is, will they like me better than
the other man who buys Dr. Lang
worthy out? If I were that man 1
should command both practices. It is
a chance, don't you see? But a new
man coming in has his chance to cut
"I see. What can be done?"
"Nothing," with rueful glance.
That's the worst of it. I can only
keep on and hope for the best. But
it is hard, when with this miserable
thousand dollars I could double my
chances and make a nice home for you
two. sue, darling, don t cry.
She had laid her cheek down on his
arm, but she wasn't crying, only look
ing saaiy into tne nre.
"If we sold everything, all this which
aunty left us the home, everything
couldn't weget the thousand dollars?"
I asked desperately.
John shook his head. "I couldn t
let you do that, Cree, in any case.
You'll want your share some day
yourself; it mustn't go into buying a
practice for me. But, apart from
that, houses sell so badly now that
this wouldn t realize much over the
value of the mortgage at a forced sale.
And the furniture, though worth a
good deal to keep would go for noth
ing at an auction, that plan would
not do at all for any of us."
Still, there s no harm m thinking
about it, and seeing what we have,
and what it's worth," I urged, loth to
give up any ghost of a chance. "We
may do that, mayn t we, John!"
Of course, that is a thing you
must do sooner or later. Look over
the house, and make a list carefully,
and we'll consult and fix on approxi
mate values. Don't hurry about it,
though. Next week is time enough,
and ! know you need rest."
"Kest is the very thing I don t need
and can't take," I cried, impetuously.
something to nil up the long days
and keep us from thinking and getting
blue is whit we want. We'll makethe
list to-morrow, John."
A little more talk and he rose to go.
"Did you stop at the post office,
Yes. There was nothing for you."
"Not even the Intelligencer?" asked
"I forgot to tell you. There has
been a great fire in New York, and the
Intelligencer is burned out. Abner
brought the news over; it was tele
graphed to the Junction. They say
the building is a total loss, so I sup
pose there won't be any publication
for awhile some days at least."
"Poor aunty! how sorry she would
be!" sighed Sue. "Aunty took the pa
per ever since it began forty-five
years ago. She never missed a num
ber. There it all is upstairs stacks
and stacks of it. She was so proud of
her file. It's no use at all now, I sup
pose, is it, John?"
"The ragman will give a penny a
pound for it," I suggested; "that's
"We'll weigh the lot one of these
days and see what we can realize,"
said John. "Good night, children."
It was a ghostly task which we set
out to do next day. The past itself,
the faint fragmentary past, seems to
be wrapped up and enclosed, in those
busdles of time-worn articles with
which elderly people encumber their
storerooms and shelves. Some air of
antiquity exhales as you open them,
and, mingling with our modern air,
Eroduces an impression half laughable,
alf sad. Aunt Priscilla had been a
born collector. She loved old things
because they were old, apart from use
or value, and instinct and principle
combined had kept her from ever
throwing away anything in her life.
Our list was a very short one. A few
chairs and tables, a dozen thin spoons,
and a small teapot in silver, the
huge newspaper heap which I had
appraised at a penny the pound
these seemed the only salable things;
and we looked comically and grimly
into each other's faces as we set them
"I wish it were possible to eat intel
ligencers," said I.
"They say newspapers make excel-
lent counterpanes, ' 'replied Sue war n
er than blankets."
John came as usual in the ever i lg,
"Here's enterprise?" he called out as
he came in.
"What is enterprise?"
"The Intelligencer! Behold it, large
as life, and looking just as usual, only
forty-eight hours after the fire! That's
what I call pluck."
"Isn't it?" cried Sue, admiringly, as
she drew the paper from its wrapper
and held it to the blazethat she might
see the familiar page. Meanwhile I
took from my pocket our melancholy
"You were right John. Sue and I
have searched the house over to-day,
and this is all there is of any value
the furniture, a little silver, and those
I was interrupted by a startling cry.
Sue was gazing at the newspaper in
her hand with large dilated eyes. Her
cheeks had Hushed pink.
"What is it? What is the matter?"
both of us cried in a breath.
"Just read this! Oh. John! I don't
believe it! Read!"
She thrust the paper into his hand,
and he read:
$1,000. The offlcefileof ourpaperhaving
been destroyed by fire on the evening of the
13th inst., we offer the above price for a com
plete and perfect set of the Intelligencer
from its first number, March 4, 1830, to
present date. Any person able to supply a
set as stated will please communicate with
the publisher, P. 0. Box 2,351, New York.
"A thousand dollars! Oh Sue! oh,
John! what a good piece of good for
tune! Dear aunt think of her file
turning out such a treasure! It is too
wonderful to be true. I feel as though
it were a dream;" and I danced up
and down the kitchen floor.
John and Sue were equally excited.
"Only," premised the former, "we
musn't forget that some one else may
have a file of the Intelligencer, and get
ahead of us."
This wet blanket of a suggestion
kept me awake all night. My thoughts
kept flying to New York, anticipating
the letter which we had written, and
John posted over night for the early
stage. If it should be lost in the mails!
When morning came I was too weary
and too fidgety to employ myself in
any way. But about noon John
walked in, comfort in his eyes.
"Why, John, how funny to see you
look so? You haven't heard yet; you
can't, for the letter is only half way
"But I have heard! I got ahead of
the letter drove over to the Junction,
telegraphed, paid for the answer, and j 3eason
11CLC 1U l.
Blessed John! This was the tele
gram: "Send file at once. Check ready to your
order. P. Hallifax."
How we cried and laughed and kiss
ed each other! How much that mes
sage meant! To John and Sue, the
satisfaction of their love, life spent to
gether, the fruition of deferred hopes;
to me, the lifting of a heavy weight,
home security, the shelter of my sis
ter's wing, the added riches of a broth
er who was brotherly in every
deed. And all this for a thous
and dollars! Oh, how much mon
ey can do sometimes! and at
other times how little! We had grown
somewhat calmer, though Sue still kept
her sweet wet face hidden on John's
sboulder, and shivered and sobbed
now and then.when I turned emotion
into a new channel by seizing a tumbler
of water and proposing this toast:
To the memory of the late Samuel
F. B. Morse."
John seized another, and added:
The Intelligencer may it rise like a
phoenix from its ashes!',
I leave you to guess if we did not
drink this heartily. Harper's weekly.
WIN TEE IN CALIFORNIA.
His Little Dan.
Not all convicts in prison cells have
hardened hearts. We do not know of
the trials and temptations, the cruel
want the bitter needs of men who
sometimes do desperate deeds. There
is something pathetic in the life of
every man within the prison walle. It
may be found in the story of a neglect
ed and uncared for childhood, or in a
lifelong struggle with adverse fates.
We untried souls are less charitable to
men than we should be whose daily
life is one of dejection and discourage
ment, in the midst of which they sin.
The warden of a penitentiary tells the
following touching story of a man sen
tenced to ten years at hard labor, for
a crime in the committing of which
there were many extenuating circum
stances. His name was Hixon. One day a let
ter came for him, neatly addressed in
a woman's hand.
The warden read it first as was his
duty. This was all there was of it:
"Dear John, Our little Dan died to-day.
The warden read the affecting mes
sage to Hixon. "Dan" was the convict's
little boy, and "Mary" was his wife.
"What what?" said Hixon. "Dan
ny dead? My little Dan? No, no no!
It cannot be!"
But it was true. Another sorrow
was added to the many he already
knew. He sat for a long time with
bowed head, his face in his hands, his
"I've said many a time," he said, at
last, "that it would be better if Danny
did die before he was old enough to
know and feel his father's shame. I i
suppose it is the best , but it is hard to
bear after all. My little Dan!"
The man broke down again. A little
later he took a small photograph from j
his pocket, carefully wrapped in tissue
paper. He gazed long and earnestly
at it. The tears ran over his pale
cheeks, and fell on the smiling face of
the boy. He brushed them away with I
his trembling hand, and gave the pho
tograph to the warden.
"That was Danny," he said.
It was the sunny little face of a 'boy
about two years old. A pretty boy
he must have been, with theshort curls !
clinging close to his bead, and the
large bright eyes now forever closed, i
closed to the knowledge of the truth I
that he was a convict s boy. surely it
was better so, for now that penitent
convict father may meet his little Dan
in the land where there is no knowl
edge nor remembrance of the sins that
made sorrowful our earthly lives.
low It Differs from the Winter "Weather In
After Thanksgiving, winter. In the
Atlantic States, east of the Hudson,
rood sleighing is expected at this date.
I Sere nothing more than a few white
frosts indicato that winter has come.
There have been frosts in the lowlands
luring the past week. Last night the
irost crept up on the hillsides a little.
The crystals lay on the plank side
walks in the suburban towns, and
iparkled as the rays of the rising sun
; ;ouched them. For a moment or two
; ;here were millions of diamonds, then
imall drops of water, and then noth-
. ng. But the frost makes crisp morn
ings, and a coal or wood fire most en
loyable morning and evening the
wood lire especially. Moreover, the
.'rosts help to color the foliage, al
;hough in this country the deciduous
irees drop the greater part of their
toliage before the frosts come. The
toft maples, elms, white birches and
locust trees, which have been natural
zed here, for the most part, have cast
;beir leaves. Yet the maple takes on
i. wealth of color before the leaves fall ;
so the frost does not do all the color
ing. Even the eucalyptus, which casts
its leaves at midsummer and continues
dropping them until late in autumn,
lias a wealth of color which is hardly
noticed. The coniferous trees prevail
to largely in California that the high
colors of deciduous trees which grow
an the hillsides and mountain slopes of
sastern states are rarely seen here.
Yet in every dell after the first frosts
lave come in this latitude, one may
find patches of color shading oft' from
sjold to scarlet, with a great many sub-
; Sued tones, which artists, who are
jjood colorists, do not fail to notice.
The firs and the pines clothe many of
the mountains in eternal green. When
they are bare, they are as desolate as
in Spain until the vernal season sets
I The first rains have already come.
But the winter rains have not yet ap
peared. There is a sort of hush be
tween autumn and winter. If one
goes to the wood, he will hardly hear
any other sound than that of the
harsh and obstreperous blue-jay. Here
and there will be a tapping on the
! trunks, and an occasional squirrel de
scends to see what provision in the
; way of acorns there may yet be left on
the ground. In the open, where the
ground is soft, there are the tracks of
the sneaking coyote. Even owls cease
in a measure to hoot m the winter
and the mournful sound of
doves has altogether ceased. A great
: silence has fallen upon the woods,
i There is hardly a singing bird. The
linnets in the suburban gardens, which
j two months ago were so active in
feasting on the ripe fruit, beginning
with cherries, and continuing until the
last ripe pear had disappeared, have
; become silent also. No more songs
and no more depredations, for the
j good reason that theres nothing to
' steal, and the pairing season has not
! begun. The white frosts are the fit-
ting introduction of winter. Xhey
! precede the heavier rains.
The trade winds have died out.
j They will not prevail in this latitude
I before the middle of next May. Some
are unkind enough to say that it is a
pity that they should ever prevail.
But these winds are the Lord's scav
! engers, sent up as so many messen
' gers from the salt ocean to deliver the
' city from plagues and pestilence. San
Francisco has not been a clean city
I from the day of its foundation. There
is Oriental dirt, and Occidental dirt,
j It has come to be a foreign city.
; Merchandise fills the sidewalks, and
in many places crowds the pecestrian
into the street. Offal is thrown there,
i The six months' trade winds of sum
! mer and the six months' rain are the
! two sanitary agents which keep watch
and ward over the city. 'Lie most
dangerous weeks of the year, on the
: score of health, are those when neither
the trade winds nor the rains prevail.
The winter season being less pro
nounced in this latitude, there is less
disposition to store up anything. All
the season is open, and even now the
bees are making honey, or are going
to rob other hives. They get a part
of their honey honestly, and, as to the
rest, they do not scruple to get it dis
honestly. San Francisco Bulletin.
Gninea Hens as Songsters.
i "Speaking of fog-horns, steam
wistles, and other unpleasant noises
to hear right along regularly," said
a resident of the First Ward to a visit
! or whose sleep had been disturped by
1 the tooting of the fog-horn during the
thaw in December, "did you ever hear
! guinea fowels tune up for any consid
erable length of time?"
'Che visitor confessed he had not,
, and the resident continued: "Well
! you wouldn't think, to hear them at
I first, that a constant repetition of the
noise would become positively un
j bearable and hideous, but it is. I
lived in Rogers Park, near Chicago, a
I few years ago, and one spring a family
j moved into a house back of mine, an
I alley separating the lots. I kepi hens
and had a small yard in the rear of
my lot to keep them confined during
"This new comer brought along a
lew fowels, and among them a trio of
: 'guineas.' There was no hen-yard on
I his lot, and the very day he unloaded
' his goods and chattels his fowels made
I ;hemselves at home in my garden,
! which was coming on finely. We
shooed' them away repeatedly, until
after a few days the common hens and
roosters failed to visit us; but the
guinea fowels wouldn't stay 'shooed'
and within five or ten minutes after
being driven away would return and
race around my hen-yard, trying to
find an entrance. They wore a path
around it as smooth as the top of a
deacon's head, and every few minutes
lifted up their voices in songs of piaise
i "At hrst it was a novelty, and used
to make us all laugh, and the children
spent hours watching the restless
birds; but in a few days the constant
cackling, or whatever you may call it
'bukwit,' 'bokweet,' 'buckwheat,'
began to grow tiresome, and finally
became intolerable. I didn't like to
complain to the new neighbor so soon,
hut didn't hesitate to pelt the birds
(or try to pelt them) with chunks ot
dirt and small pebbles. My wife also
threw at them several times, and came
near breaking a window in the church,
and dislocating her shoulder, when
she quit. 1 should have said that my
house was only about twenty feet from
the village church, and in warm
weather, when windows were opened,
we could sit in our bedroom and hear
the services very well.
"Right under the droppings of the
sanctuary, so to speak," said the vis
itor, "I should think that it would
have been unpleasant."
It was a sultry morning, and the
guinea fowels were more than usually
vociferous. Foreseeing that they would
disturb the minister and congregation,
I considered it my duty to drive them
away, and did so several times before
church time, getting so warm and
mad that I concluded 1 wouldn't go
to chnrch. About a quarter past ten
the torments appeared again, and an
inspiration seized me. I had been
practicing archery considerably this
was during the popular craze over
that splendid pastime and had a good
bow and about a dozen arrows, and
could shoot quite well. I got some
empty rifle-cartridge shells-which fit
ted tightly over the steel points of the
arrows, and put them on, as I did not
wish to kill the fowls or have any of
my seventy-five-cents-apiece arrows
stick in them and be carried off to my
neighbor's and then have to go and
"Just before services commenced,
the guinea fowels appeared and open
ed up in good voice, running around
the garden and even up near the
church. My wife and children had
already gone, and I slipped out of the
back basement door just out of sight
from the rear window of the church,
and prepared to do the William Tell
act. I waved my hat and started the
nuisances, toward the hen yard, and
when they were about three rods away
"The first shot struck short, plow
ing up the dirt in front of one of them,
causing her to jump about three feet
in the air and scream louder than
ever. Two other efforts were unsuc
cessful, but the fourth struck the male
bird amidships, and he sailed right up
in the air like a prairie chicken, ex
pressing in loud tones his indignation
and alarm. The two other ones fol
lowed suit. You know the old couplet,
'One flew East, and one flew West,
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest.'
Well, that was the way they went,
only there was no cuckoo's nest be
tween the church and my house, and
all three kept up their peculiar calls,
just as the pastor said, -Let us pray.'
Presentlv Bro. Kean came out of
church to see what the matter was,
but I had put the bow and remaining
arrows back in the kitchen, and was
busy at the pump.
" 'What's the row out here?' said
" 'Something scared Mr. 's
guinea hens,' replied 1; 'don't believe
they will come around again,' and he
went back to take his regular snooze.
"I felt sure they would, however,
and after hunting up my arrows, -laid'
for, them again. In about twenty
minutes, sure enough, they came run
ning around the corner of my hen
house, and just as the pastor had got
to that part of the parable of the three
grangers who sowed seed on different
kinds of soil, and was saying 'brought
forth an hundred fold,' one of the
guinea hens chipped in the remark:
'buckwheat, buckwheat, buckwheat!''''
I was told afterwards that everybody
laughed, including the minister, and
the small boys and girls had a regular
"Presently the birds quieted down
and commenced walking around
among the young potato vines. I
brought out my artillery, and it was
not long before I had a splendid shot
at the cock standing still. The arrow
went a little high, and instead of
hitting him in the body, as I intended,
struck square on the neck close to his
head. The "dull thud' brought the
bird to the ground, and a few convul
sive kicks showed apparently that he
would never chase the festive potato
bug again. The others seeing that
something was wrong with their
mate, went up to him and made a few
remarks such as: 'A fit?' 'Bad hit!'
'Let's git!' 'You bet!' etc., and sor
rowfully went home to hang crape on
the crate they came in.
"I put the bow and arrow away,
and sat down to figure out what to do
in the premises. Finally I concluded
that the fowl might not be missed that
day, and in the evening I would 'bag'
mv game and leave it in the grass on
. 1 C : 1 . 1 ..... ' l,.t Qrl
cue real ui uij ucjhuui n iwu, .
went out to get the arrow and kick
him down between the rows of potatoes
where he would not be quite so promi
nent. "Well, when I got there I found the
arrow and some feathers, but no guin
ea fowl. You may doubt it, but it's a
fact that that bird had come to and
walked off after being hit plump on
the neck by a four ounce arrow, a
blow that would almost, if not quite,
knock down a man. I saw him after
wards. He carried his head in a
peculiar way, as if sull'erintr from the
toothache or neuralgia, and seemed to
have lost his voice and appetite."
"Did your neighbor say anything to
you about it?" asked the visitor.
"No, but in a few days he killed the
three himself and made a dinner of
them. I don't know whether he saw
me shooting at them or not, but rather
think that he or some of his family
did. Oh, if you want pleasant music
buv some guinea hens; they're worse
than fog-horns by a darned sight."
Eye-Glasses from the Mayflower.
Something else has been discovered
that came over in the Mayflower. This
time it is a pair of spectacles that were
worn by one of the pilgrims. The
bows are of steel, an eighth of an inch
wide, and the glass is as thick as
plate glass, making the weight of the
spectacles live ounces. From such
ponderous appliances as these, then,
have the modern ejTe-glasses of the
typical Boston girl been derived, says
the Boston Herald, and it thoughtfully
adds: "This also accounts for the
large noses of the pilgrims. They had
to have them." Troy Times.'