Uncle Peter Cartright's Wonder.
Some of the farmers in and about Saggamon county, Illinois, have been and still are so intent on cattle-raising, that the business is a sort of cattle-mania. Uncle Peter was one Sunday preaching near a good old deacon of this sort, whose piety was somewhat like that of a card-playing lady mentioned by Addison, (Spectator No. 7,) who had a set hour for her devotions, and if she happened to be at a game, would get a friend to "hold her hand" while she said her prayers. Our worthy deacon was rather vain of his "gift" praying and saying "blessings" at table. As a matter of courtesy, he might occasionally ask a visiting preacher to pray or ask a blessing; but he never failed to exhibit his "gift" to his visitors. He had a singsong way of "getting it off," at the same time beating time with his hands on either side of his plate. On the occasion alluded to, he began—"Oh Lord! (thump) bless the creature comforts (thump) provided for our (thump) sustenance (thump.) Bless it (thump) to our needs (thump) and necessities, (thump). Lead us aright, (thump) but if we stray (thump) put us back (thump) into the right path, (thump). Bless the stranger (thump) that comes beneath our roof, (thump) and keep his feet (thump) in pleasant paths, (thump). What we ask (thump) amiss, (thump) withhold; (thump) but grant us what our (thump) short-sightedness omits, (thump) and thine be the glory (thump) now and for ever, (thump) a———."
And here the old deacon stopped suddenly, opened his eyes, and looking across the table, asked:
"Son John, did Mr. Jones settle yet for that Durham cow?"
"Yes, father—it's all right."
"Amen," concluded the deacon.
"Cattle! cattle!" exclaimed Uncle Peter in ill-concealed disgust.
"Why, you can't say your prayers without having cattle running through your head; I wonder the Lord don't turn such Christians into cattle!"