“‘Old man, don’t let him git the start of you—call him a thief and a liar first.’”
“That puts me in mind,” said the next “Owl,” of a story, not at all similar, but more funny I think, than the one we have just listened to.
“Over in Jersey, an honest old Dutchman, who followed gardening for a living, had been to the neighboring town to do a little trading at the stores, and having taken his wife with him, both ov them got unco tight.
“On their way home the old woman fell, out of the wagon, as they were crossing a salt meadow, and was not missed untill the old gent reached home. The neighbors going back to search for the missing wife, found her stuck fast in the mud of the marsh, and talking in a maudlin manner, to the rising tide which had risen up, and just began to play about her lips. ‘Not another drop, hot, nor cold; not another drop, will I take.’”
Owlet.*
PORDUNK VILLAGE.
Stranger! hav yu ever been to Pordunk Village, my natiff place?
It iz a dear little lulaby ov a place, sleeping between two small mountains, in the State of Pennsylvania.
It kontains about 1000 souls now, and is watered by goose crik, whitch meanders thru the village az crooked and az lazy az a skool boy, on hiz way tew the distrikt skool hous.
I waz born here, and the ground on whitch the old hous stood, iz thare yet. Mi ancesters are all here too, but they 469 hav retired from bizzness, and are taking their eaze, in the old graveyard ov the little one story church.