THE FIRE DEPARTMENT.
A TRIP ACROSS THE BAY.
I took a trip across the water this afternoon. The bay was so rough the ferry-boat could scarcely make her trips. The passengers were nearly all sea-sick, and, elbow to elbow, leaned over the side of the vessel. One gentleman, while gazing into the sea, lost his hat overboard, but he was so taken up with internal affairs that he cared little for outward appearances, as one could readily observe.
I reached my destination, and was convinced that all the sorrows are not on the sea. I saw a poor old woman thrown into terrible disorder by a kick from the cow she was milking in her own yard. Judging by the quantity of milk lying around loose, she must have been nearly through her task, and was probably in the very act of complimenting the cow for her generosity, when the spiteful animal gave the pail a hoist completely over the woman’s head, like a huge helmet, while the lacteal fluid ran down her body. The pail seemed to stick, despite her efforts to remove it.
PEERING INTO THE DEPTHS.
As I looked back, I could see her groping toward the house, her visage still concealed in the blue bucket. She did look odd enough, as she felt her way up the steps, decorated with that novel head-dress.
GOOD-BYE.