Not long ago a man was charged with shooting a number of pigeons, the property of a farmer. In giving his evidence the farmer was exceedingly careful, even nervous, and the solicitor for the defense endeavored to frighten him. “Now,” he remarked, “are you prepared to swear that this man shot your pigeons?” “I didn’t say he did shoot ’em,” was the reply. “I said I suspected him o’ doing it.” “Ah! now we’re coming to it. What made you suspect that man?” “Well, firstly, I caught him on my land wi’ a gun. Secondly, I heerd a gun go off an’ saw some pigeons fall. Thirdly, I found four o’ my pigeons in his pocket—an’ I don’t think them birds flew there and committed suicide.”
“Mama, can’t I go up to the next block and play with the Jones boys?” asked Henry, a boy of six, who was being brought up very carefully.
“No, indeed!” answered his mother. “They are very bad boys.”
“Then can’t I go over to see Mrs. Smith’s little girls?”
“No, Henry; I’m afraid to let you go.”
The little fellow left the room; later, he stuck his head inside with, “Say, mama, I’m going over next door an’ play with the dog.”
The Right Reverend Chauncey B. Brewster, D.D., Bishop of Connecticut, tells a story which he says is Mrs. Brewster’s favorite. It seems the Bishop had caught a small boy stealing apples in his orchard; so, after reproving him severely for some time, he said, “And now, my boy, do you know why I tell you all this? There is One before whom even I am a crawling worm; do you know who?”