COULDN'T HEAR THE MUSIC.
Colonel Brown was a mighty fox-hunter, and loved the sport beyond words. He owned a fine pack of hounds, and, during the season, thought of nothing but his hunters, his dogs, and the weather. He was once entertaining a friend from America, whose ideas of hunting any animal involved the use of fire-arms, and who had never seen a fox-hound. He had been with difficulty persuaded to go forth one morning with the Colonel and some friends to a meet, and they were waiting impatiently for the hounds to take the scent. Presently there burst upon their listening ears the din of thirty canine voices in full cry. The Colonel's eyes gleamed, and as he settled his feet in the stirrups and stretched his arm towards the yelping pack, he cried,
"Major, listen to that heavenly music!"
The Major pricked up his ears for a second or two, and then replied,
"I can't hear a thing, those dogs are making such a noise."
The Colonel put his spur savagely into his horse's side, and dashed away, leaving his guest to his own devices.
HE WANTED PAREGORIC.
It is a good thing to remember the right word at the right time, but it is not every one who does it by such a curious succession of ideas as the man who dashed into a Western drug store, and accosted the clerk with:
"Say—I want some medicine, and I want it quick, too! But for the life of me I can't tell what the name is!"