CAUGHT ON A JURY.
The following, which we have heard told as a fact, some time ago, may be beneficial to some gentleman who has a young and unsuspecting wife:
A certain man, who lived about ten miles from K——, was in the habit of going to town, about once a week, and getting on a regular spree, and would not return until he had time to "cool off," which was generally two or three days. His wife was ignorant of the cause of his staying out so long, and suffered greatly from anxiety about his welfare. When he would return, of course his confiding wife would inquire what had been the matter with him, and the usual reply was, that he was caught on the jury, and couldn't get off.
Having gathered his corn, and placed it in a large heap, he, according to custom, determined to call in his neighbors, and have a real corn-shucking frolic. So he gave Ned, a faithful servant, a jug and an order, to go to town and get a gallon of whiskey—a very necessary article on such occasions. Ned mounted a mule, and was soon in town, and, equipped with the whiskey, remounted to set out for home, all buoyant with the prospect of fun at shucking.
When he had proceeded a few hundred yards from town, he concluded to take the "stuff," and not satisfied with once, he kept trying until the world turned round so fast, that he turned off the mule, and then he went to sleep, and the mule to grazing. It was now nearly night, and when Ned awoke it was just before the break of day, and so dark, that he was unable to make any start towards home until light. As soon as his bewilderment had subsided, so that he could get the "point," he started with an empty jug, the whiskey having run out, and afoot, for the mule had gone home. Of course he was contemplating the application of a "two year old hickory," as he went on at the rate of two forty.
Ned reached home about breakfast time, and "fetched up" at the back door, with a decidedly guilty countenance.
"What in thunder have you been at, you black rascal?" said his master.
Ned knowing his master's excuse to his wife, when he went on a spree, determined to tell the truth, if he died for it, and said:
"Well, massa, to tell the truth, I was kotch on the jury, and couldn't get off."—Nashville News.