"Are gophers so very industrious, then?" I asked.
"Industrious, ma'am! Well, yes: they've got the work in them, that's true; and, if they begin any thing, they'll see it through. They don't sit down discouraged, and give up; but they keep right on, even when there's no hope. Oh, they're brave little fellows!" And the honest old farmer beamed in admiration upon the stiff, little unconscious specimen before us in the case.
"It is very interesting," I said, "to know of such patience in a little animal like this."
"Yes, ma'am," he responded: "you would think so if you could see one. Why, working is their life. If they couldn't work, they'd die. I know, 'cause I've proved it. Once, we caught one, and I put him in a box, and my boys and I threw in some sand. The box was considerably big, and the little fellow went right to work. He dug, and threw it all back of him over to the other side; then back of him again, till he went through that sand I don't know how many times. Well, he was as lively as a cricket, and, to try what he would do, I took away the sand, and 'twas but a few hours before he was dead. Yes, dead, ma'am! just as dead as this one, here!" pointing with his finger to our friend in the case, who preserved a stolid indifference to the fate of his gopher-cousin.
I stopped to take a further look at "little gopher," with whom I felt pretty well acquainted by this time.
H. M. S.
BYE-LO-LAND.
Baby is going to Bye-lo-land,
Going to see the sights so grand:
Out of the sky the wee stars peep,
Watching to see her fast asleep.
Swing so,
Bye-lo!
Over the hills to Bye-lo-land.
Oh the bright dreams in Bye-lo-land,
All by the loving angels planned!
Soft little lashes downward close,
Just like the petals of a rose.
Swing so,
Bye-lo!
Prettiest eyes in Bye-lo-land!
