There is pleasure in the wet, wet clay,
When the artist's hand is potting it,
There is pleasure in the wet, wet lay,
When the poet's hand is blotting it,
There is pleasure in the shine of your picture on the line
At the Royal Arcade—my;
But the pleasure felt in these is as chalk to Cheddar cheese
When it comes to a well made Lie,
To a quite unwreckable Lie,
To a most impeccable Lie!
To a water-tight, fire-proof, angle-iron, sunk-hinge, time-lock, steel-faced Lie!
Not a private hansom Lie,
But a fair and brougham Lie,
Not a little place in Tooting, but a country house with shooting and a ring-fence, deer-park Lie.
SOME SNAKE STORIES.
When a boy, in the early days in the lead mines of Wisconsin, I often met pioneers and heard them tell strange stories about hoop-snakes. In one particular they all agreed—the snakes, in pairs, about the 15th of May would come rolling up from Illinois. Then they would disappear, and not be seen again until August. During that month strange sights might be seen on lonely stretches of prairie—hundreds of them playfully chasing one another.
They were a green snake—the males about six and the females five feet long. About four inches from the ends of their tails grew a hard, curved horn, from two to four inches in length.
They were considered the most dangerous snakes in the Northwest.
Wo betide the living thing that crossed their path as they rolled noiselessly over the prairie. I heard an old hunter say he once stood by a lone tree on the prairie and saw a hoop-snake come rolling toward the tree. As it drew near he held his gun right across its path.
When near enough, the snake let go of its tail and struck the metal barrel of the gun, knocking it out of his hand and making it ring like a bell. The snake then stuck its tail into its mouth and went rolling away.
The hunter soon noticed that the gun-barrel began to swell. He watched the gun until it swelled so big it scared him, and in terror he fled over the prairie and never went near the spot again. Years afterward miners prospecting for mineral found an old cannon shaped like a musket-barrel. It was the old gun, grown to be a foot in diameter.—Correspondence in Chicago Inter-Ocean.
DISCRIMINATING SPARROWS.
An Atchison man planted lettuce, but as fast as it came through the ground the English sparrows ate it off.