watched over his last moments. After he was really dead,
and Tom with tears rolling down his face carried him tenderly away, I
woke from my ambitious dream and felt verily guilty of aviscide.

But for my vainglorious ambition Beauty would doubtless be alive and
resplendent; his consort, modest hued and devoted, at his side, and my
bank account would have a better showing.

There is a motto as follows, "Let him keep peacock to himself," derived
in this way:

When George III had partly recovered from one of his attacks, his
ministers got him to read the king's speech, but he ended every sentence
with the word "peacock."

The minister who drilled him said that "peacock" was an excellent word
for ending a sentence, only kings should not let subjects hear it, but
should whisper it softly.

The result was a perfect success; the pause at the close of each
sentence had such a fine elocutionary effect.

In future, when longing to indulge in some new display, yield to another
temptation, let me whisper "peacock" and be saved.

CHAPTER X.

LOOKING BACK.

Then you seriously suppose, doctor, that gardening is good for the
constitution?

I do. For kings, lords, and commons. Grow your own cabbages. Sow
your own turnips, and if you wish for a gray head, cultivate
carrots.

THOMAS HOOD.

Conceit is not encouraged in the country. Your level is decided for you,
and the public opinion is soon reported as something you should know.

As a witty spinster once remarked: "It's no use to fib about your age in
your native village. Some old woman always had a calf born the same
night you were!"

Jake Corey was refreshingly frank. He would give me a quizzical look,
shift his quid, and begin:

"Spent a sight o' money on hens, hain't ye? Wall, by next year I guess
you'll find out whether ye want to quit foolin' with hens or not. Now,
my hens doan't git no condition powder, nor sun-flower seeds, nor no
such nonsense, and I ain't got no bone cutter nor fancy fountains for
'em; but I let 'em scratch for themselves and have their liberty, and
mine look full better'n your'n. I'll give ye one p'int. You could save a
lot by engagin' an old hoss that's got to be killed. I'm allers looking
round in the fall of the year for some old critter just ready to drop.
Wait till cold weather, and then, when he's killed, hang half of him up
in the hen house and see how they'll pick at it. It's the best feed
going for