ther man that could be
employed, with the stereotyped phrase in closing: "Well, whatever you
do" (as if I might be left to do anything) "don't hire John Smallpate or
Bill Storer. I've known him, man and boy, for thirty years; you'll do
well not to trust <i>him</i>!"

Yet these same men who had so villified each other could be seen nightly
lounging in front of the grocery, discussing politics and spitting in
sweet unison.

The general animosity of my entire family to each other caused constant
interruptions.

"Sandy," the handsome setter, loathed the pug, and tried to bite his
neck in a fatal way. He also chased the rabbits, trod on young turkeys
so that they were no more, drove the cat out of the barn and up a tree,
barked madly at the cows, enraging those placid animals, and doted on
frightening the horse.

The cat allowed mice to roam merrily through the grain bins, preferring
robins and sparrows, especially young and happy mothers, to a proper
diet; was fond of watching the chickens with wicked, malicious, greedy,
dangerous eyes, and was always ready to make a sly spring for my
canaries.

The rabbits (pretty innocent little creatures I had thought them, as I
gazed at their representatives of white canton flannel, solidly stuffed,
with such charming eyes of pink beads) girded all my young trees and
killed them before I dreamed of such mischief, nibbled at every tender
sprout, every swelling bud, were so agile that they could not be
captured, and became such a maddening nuisance that I hired a boy to
take them away. I fully understand the recent excitement of the
Australians over the rabbit scourge which threatened to devastate their
land.

The relations were strained between my cows; mother and daughter of a
noble line; they always fed at opposite corners of the field, indulging
in serious fights when they met.

My doves! I am almost ready to say that they were more annoying than
all the rest of my motley collection, picked all seeds out of the ground
faster than they could be put in, so large spaces sowed with rye lay
bare all summer, and ate most of the corn and grain that was intended to
fatten and stimulate my fowls.

Doves are poetical and pleasing, pigeons ditto--in literature, and at a
safe distance from one's own barn. It's a pretty sight at sunset on a
summer's eve to see them poising, wheeling, swirling, round a neighbor's
barn. Their rainbow hues gleam brightly in the sun as they preen their
fea