W Y DE FISH DON' BITE. 



25 



I have never seen such beautiful mosses 

 as those of the Northwest. 'Hie ground 

 moss I pressed in the usual way, but the 



tree moss T treated as seaweed, letting it 

 stand in water over night, then floating it 

 on paper. This tree moss is not espe- 

 cially attractive during the dry season, but 

 when the rain comes, it hangs from the 

 trees like the Southern moss. Being a 

 lovely green it is, however, far more beau- 

 tiful. 



The mosses and rare feathers, mounted 

 on water color paper and looking like 

 paintings, made Western souvenirs for 

 many friends across the Rockies. 



W'Y DE FISH DON' BITE. 



EDWARD BONNEL. 



It's mighty ha'd ter splane w'y de fish 



don' bite 

 Wen dis niggah's ben a-nshin' wif 's tackle 



jes' right; 

 Wen er ripple's on de watah an de win s 



Sou' West, 

 En he done know how to kotch 'em erlong 



wif de best. 



Sing O ! Miss Mandy. 



Ef hit ain't in de rod, er de reel, er de line, 

 Case de boat's too big, er de hook's too fine ; 

 Er de sinker's too hebby, er 'e didn't brung 



er net, 

 Den de po' ole man ain't learned how yet. 

 Watch out, mah chillun. 



Praps de win's cuttin' capahs, er de sun's 



too bright, 

 Er dis po' tired niggah's played craps all 



night. 

 P'raps dey's lonesome en quit bitin' case 'e 



kim so late. 

 Er dey mos' all wanted er different kin' o' 



bait. 

 Oh! don' git weary. 



I's cast de Colonel Fuller wif de Par- 



machene Belle, 

 En den de Royal Coachman wif Jenny Lind 



as well ; 

 But dey wouldn't tak' de las' nor rise to de 



fust, 

 En de possum up de 'simmon tree laugh 



till he bust. 



I's comin' home, Dinah. 



I's happy wif mah wum can w'en I think it's 



gwine ter rain, 

 En ef de sun comes out w'y I 'low I cain't 



complain ; 

 But I loves ter heah de catfish sizzling in 



de skillet, 

 An' O bless mah soul ! I sholy hopes ter 



fill it. 



But w'en it ain't in de weathah, ner yet in 



de bait, 

 En hit ain't case I started jes' a leetle too 



late ; 

 Den I knows hit's de rabbit's fut am sholy 



ter blame, 

 Case I done clean fergit um en I's sorry I 



came. 



Good by, mah honey. 



Mrs. Noorich — Isn't it grand to ride in 

 your own carriage? 



Mr. Noorich — Yes, but I'd enjoy it more 

 if I could stand on the sidewalk and see 

 myself ride by. — Brooklyn Life 



