2 
SEED-TIME MID HARVEST. 
£ 
se: 
SONNET TO AUTUMN. 
0 mother Ceres! now I bring to thee 
Bright grains and ripeaed fruits, and from the 
tree 
That skirts the meadow-brook, brown nuts and 
leaves 
Of wondrous shadings, yellow as thy sheaves; 
Oh! wilt accept such humble gift from me, 
Who hast thy granaries full; since e’en for thee 
I cannot longer glean, nor, from the field 
That reapers once have stript of all its yield, 
Seek, for my sheaf, stray grains and broken straws 
And weedy twinings overfilled with flaws? 
For now the circling swallows glint the sky 
No more, calling their mates with mournful Gry 
Even Melissa from the field has gone, 
And I must offer what I have or none. % 
—Grace Aclele Pierce , in Arthur's Home Magazine. 
THE SQUIRE’S FUN. 
Squire Doolittle was a farmer, fat and 
jolly, who liked fun, but always preferred 
it at some one else’s expense. 
If he could play a trick upon one of his 
sons, he enjoyed it hugely. As a con¬ 
sequence, the boys did not reverence him 
very much, and were always trying some 
practical joke upon their father. Sometimes 
they succeeded, but not often. 
k ‘I’m too old a fish to be caught by the 
pin-hooks of boys,” he would say, when 
some plan of theirs had miscarried and the 
joke was turned upon themselves, much to 
his delight and their chagrin. “You’ve 
heard of weasels, haven’t you? Yes? Well, 
weasels, especially old weasels, never sleep.” 
“We must get a laugh against him in 
some way,” said Tom. “He’s too provoking! 
I’d give a dollar to trick him in such a way 
that he wouldn’t like to hear about it.” 
“So would I,” said John. 
“And I’d make it two,” said Robert. 
“But we’re hardly sharp enough. That’s 
the trouble.” 
It happened that the Squire was in the 
haymow in the barn when this conversation 
took place, and the boys were sitting on 
some boxes on the barn floor. 
He chuckled as he listened, and a mo¬ 
ment later called out from his lofty perch: 
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, boys. When you 
get a good joke on me, I’ll buy each one of 
you a hat.” 
The boys looked foolish. But finally, 
because they had nothing else to say, they 
accepted the challenge, and in a half¬ 
hearted sort of a way set their wits to work 
to earn the hats. 
In the squire’s flock of sheep was an old 
ram called David. The animal had a chron¬ 
ic spite against the whole human family, 
and never lost an opportunity of exhibit¬ 
ing it to any individual of the family that 
crossed his path. If a stranger entered the 
yard or pasture where David was, the poor 
man was fortuna f e if he was not knocked 
down as suddenly as if he had been struck 
by lightning. The ram always attacked 
from the rear. He would get behind the 
object of his attack, curb his neck, shut his 
eyes, and charge! As may be imagined, 
the great horns of the animal, backed up by 
the momentum gathered by his charge, 
gave anything but a pleasant sensation 
when they came in contact with the legs of 
his unsuspecting victim. Generally a board 
was strapped to his horns, over his woolly 
face, to obstruct his range of vision and 
serve as a warning to strangers of his war¬ 
like propensities. But he often contrived 
* 
to tear it from his head—and then alas for 
his unsuspecting victim. 
The boys enjoyed many an hour of fun 
with David. The sheep-pasture came up 
to the barn-yard on one side, and a creek 
ran along by both. Where the pasture 
came to the creek there was a very high 
bank, and this bank was steep. The Doo¬ 
little boys used to get on a narrow rock that 
was just under the edge of the bank. Here, 
when they stood up, all of their bodies 
above the waist could be seen above the 
level of the pasture. Placing themselves 
in this position they would attract the at¬ 
tention of old David by calling and shaking 
their hats at him. He was always ready 
for battle. With lowered head, curbed 
neck and a snort of anger, he would rush 
at them with his eyes closed. Taking ad¬ 
vantage of this peculiarity, the boys would 
drop dowm behind the bank, and David 
would go over them and into the water 
with a plunge that would have done credit 
to a Newfoundland dog. Then he could 
get back to the shore, looking wrathful and 
sleepish; but he could not be induced to 
renew the attack again that time. 
