The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1865-10-25

dogs came forthwith They were
splendid creatures snuf-colored, ha-,
zel-eyed, long-tailed, and shapely-
jawed.
We led them proudly to the fields
''Turn them in, Eli I said.
E]; turned them in .
TLcy went in at once, and killed
twenty of my best lambs i'll about four
minutes and half.
Ny friend had made trifing mis-
take in the breed of these dogs.
These dogs we're not partial to the
sheep.
Ell Perkins was aston:,hed, and OBJ
served: :"
s"Waal! did you ever!''
[ certainly never had,
There were pools Of blood on the
green sward, and fragments of wool
and raw lamb chops lay round in con-
fused heaps.
The dogs would have been sent to
Boston that night, had they not rather
suddenly died that afternoon of a
throat 'istemper. It wasn't swell
ing of the throot. It wasn't hptheria.
Ao tl'o - NAOACAC oiICAAAAS VI C1S I1llOdt
extending from ear.to ear.
Thus closed their life-stories. Thus
ended their interesting tails.
l failed as raiser of lamb. AS q
Sheepist, / was not q success.
Last summer, Mr.. Perkins said:
''I think we'd better cutsome grass
this season, sir. I"
We cut some grass.
To me the new mown hay is very
;weet and nice. The brilliant George
Arnold sings about it, in beautiful
verses, down in Jersey every summer;
so does the brilliant Aldrich, of Ports
mouth, N. H. And yet I doubt if
either of these men knows the Price
of a ton of b. to-day. But new mown
hay is a really fine thing 1t is good
for man and beast.
We.hired four honest farmers to as.
sist us, and I led them gaily to tho
meadows.
6 I was going to NOV, myself.
[ saw the sturdy peasants go round
once ere I dipped my flashing seythe
into the tall green grass.
. care you ready ?" said E. Perkins.
81 am here -
''Then follow us ~
followed them.
Followed them rather too closely,
evidently, for white haired old man,
who Immediately followed Mr.. Per
kins, called upon us to halt. Then
in q low, firm voice, he said to his
son, who was just ahead of me.
"John, change places with me. I
hain't got long to live, anyhow. Yon-
der berryin' ground will soon have
these old bones, and it's no matt .
whether I'm carried there with ,.:e
deg off and ter'bl, gashes in t:ao tncr
or not! But you John -, are
young" ~
The old man changed IS with
his son. A smile G calm :signation
lit up his wrinkled face, us he said,
"Now. sir, I am r. ly 70
"What mean. Oh lan ?"I al.
II mean thu II continue to
hran'ish that olade u" yon have
bran 'ish it, yc il slash h out of
some of US before we re a hour olderw
There was some reason mingled
with this white haired old peasants s
profanity It was true that I had
twice escaped moving off his sons
legs, and his father was perhaps natu-
rally alarmed.
l went and sat down uader tree
g! eer kgow'd literary man in my
life, " I overheard the old man say,
that know'd anything"
Mr. Perkins was not us valuable to
me this season as I had fancied he
might be. Every afternoon he dis
appeared from the field regularly, and
remained about some two hours. He
said it was headache. He inherited
it from his mother. His mother was
often taken in that way, and suffered
a great deal.
At the end OF the two hours Mr.
Perkins would re-appear with his head
neatly done up in a large wet rag, and