The Birmingham age-herald., 1918-06-18
MEN, WOMEN
 AND THINGS

! ASHs' Att7Hs, anu was Feddy 10 get up dt sunrise and to get an early start into Birmingham
 It may be that the unusual noises had something to do with my being unable to sleep. It is a curious thing but can soon be in the land of nod in spite of all the city noises, but put me out in the country and the growing of the cocks is shriller to me than the blast of the whistles.
 automobile horns. but I am sure if 1 could get the deep bass notes of the chanticleer who announced the rising Of the sun on Monday morning, that l could patent siren that would make every other one on the market seem like the chirpins of cricket.
 And by the way, the sisters in the hennary joined in the chorus with such throaty notes as to convince me of the fact, that so far as power of expression is concerned, there is no excuse for claiming that women cannot cackle Us loud as the males, and therefore I am i'll favor of their being permitted to speaN in public whenever they please
 
 My uncle, Samuel Barnett at one time commissioner of agriculture, who lived in Washington, Ga, about the last of the ante-bellum towns, was extremely ner- vous, and, tiring of losing his beauty sleep on account of the roosters in his chicken yard saluting the coming of the morn, he figured it all out that by put ting the perches close to the roof they would be unable to lift their heads to crow, and in this way shut off the morn ing sesenade.
 I ought to be ashamed to talk about chickens like I am doing, for I went to bed so full of a good. baked hen that l ought to be thankful that I did not dream about match between pit games pulled off in the bed with me and having my money on the wrong bird. It just goes to show how little gratitude some preachers have.
 . am spinning out this chicken yarn just to get chance to ring in the fa nous hut hoary conundrum, which herewith give in the hope that possibly it may be new to at least one of my readers: Why is the chicken the most religious fowl? Because more of them enter the ministry than any other spe- cies of the feathered tribe" This is a good one to spring the next time the preacher comes around.
 Honest to goodness, I didn't mean to do it, but I just happened to think of one on Methodist preacher. It seems on Saturday he went fishing, and acct- dentaily dropped his false teeth in 20 feet of clear water, and was in despair fo. fear he could not preach the next day An old fisherman comforted him by say ing there is a certain bait that anything will bite at. Taking chicken leg he fastened it to hook and dropped it in close to the teeth. They quietly be- gan to open and soon fastened them selves to the juicy meat. and out they came.
 Well, l have got going, and I might just as well get all the fowl jokes out Of a Methodist preacher friend who was telling me about an argument he had re- gently had with Baptist brother over the doctrine of predestination. They had wasted many words over it without com ing in any way near settling it to the satisfaction of either. It is right hard thing to thresh out, when folks are ''sos" in their opinions.
 am telling this not to start or revive religious controversy which has been raging for centuries, but merely to show how my Methodist friend pulled novel stunt on my Baptist brother, who, grow ing excited, lifted aloft on his fork choice morsel of chicken, and exultingly crowed My brother, it was fore ordained before the world was made that l was to eat this bit of hen" But" laushngly said my Methodist friend, fin spite of the company l cast aside table manners ana Fedcneu out my fingers and slipped that piece of breast off and put it in my mouth, saying, Well, here is where one poor stick of a preacher in- terferes with predestination.' I got the chicken, but I came mighty nigh getting a licking, for it was so good I couldn't help licking my lips, and it seemed to rifle my ministerial, controversalist."
 have been throwing off on the crow ing of cocks and the cackling of hens, but way down in my heart I know full we'll that there is no more homelika sound in all the world than is the music of the barnyard, and that one of the most beautiful and homely metaphors h all tho range of literature are the words of Jesus, 70 Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prohpets, and stonest them whicli are sent unto thee, how often wculc I have gathered thy cnil- dren together, even as hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would notN'
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