of beer,
and say he would give us credit on account. He would catch our dog and
propose to cut a piece of his tail off, and give us credit at so much an
inch.

He would meet us coming out of church, and right before folks he would
ask us to go down to the brewery and play pedro. He would say he would
come up to our house for dinner some time, and everything wicked. One
day we stopped at his store to enjoy his society, and eat crackers and
cheese--for be it known we never took offence at him, in fact we sort of
liked the old cuss--when he told us to take a seat and talk it over.

We sat down on a cracker box that had bees wax on it, and after a heated
discussion on finances, found that we had melted about two pounds of wax
on our trousers, and Smith insisted on charging it up to us. This was
the last hair, and when he called us a diabolical, hot-headed guthoogen
our warm southern blood began to boil. We seized a codfish that had been
hanging in front of the store until it had become as hard and sharp as a
cleaver, and we struck him.

The sharp edge of the codfish struck him on the second joint of the
forefinger, and cut the finger off as clean as it could have been done
with a razor.

He said that settled it, and he gave us a receipt in full, and ever
afterwards we were firm friends.

One thing he insists on, even now, and that is in telling people who
ask him how he lost his finger, that he wore it off rubbing out seven-up
marks on a table while playing pedro.

He is now trying to lead a different life, being city clerk of La
Crosse, but this article will remind him of old times, and he can
remember with what an air of injured innocence we wiped the blood off
that codfish and hung it up for a sign, and how Smith sold it the next
day to Frank Hatch for a liver pad. No, thank you, we don't drink.

CAMP MEETING IN THE DARK OF THE MOON.

A Dartford man, who has been attending a camp meeting at that place,
inquires of the Brandon _Times_ why it is that camp meetings are always
held when the moon does not shine. The _Times_ man gives it up, and
refers the question to _The Sun_. We give it up.

It does not seem as though managers of camp meetings deliberately
consult the almanac in order to pick out a week for camp meeting in the
dark of the moon, though such meetings are always held when the moon
is of no account. If they do, then there is a reason for it. It is well
known that pickerel bite best in the dark