I thought it felt mighty like rain as we walked the short distance from
the railway station to our host's. I had rain-pains in my back, and my
wife said her corns were shooting. Nor did our punctual aches deceive
us. Between that Saturday night and Easter-Sunday morning it began to
rain. Easter-Sunday was the wettest day I remember ever to have
experienced. There was no "let up" of the deluge throughout that day
and Easter-Monday. We--my wife and I--are suffering dreadfully from the
effects of Easter-eggs, which we were obliged to devour by the stack
merely to kill time, as we could not walk out. Should we die, I will let
you know; but really it was too bad of "Professor" THATCHER.
WEATHERBOUND.
P.S.--Who is "Professor" THATCHER?
* * * * *
THE BIRD OF WISDOM IN IOWA.
Civilization, it seems, is making some headway in Iowa. Boys are no
longer allowed to shoot small birds there, especially song-birds. And so
the little warblers can pipe it all day, if they like, and when they
grow tired and hungry, they are welcome to refresh their small systems
at the strawberry beds. There is one feature of the regulation in
question, however, that does pain us. While vocal and fly-gobbling
talents are tenderly fostered, dignified Wisdom is not only neglected,
but persecuted. Our old friend the Owl is reputed by the people of Iowa
to be rather particular in his diet, (as all wise creatures are,) and to
prefer a nice young spring chicken to almost any other "delicacy of the
season"--a proof of wisdom and refinement that proved too much for the
people of Iowa.
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