1 well recollect my clumsy efforts to
engage in conversation with a farmer
whom I met in Chester county, the
Quaker stronghold in Pennsylvania.
When I happened upon him he was
sitting upon a worm fence, vacantly
staring at a crimson-colored cow in
the adjacent field. I at once divined
him to be a Friend in undress, and de
t-rmined to delight the old fellow and
amuse myself by carrying on a skill
ful dialogue in his own idiom. This is
how 1 succeeded:
“How do thee do, sir; Is that is,
arc thee meditating;"
If he was delighted, lie controlled
his emotions admirably. All he did
was to gape ami inquire.
“Hef
“The fields, the birds, the flowers,
I pleasantly pursued, “are to bring
thou dreams—l mean dreamsto thou.”
He was looking at me now, and
critically. I fell that my syntax had
been idotic instead of idiomatic, so,
wiping the sweat from my brow and
hat, I eyed him calmly and observed:
“Those cows, are they thy’s—or
thee's—that is thou's—dum it! I mean
thiue's;
It was very unfortunate. He crawl
ed down from the fence, nibbled at a
plug of nickel nugget, an act of itself
sufficient to un-Quaker him. and he
ambled away, muttering indignantly:
“Go ale your plants: I'm not a
tramp, but a gintieman."
A Trying Case.
Philadelphia Call.
