His posture in the sack and the
distance from the ground at which he hung compelled the ram to operate
upon his lower extremities and the end of his back. Like a plant that
has struck its root into some poisonous mineral, my poor uncle was
dying slowly upward. "After delivering its second blow the ram had not again retired. The
fever of battle burned hot in its heart; its brain was intoxicated
with the wine of strife. Like a pugilist who in his rage forgets his
skill and fights ineffectively at half-arm's length, the angry beast
endeavored to reach its fleeting foe by awkward vertical leaps as he
passed overhead, sometimes, indeed, succeeding in striking him feebly,
but more frequently overthrown by its own misguided eagerness. But as
the impetus was exhausted and the man's circles narrowed in scope and
diminished in speed, bringing him nearer to the ground, these tactics
produced better results, eliciting a superior quality of screams,
which I greatly enjoyed. "Suddenly, as if the bugles had sung truce, the ram suspended
hostilities and walked away, thoughtfully wrinkling and smoothing its
great aquiline nose, and occasionally cropping a bunch of grass and
slowly munching it. It seemed to have tired of war's alarms and
resolved to beat the sword into a plowshare and cultivate the arts of
peace. Steadily it held its course away from the field of fame until
it had gained a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. There it
stopped and stood with its rear to the foe, chewing its cud and
apparently half asleep. I observed, however, an occasional slight
turn of its head, as if its apathy were more affected than real. "Meantime Uncle William's shrieks had abated with his motion, and
nothing was heard from him but long, low moans, and at long intervals
my name, uttered in pleading tones exceedingly grateful to my ear. Evidently the man had not the faintest notion of what was being done
to him, and was inexpressibly terrified. When Death comes cloaked in
mystery he is terrible indeed. Little by little my uncle's
oscillations diminished, and finally he hung motionless. I went to
him and was about to give him the _coup de grace_, when I heard and
felt a succession of smart shocks which shook the ground like a series
of light earthquakes, and turning in the direction of the ram, saw a
long cloud of dust approaching me with inconceivable rapidity and
alarming effect! At a distance of some thirty yards away it stopped
short, and from the near end of it rose into the air what I at first
thought a great white bird. Its ascent was so smooth and easy and
regular that I could not realize its extraordinary celerity, and was
lost in admiration of its grace. To this day the impression remains
that it was a slow, deliberate movement, the ram--for it was that
animal--being upborne by some power other than its own impetus, and
supported through the successive stages of its flight with infinite
tenderness and care. My eyes followed its progress through the air
with unspeakable pleasure, all the greater by contrast with my former
terror of its approach by land. Onward and upward the noble animal
sailed, its head bent down almost between its knees, its fore-feet
thrown back, its hinder legs trailing to rear like the legs of a
soaring heron. "At a height of forty or fifty feet, as fond recollection presents it
to view, it attained its zenith and appeared to remain an instant
stationary; then, tilting suddenly forward without altering the
relative position of its parts, it shot downward on a steeper and
steeper course with augmenting velocity, passed immediately above me
with a noise like the rush of a cannon shot and struck my poor uncle
almost squarely on the top of the head! So frightful was the impact
that not only the man's neck was broken, but the rope too; and the
body of the deceased, forced against the earth, was crushed to pulp
beneath the awful front of that meteoric sheep! The concussion
stopped all the clocks between Lone Hand and Dutch Dan's, and
Professor Davidson, a distinguished authority in matters seismic, who
happened to be in the vicinity, promptly explained that the vibrations
were from north to southwest. "Altogether, I cannot help thinking that in point of artistic atrocity
my murder of Uncle William has seldom been excelled." OIL OF DOG


My name is Boffer Bings. I was born of honest parents in one of the
humbler walks of life, my father being a manufacturer of dog-oil and
my mother having a small studio in the shadow of the village church,
where she disposed of unwelcome babes. In my boyhood I was trained to
habits of industry; I not only assisted my father in procuring dogs
for his vats, but was frequently employed by my mother to carry away
the debris of her work in the studio. In performance of this duty I
sometimes had need of all my natural intelligence for all the law
officers of the vicinity were opposed to my mother's business. They
were not elected on an opposition ticket, and the matter had never
been made a political issue; it just happened so. My father's
business of making dog-oil was, naturally, less unpopular, though the
owners of missing dogs sometimes regarded him with suspicion, which
was reflected, to some extent, upon me. My father had, as silent
partners, all the physicians of the town, who seldom wrote a
prescription which did not contain what they were pleased to designate
as _Ol. can._  It is really the most valuable medicine ever
discovered. But most persons are unwilling to make personal
sacrifices for the afflicted, and it was evident that many of the
fattest dogs in town had been forbidden to play with me--a fact which
pained my young sensibilities, and at one time came near driving me to
become a pirate. Looking back upon those days, I cannot but regret, at times, that by
indirectly bringing my beloved parents to their death I was the author
of misfortunes profoundly affecting my future. One evening while passing my father's oil factory with the body of a
foundling from my mother's studio I saw a constable who seemed to be
closely watching my movements. Young as I was, I had learned that a
constable's acts, of whatever apparent character, are prompted by the
most reprehensible motives, and I avoided him by dodging into the
oilery by a side door which happened to stand ajar. I locked it at
once and was alone with my dead. My father had retired for the night. The only light in the place came from the furnace, which glowed a
deep, rich crimson under one of the vats, casting ruddy reflections on
the walls. Within the cauldron the oil still rolled in indolent
ebullition, occasionally pushing to the surface a piece of dog. Seating myself to wait for the constable to go away, I held the naked
body of the foundling in my lap and tenderly stroked its short, silken
hair. Ah, how beautiful it was!