the pony's side. "You can count his ribs."

"That's more'n a chap could do with yours," retorted the gypsy.

BRIGHAM YOUNG did not buy that pony.

* * * * *

NATURAL HISTORY IN OUR PARKS.

No greater tribute has yet been paid to the already improved condition
of our city parks under the new _régime_, than the arrival in them of
strange birds by which they had not hitherto been patronized. Within a
few days past several owls have been captured in the solemn pines with
which these delightful retreats have lately been made green, if not
shady. The owl, as is well known, was regarded by the ancients as the
Bird of Wisdom. He fully sustained his right to the title by letting
severely alone the city parks while they were still dreary and
disgusting wastes. The only night-birds by which these were, then
occupied were of the featherless (and apparently motherless) kind, and
were well known to the police. They were quite as watchful, it is true,
as the genuine feathered owl that has just commenced to give its very
extraordinary countenance to the parks, but then it was with other
people's watches, not their own. It is with much concern that we hear
reports of the slaughter of some of these solemn but beautiful owls that
have come to ventilate their wisdom among us. The reports in question
were very definite and unmistakable, most of them proceeding from
revolvers handled by members of the Municipal Police Force, while others
emanated from the barrels of shot-guns wielded by beery Teutons, who
rushed frantically out from their sawdust lairs when they were told that