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,