the back side of the bed and braced his shoulders against the wall.
Drawing up his sinewy knees to a level with his breast, he placed
the soles of his feet broadly against the back of the insurgent,
with the design of propelling her against the opposite wall. There
was a strangled snort, then a shriek of female agony, and the
neighbours came in.

Mutual explanations followed, and Mr. Zacharias walked the streets
of Grass Valley next day as if he were treading upon eggs worth a
dollar a dozen. The Scolliver Pig.

One of Thomas Jefferson's maxims is as follows: "When angry, count
ten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred." I once knew a
man to square his conduct by this rule, with a most gratifying
result. Jacob Scolliver, a man prone to bad temper, one day started
across the fields to visit his father, whom he generously permitted
to till a small corner of the old homestead. He found the old
gentleman behind the barn, bending over a barrel that was canted
over at an angle of seventy degrees, and from which issued a cloud
of steam. Scolliver pŠre was evidently scalding one end of a dead
pig-an operation essential to the loosening of the hair, that the
corpse may be plucked and shaven.

"Good morning, father," said Mr. Scolliver, approaching, and
displaying a long, cheerful smile. "Got a nice roaster there?" The
elder gentleman's head turned slowly and steadily, as upon a swivel,
until his eyes pointed backward; then he drew his arms out of the
barrel, and finally, revolving his body till it matched his head, he
deliberately mounted upon the supporting block and sat down upon the
sharp edge of the barrel in the hot steam. Then he replied, "Good