nine and a quarter." "Ten and six bits are
all that are in the hat, friends and Christian
brethren." Slowly it mounted up. "Twelve
and a half." "Fourteen." "Fifteen."
"Sixteen and three bits," and so on until it stuck at
nineteen dollars and a half. "It only wants
fifty cents, friends, to make up the amount.
Will nobody make it up?" Everybody had
subscribed, and not a cent more was forthcoming.
Silence reigned, and how long it might have
lasted it was difficult to say, had not a half
dollar been tossed through the open window,
and a rough explanatory voice shouted, "Here,
parson, there's yer money; let out my gal. I'm
about tired of waitin' on her!"

The "Long Tom Creek" region in Oregon
is settled by a very rough lot of people, mostly
from Missouri. They are (even in Oregon) a
proverb for the uncouth character of their
manners, and it was thought quite a missionary
enterprise when a devoted young clergyman
from "the States" came and settled among
them. Church was a novelty with them. It
reminded them of old times "in the States."
They built a little church in the middle of a
broad prairie, and for a time it was crowded every
Sunday. The backwoodsmen and their families
used to come to church in waggons and on
horseback. The men had on fringed buckskin
breeches and mocassins of Indian manufacture,
and the head covered with coon-skin caps, with
the tail hanging in the form of a tassel behind.
They would tie their horses up to the long
"hitchin' post" in front of the church, and
always brought their rifles to church with them,
handy for any "varmints " which might cross
their path going and coming. It so happened
one warm Sunday that the church door was
opened, and a backwoodsman who happened to
be near it was gazing vacantly out on the prairie
in front. Suddenly he spied a deer, close by,
quietly grazing. Here was a chance! Slowly
he took his rifle from the "corner of his pew and
crept out. His action was observed, and one
after another followed, until nobody but a lame
old man was left. By this time the deer was
ambling over the prairie, and the whole
congregation of men yelling and galloping in
pursuit. Preaching was out of the question, for
even the women and children were as eager as
the men, watching the chase half way over the
prairie. The old man and the preacher stood
alone together at the door of the church. The
poor clergyman, in despair for the souls of his
people, and thinking that he would have a
sympathiser in the old man, who alone had not
joined in the chase, sighingly said, "Lost,
lost!" "Devil a bit o't, sir; devil a bit o't,
they'll ketch it. By jingo, they've plugged it!
I know'd they would!" The young minister
received a haunch, and brought the service to a
close; but he was out of his element, and soon
"went East" again, where he is in the habit
of remarking, with unnecessary acrimony, that
"the Oregonians are a very careless people
in heavenly matters!"

In the same part of the country, at a place
called Candle Bridge, I saw a deacon preach.
His sermon was not very remarkable for vigour,
but I can vouch for it, that his squirting of
tobacco juice over the pulpit rails was most
forcible! I had noticed that for some seats
next the reading-desk, the pews were unoccupied,
though other parts of the church were
crowded. After what I witnessed, I had no
difficulty in accounting for the indisposition
to sit under him too immediately. If the
parson is sometimes rough so are the parishioners!
At church in a little backwoods settlement
most of the congregation were asleep.
Suddenly a half tipsy fellow made an apple
bump on the bald head of one of the sleepers.
The preacher stopped and gave the offender
an interrogative stare. "Bile ahead, parson!
Bile ahead! I'll keep 'em awake!" was the
ready explanation.

The following incident has I think been told
before, but still it is so characteristic that it is
worth repeating. In California a miner had died
in a mountain digging, and, being much
respected, his acquaintances resolved to give him a
"square funeral," instead of putting the body
in the usual way in any roughly made hole,
and saying by way of service for the dead,
"Thar goes another bully boy, under!" They
sought the services of a miner, who bore the
reputation of having at one time of his career,
been "a powerful preacher in the States."
And then, Far Western fashion, all knelt
around the grave while the extemporised parson
delivered a prodigiously long prayer. The
miners, tired of this unaccustomed opiate, to
while away the time began fingering the earth,
digger fashion, about the grave. Gradually
looks were exchanged; whispering increased,
until it became loud enough to attract the
attention of their parson. He opened his eyes
and stared at the whispering miners. "What
is it, boys?" Then, as suddenly his eyes lighted
on sparkling scales of gold, he shouted, "Gold,
by jingo! and the richest kind o' diggins'—the
congregation's dismissed!" Instantly every man
began to prospect the new digging, our clerical
friend not being the least active of the number.
The body had to be removed and buried
elsewhere, but the memory of the incident yet lives
in the name of the locality, for "Dead Man's
Gulch" became one of the richest localities in
California.

GOSSIP ABOUT IRELAND.

"ALTOGETHER," said the man with the white
whiskers, "the place in which I spent the
happiest three or four days I ever knew in my life
was Ennis."

"Ennis!" echoed the man with the
wideawake. " I don't remember ever hearing
anybody talk of it before."

"Precisely," replied Whiskers, "and if you
told the honest truth, you would confess that
you did not exactly know where it was."

"Well, I admit——"