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Western Star, Issue 49, 17 October 1874, Page 6

It N sail that on one occasion, as. Miss Wordsworth, sister of the port, was passing through a wood, which the stock dove was filling with its soft music, she fell in with a countrywoman, who exclaimed, “ I am so fond of stock doves.” “Oh!” thought Miss Wordsworth, “ at last I have come on one of Nature’s poets, with a soul to appreciate the beautiful music of the —Very ruthlessly was the dream disenchanted by an explanatory remark of the woman’s: “ Some likes them in pies, and some likes them roaste i; bat for my part, I think there's nothing like them stewed with onions.”

A poor woman who had lost her husband was visited on the day after the ?a I event by a neighbour. who, to her surprise, found the newly-made widow, instead of being wrapped in conventional grief, busily occupied in sipping a bssin of bread and milk with evident relish. “ Oh, Maggie,’* said the visitor, “ I’m glad to see that ye’re no takin’ the loss o’ yer man sair at heart! Ye’re lookin’ rale wool.” “ VVeel, Jess,” replied the widow*, “ye needna say that. I wan jist greetin’ afore I took this drap 'o’ milk an* bread, and gin I had it suppit I’ll jist begin again.”