immensely large, old, red Shanghai rooster, a most pompous and dignified old chap.  A special pet of Aunt Sarah’s, she having raised him from a valuable “setting” of eggs given her, and as the egg from which “Brigham,” as he was called, emerged, was the only one of the lot which proved fertile, he was valued accordingly and given a longer lease of life than the other roosters, and was usually either confined or allowed to roam outside the chicken yard during the summer months; in the winter, being a swift runner, he usually gobbled up two shares of food before the hens arrived.  That accounted for his great size.  The old rooster was also noted for his loud crowing.

One day in early Spring, John Landis came into the house hurriedly, saying, “Sarah, your old Shanghai rooster is sick.”

“Yes,” answered his wife, “I missed hearing him crow this morning; he is usually as regular as an alarm clock.”

She hurried to the barnyard, picked up poor Brigham, wrapped him carefully in a piece of blanket and laid him in a small shed.  The next morning she was awakened by the lusty crowing of Brigham, who was apparently as well as ever.  The next day the same thing happened.  Aunt Sarah found him, as she supposed, in a dying condition, and the following morning he was fully recovered.  It was quite puzzling until one day John Landis came into the kitchen laughing heartily and said, “Sarah, I am sorry to inform you of the intemperate habits of your pet, Brigham.  He is a most disreputable old fellow, and has a liking for liquor.  He has been eating some of the brandied cherries which were thrown into the barnyard when the jug containing them was accidentally broken at house cleaning time.

“Well, Sarah, old Brigham was not sick at all—­only ‘ingloriously’ drunk.”  In the fall of the same year Aunt Sarah spied Brigham one day on top of one of the cider barrels in the shed busily engaged eating the pummace which issued from the bung-hole of the barrel.  John Landis, on hearing of Brigham’s last escapade, decided, as the rooster was large as an ordinary-turkey, to serve him roasted at Mary’s wedding.

Fritz Schmidt remarked one day in the presence of Sibylla:  “Chickens must possess some little intelligence; they know enough to go to bed early.  Yes, and without an ‘alarm clock,’ too, Sibylla, eh?”

She walked away without a word to Fritz.  The alarm clock was a sore subject with her, and one about which she had nothing to say.  Sibylla had never quite forgiven Fritz for the prank played on her.  He, happening to hear John Landis tell Sibylla a certain hour he thought a proper time for Jake Crouthamel to take his departure Sunday evenings, Fritz conceived the brilliant (?) idea of setting the alarm clock to “go off” quite early in the evening.  He placed the clock at the head of the stairs, and in the midst of an interesting conversation between the lovers the alarm sounded with a loud, whizzing noise, which naturally made quick-tempered Sibylla very angry.  She said on seeing Fritz the next morning:  “It was not necessary to set the ‘waker’ to go off, as I know enough to send ‘Chake’ home when it’s time.”