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 Rh Judge H. H. Trimble, of Keokuk, Iowa, general manager of the St. Louis, Keokuk & Northwestern Railroad, is a lover of the hunt, and together with Judge N. M. Hubbard, of Cedar Rapids, passes much time on the prairies gunning for game. The two judges are old cronies, and made many trips together. The prairie chicken season in Iowa opened September 1, but Judge Trimble decided that as the first of the month came on Sunday he had the right to hunt chickens the last day of August. So he and Judge Hubbard started out the day before the season opened, and, going into northern Iowa, had a good day's sport. When the day's hunt was over, they had a half-dozen chickens to their credit, and with these went to the little hotel at Ledyard, where they prepared to devour their prey. While they were quietly eating at the table, a stranger en tered and sat down. "Been out chicken-hunting? " asked the man, as he gazed at Judge Trimble's plate. "Yes," said the judge, who is a sociable sort of a fellow, as he took another mouthful of the tender fowl. "Much luck? " again asked the man. "Pretty good," replied the judge. " I shot four chickens, and Judge Hubbard got two. We 're having some of 'em now." The stranger continued the conversation for a time, and then said : "I 'm Deputy Game Warden Reilly; please consider yourselves under arrest." And there was nothing for the two judges to do but submit. The game warden insisted on taking them before the court at Algona, thirty miles away, and the judges were compelled to go. Now, the road entering Algona is the North western, of which Judge Hubbard is a prominent official. So the judge hunted up the conductor when the train arrived, and told him not to accept the judges' annuals, but to compel the warden to pay their full fares to Algona. The warden was notified that he must buy tickets for his prisoners. As he told the story afterwards, Judge Trimble said: "I instructed the conductor that in case the game warden did not pay our fares or furnish tickets, he must put us off on the prairies. That

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is where we had intended to be all the time, and of course that is where we would have preferred to be put off." But the game warden was game, bought the tickets, and paid the judges' fares to Algona, although both had annuals, and took them be fore a magistrate, where Judge Trimble was fined $30, and Judge Hubbard escaped, because he argued the legal proposition so learnedly that the judge was loath to fine him. Two Irishmen passing through a graveyard came to a stone. One of them stooped down to read the inscription, which was " Here lieth a lawyer and an honest man." "By gorry," said the other, " how came they to put two men in one grave?" We have it on the authority of The Lyre that the following is a " true copy " of an Irish will: "In the name of God, amen! I, Timothy Delona of Barrydownderry, in the county of Clare, farmer; being sick and wake in my legs, but of sound head and warm heart; Glory be to God I — do make the first and last will, the ould and new testament; first, I give my soul to God when it pleases him to take it; sure, no thanks to me, for I can't help it then; and my body buried in the ground at Barrydownderry chapel, where all my kith and kin have gone before me, an' those that live after, belonging to me, are buried, pace to their ashes, and may the sod rest lightly over their bones. "Bury me near my grandfather, Felix OT'laherty, betwixt and between him and my father and mother, who lie separate altogether, at the other side of the chapel yard. I lave the bit of ground — 10 acres — rale old Irish acres, to me eldest son, Tim, after the death of his mother, jf she survives him. My daughter, Mary, and her husband, Paddy O'Ragan, are to get the white pig. Teddy, my second boy, that was killed in the war of Amerikay, might have had his pick of the poultry, but as he is gone I'll lave them to his wife, who died a wake before him; I bequeath to all mankind fresh air of heaven, all the fishes of the sea they can take, and all the birds of the air they can shoot; I lave to them the sun, moon and stars. I lave to Peter RafTerty a pint of ful-poteen I can't finish, and may God be merciful to him! "