IN our boyhood, we had little use for meadows, we could go out in the prairie and on the low land we could cut from three to four tons of good hay per acre. A big boy could cut five tons per day, which would now be worth at least fifty dollars. When we was a boy, we went out to mow some hay, and we found our good neighbor John Hall out there mowing, and he showed us where to mow, where the grass was very good, and he said there was all the grass in that place we would both cut. When it was near noon and pretty hot, we were wanting water very much John called us to come to him, we went, and he brought out a very large, long watermelon from under some green hay beneath his wagon, and we got in the shade of his wagon. I do not think I have ever enjoyed a melon with more relish than I did that one. The Deer on the Ice. THE Deer is the most beautiful of all animals, very timid and harmless, has no disposition to fight any thing, unless it is wounded or hemmed in, it aims to save itself by flight; but hunters say it kills every snake that it finds, by jumping on the reptile with all its feet placed close together, thus cutting it to pieces with its sharp hoofs. It was, maybe, in the winter of 1844, it had been very cold for a long time, my elder brother would go to the spring for water every evening near sunset, and there was a large buck drinking in the spring, as the water was frozen up other places; my Father said “wait and I will see if I can kill him,” and he loaded up his big rifle and went down to the big locust tree South of the house, in plain view of the spring, and we saw him draw up against the tree and take aim, and “bang” went the rifle, and he ran to the spring, directly we heard him hollering, and the two big boys ran with all their might; the bullet had struck him on the horn, just where it joined his head, and stunned him, and he lay there until my Father caught him by the hind leg, when he sprang to his feet; there was a solid sheet of smooth ice, about fifteen feet across, and the deer could not hold very good on the ice; my Father said he had him down a dozen times, but could not keep him down; he got his front feet to the dry land once or twice, and my Father would jerk him back, but when my brothers got there they got hold of his horns and threw him down and they all piled on him and held him down until they cut his throat. My Father was a large, stout man, and he said that was the hardest scuffle he ever had. Such was pioneer life in Illinois. [Illustration] Ben Overton.