The Old Hock.
!.
TW old clock croon* on the uu-kiMoil wall—
Tick, took! tick, took!
The merry ncoomt to minium call;
Tick, lock! 'Tie morn!
A eetuden site nt the mirror there,
And smiles as she braiila her golden heir;
Ob, in the light but her lace is Inir!
Tick lock! tick, took!
Ker over the see the good ship brings
IVs ierer of whom the maiden sings;
Prcm tho orange tree the tirst leaf springs;
Tick, tock! lick took!
11.
Yfcedtd clock laughs on the flower-deckwl wall- '
Tick, tock! tick, tock! I
The foae-winged hours elude their thrall; i
Tick, tock! 'Tie noon! .
TV lover'* pride and his love are blest;
The maiden is folded to his breast; (
O* her brow the holy blossoms rest; | j
Tick, tock! tick, tock!
Uh tbrice, thrice long may the sweet bells |
chime |
A u echoing this thro' future time'
Sail U> mv heart heats that measured rhyme—
Tick, tock! lick, tock!
I
lit.
The old clock moans on the crumbling wall —
Tick, took' tick tock!
' Dwdrear years into eternity tall;
Tick, tock! Tie night! ;
The thread that yon spider draws with care '
Arvnw the gleam of the mirror there 1
Seems like the ghost of a golden hair; I
Tick, tock' tick, tock! I
The awcet Mis chime for those who may wed;
The ncroli-snows crown many a head—
Hut tree and maiden and lover are dead.
Tick, tock* tick, tock!
f.'uy Carlrton In f.ift. j
THE DOOR-STEP.
Hannah Gneldt leaned upon her ,
broom and looked out front the <
kiw kitchen door across flu- wintry
fields and ice-glared streamlet which t
lay between lit r home and the village j
iA Greenock, with its one tapering t
spire and sloping roofs and blank l
white walls, hare now of the summer ]
rent it re. She had lor household
work, polished every article capable of
polish and soaped and sanded all the
rest. At the last she had swept eh an
her door-stone and now felt free to do ;
what she rhoose, to rest or gossip or sit j
down to needle-work —a thing impos- t
■hie to her while a spot heneath
her roof was out of order, .lust now ■
she felt like neither g' s-iping or sew- i
sng; her heart was very full, and she
{(xim 1 it necessary to stand still and
think awhile. Only that she was not t
■sed to it, she would have cried, she i
was so very sad. It seemed to her i
that the happiest people were those*
who lay in their green graves in the
churchyard, with crossed hands upon
their bosoms, and felt quiet from all i
earthly going to and fro for evermore.
Not that Hannah Gheldt was tir*l
in body or weary with the toil of
household duty; for she was strong in i
frame, and her health was pi rfect a.s i
her hands were willing. It was on <
her humble heart the burden lay; her
spirit was worn with earthly travail. .
**Twenty-three years to-day I've i
been his wife." she muttered, "and I've
loved him well ami worked hard and
faithful to keep things decent, and it |
has come to this at last. Things !
had been lietier." said she, "if he'd
vnarried Miss Lester."
Yes. that was what Farmer Gneldt.
harassed by toil and debt, had said that
very morning: and it seemed to Han
uli like the confession of long re
pentance, forced from her husband's
Bps at last.
"Poor man! I wish I could help him,'
ahe sighed, leaning on her broom lw
•ide the door. "I doubt he's right
about Miss Lester."
With that her eyes fell and rested
by chance on the door-step.
"I can mend that, anyhow," ahe
asutl, "and I have time, lor work is
done."
bo she hung the broom up and
peeped into the On en and s< t the kettle
m and then, hooded and shawled
crossed the fields to where the farm
jeiacd that of Ninieon Gray.
On one spot were men at work
breaking up stones lying aliuut.
Hannah Gneldt nodded to the old far
mer, and he came to meet her.
"I want a stcne," she said, "May I 1
kavc one ?"
"I wish you'd take 'tin all" said the
farmer. "A lot of rubbish. Yon see '
I'm clearing away what they call the j
old graveyard at last. Wife talks to !
■m o' sacrilege and disturbin' honea
Bless yon, there ain't been none for
yean l ; and these hard times men can't i
Irt. land go to waste, i tell wife she
don't know nothin' about it. What do
jo* want to do? Have a hit around
the well ?"
"No, I want a step," said Hannah.
"That great white one is just the
filing." And she pointed to a slab
lard by,
"Ike shall bring it over to-night," (
•aid the farmer.
"No," said Hannah, "I can roll it
•long."
"I wish I eould tell what that was,"
she said. "Somo one's age and name.
All! there were sore hearts what that
was new. 1 hope when I die Oliver
will have written over me that I was
a good wife. I've tried to be. I ought
to know that big letter—wuit a hit; 1
believe It's
Then she turned the inscription
downward and washed the other side
clear and white and fitted it. into place.
She received little crislit for her
work. Oliver only muttered:
"You needn't have published the
fact 1 couldn't afford a porch to the
place." Ami no one noticed the step
afterwards save Hannah, when she
scrubbed it.
Matters were very hail with the
(incldts. Oliver brooded over the lire
in speechless sorrow and grew graver
and balder with each passing day.
Hannah kept ruin off a little by mak.
ing a home of the poor house and a
feast of the humldc fare by her house
wife's skill. She might even have
been cheerful hut for the memory of
that luckless speech.
Working in her garden one day when
the tirst spring grass was growing
green, Hannah heard footsteps, and
lifting her head, saw two gentlemen
beside her and arose precipitately. The
nearest gentleman, an elderly man with
bright, dark eyes, addressed her:
"Mrs. Gnchlt, I presume."
"Yes, sir."
She asktsl him to walk in, and he
diil so, the other following. In the lit
tle parlor they -.it down.
"You are .Mrs. Hannah Gneldt, Oli
ver Gneldt's wife?"
"Yes, sir; it is about—about—ex
ciisc me, you look like a lawyer, and I
'•.ir it is more trouble for Oliver."
"Hc-assnre yourself, madam," s.ii.i
the gentleman; "re-assure yourself,
madam. Your husband is not con
cerned, save through you, and that. I
hope, pleasantly. Your name was
Hums before you were married."
"Yes, sir; Hannah Hums."
"I)o you remember dates well?"
"No. sir."
"You have, perhaps, a record of
family events—your own birth, your
parent's marriage, your grandfather's
death ?"
Hannah Gneldt wonderinglv replied,
"I have mother's Bible, and they tell
me it's all there."
"How far hack ?"
"To grandfather's birth, I believe—
Grandfather Hums. He had one
child, and I am t lie only one my pa
rents ever had. Oliver set down our
wedding day and our two boys" birth
days."
"And yuur great-grandfather the
record of his death is there?"
"I don't kn <\v. you may see. Wait
I'll . all Oliver."
Going to the door, Hannah to>k
down a horn us. | for that pur|xiscand
tit• r• Ia i all, which brought Oliver
lineldt hiuiie from the field at once,
lb- dvi fi lt alarmed, but explanations
quieted him. Almost as much aston
ished as his wife, he brought out the
Bible.
"The death of my wife's great
grandfather, Zebulon Burns, is not
here," he said. "The tirst record is In
his hand, I believe. It is the birth of
his eldest child."
So it proved, and the lawyer looked
disappointed.
"You cannot remember the day of
his death?" he said. "I mean thedate
of the month?"
"He died long before I was born,"
said Hannah, "and, though rich, left
nothing to grandfather. They had
quarreled, I believe. He told odd sto
ries of him. He must have been very
eccentric, and a servant or housekeeper
had great influence over him; she had
all the property. Margery Mar
gery—"
"Margery Wither, I think," said the
lawyer.
"Yes," said Hannah. "I remember
now."
"You are quiet people, not likely to
talk too much," said tho lawyer. "I
will tell yon something. We have
found, something. We have found n
will among the cfTortit. He died In a
lit of apoplexy. Don't hope too much,
mind. A will in your favor, as your
father's only child. It was written by
him on his death-bed, dated 10th of
March, 17—, and leaves all his prop
! erty to your father, his grandson, then
a boy. Hush! don't hope too much.
Margery Wilbur or her heirs now hold
this property under a will dated March
- l r th, 17—."
"A later will," said Oliver. "Then
of course, they are the rightful po*_
lessor*. What need of all this? The
! latest must stand."
"Not if it is a forgery," said the law
yer.
Oliver laughed the hitter laugh of
care and disappointment.
"Who can prove that?" he said.
"No one, perhnj*. Yet the record
of the old man's death might. A man
whose dying hand signed a will on the
10th of March would Hearcely make an
other on the 15th. We Udieve the
w ill a forgery, written on old parch
ment. .Since the discovery of the one
I have spoken of Margery Wilber took
possession with legal forms, for no one
appeared to test her title. Where waa
your great-grandfather buried?"
"Here," said Hannah. "They say
he was brpnght down at his request
Mrs. Wilber as chief mourner, and Ida
son grandfather not even sent for.
An old graveyard somewhere. Oh,
Oliver! Oliver!"
She turnisl quite white, and uttered
a cry, "Oliver, that must be the grave
yard on Gray's place that he dug over
last winter in the warm spell."
"Then it is gone,"said Oliver. "And
our last hope with it. No, gentlemen
good luck would never mine upon us.
I'overtv means to ellng to us to the
last. 1 wish you hud better clients."
"Oliver! Oliver!" grasped Hannah
Gneldt, "tell me one thing. Zclmlon
was great grandfather's name. Zebu
lon is spelled with a Z, isu't it? Oh,
do speak!"
"I think you are going mad, Han.
nsili; ol course of it is."
"Oli, the big Z, I remember it so
well. I know it was Z; and it would
have been broken to pieces before
now. Oliver, don't you remember my
door-step that you were so angry at?
I Is-lievi- it is my jtoor old great-grand
father's tombstone. And not to kin-w
-it w hen I stared at the great Z!"
Oliver Gneldt said nothing. 110
fearisl his wife's brain was turned, and
that m.vie tiiin faint and cold as lie fol
lowed her into the garden and there
watched while the three others lifted
at the flat slab.
It lay before them on the green
spring grass, black letters on the white
ness, and bending over it they read
aloud:
"Zebulon liurns Jk.rn May, .
Died March 11th, 17 with eulogis
tic verses, with long s's, underneath,
as in duty bound.
"It's pur grandfather's," said Han
nah. And the lawyer extended his
hands, grasping those of Oliver and his
wife.
"The proof Is found," he said; "the
latest will is a forg'-ry. for it is datixl
the day after the old man's death.
Mrs. Gneldt is heir* ss to a large prop,
erty. I congratulate you."
And Hannah, with her head on her
husband's shoulder, whispered: "Oil.
Mr, it wouldn't have Ix-cn better to
have married Miss Lester, after all."
Employment of Women and Children.
The United States census statistics
relating to "gainful" occupations show
some Mgnifii ant results as to the em
ployment of women and children. The
whole number of females rcportM as
pursuing gainful o-mpations in the
l'nitisl Mate* in l-7o was 1,8.18,2*8.
In 1 --si the number was 2,647,157,
show ing an in'rea-e dn: _• the ten
years of BJ'i,*o9. This :• ult shows
that the number of females engaged
in occupations has increased at a much
highir rate than the female jiopula
tion. and also at a higher rate than the
mimls-r of males pursuing occupa
tions. It further appears that the rate
of increase in the number of females
pursuing occupations has Ix-en far
higher in manufacturing and mechani
cal industries—that is, in factories
chiefly than in any other kind of em
ployment.
Similar ri-sults are shown by the cen
sus statistics with reference to the em
ploymont of children. In 1870 the
whole number between ten and fifteen
years of age reported as pursuing gain
ful occupations was 739,1t>4. In 1880
the number wax 1,118,1150, or an In
crease during the decade of 379,102.
The rate of this increase was greater
than the rate of increase in the popu
lation lietween those ages, and it was
also greater than the rate of Increase
in the number of adults pursuing gain
ing occupations. As in the case of
women, so in the ra*e of children, the
rate of increase in the number cm
ployed has Ix-cn greatest in factories.
Nearly three hundnxl thousand more
women, and alxmt sixty thousand mor®
children, were employed in manufac
turing industries in 1880 than in 1870.
—Tinr York lf<ral>l.
Kahbit Transit,
The vicinity of Austin is very hilly
and rocky, and alxmnds in rabbits. A
little IKIV, who had not been long in
the place undertook to capture a rah
bit. Ho chased the animal up a steep
hill, but when he undertxik to follow
if down the other side he lost Ills bal
ance and got a bad fall. When the
boy came home in a used-up condition,
his mother asked him what he had
been doing.
"I had such a nice race with a ralx
blt"
"Well, which of you won the race."
"Going up the hill tho rabbit was
ahead, but in coming down on the oth
er side I beat the rabbit"
THITH.
a SMaliriil Illustration nf lis rower.
The following beautiful Illustration
of the power of truth, is from the pen
of K. 11. Hammond, formerly editor of
the Albany Ntatr Rxjlxlrr. He was an
eye-witness of the scene in one of thj*
higher courts of New York.
A little girl, nine years of age, was
offered as witness against a prisoner,
who was on trial for a felony commit
ted in her father's house.
"Now, Emily," said the counsel for
the prisoner, upon her being offered as
a witness, "1 desire to know if you
understand the nature of an oath?"
"I don't know what you mean," was
the simple answer.
"There, your honor," said the coun
sel, addressing the court, "Is anything
further necessary to demonstrate the
validity of my objection? This wit
ness should he rejected. She does not
comprehend the nature of an oath."
"Let us see," said the judge. "Come
here, my daughter."
Assured hy the kind tone and man
ner of the judge, the child stepped
toward him, and io<>k-<l confidingly up
into his face with a calm, clear eye,
and with a manner so artless and
frank that it went straight to the
i heart.
"Ilid you ever take an oath?" In*
! quired the judge. The little girl step
ped ba k with a look of horror, and
the red blood mantled In a blush all
over her fare as she answered:
"No, sir."
She thought that he Intended to in
quire If she ever blasphemed.
"I do not mean that," said the judge,
. who saw lu r mistake; "I mean, were you
ever a witness lief ore?"
•'No, I never was in court before,"
was the answer.
He handed her the Iliblc, open.
"l)oyou know that txxjk, my daugh
| ter ?"
She looki-d at it and answered, "Yes,
sir; it is the lb hie."
"I)o you ever read It?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; every evening."
"Can you tell me w hat the Ilible is?"
inquired the judge.
"It Is the word of the great God,"
she answered.
"Well, place your hand upon this
Itible, and listen to what I say;" and
he repeatisl slowly and solemnly the
oath usually administered to wit
nesses.
"Now," said the judge, "you have
worn as witness, will you tell me
I *
I what will befall you if you do not tell
the truth T"
"I shall )*> shut up In State prison,"
answered the child.
"Anything else?" asked the judge.
"I shall never go to heaven," she
replies!.
"How do you know this?" a*kcd the
judge again.
| The child t-N.k the Itible And turn
ing rapidly to the chapter containing
the commandment.*, pointed to the in
junction, "Thou -halt not l>enr false
witm-** aga n-t thy nelghlmr." "I
learned that before I could read,
i "Has anyone talked with you about
your Icing a witness here against this
I man''" inquired the judge.
"Ye*, sir." she replied. "My
mother heard they wanted me to lx- a
witness, and last night she called me
to her room and ask<*l me to tell her
the ten commandments, and then we
kneeled down together, and she prayed
that I might understand how wicked
it was to bear false witness against my
neighbor, and that God would help me,
a little child, to tell the truth as it wa
before Him. And when I rame up
here with father, she kissed me, and
told me to remember the ninth com
mandment, and that God would hear
every word that I said."
"I)o you believe this?" asked the
judge, while a tear glistened in his eye
and his lijis quivered with emotion.
"Yes, sir." said the child, with a
voice and manner that showed her con
viction of the truth was perfect
"God bless you, my child." said the
judge; "you have a good mother.
This witness is competent " he con
tinues!. "Were lon trial for my life
and innocent of the charge against me.
; I would pray to God for such witness
es as this. Let her lie examined."
She told her story with the simplici
ty of a child, as she was, but there w as
a directness alxmt it that carried con.
victlon of its truth to every heart.
She was rigidly cross-examined. The
counsel plied her with indefinite and
ingenious questioning, but she varied
j from her first statement in nothing.
The truth as spoken hy thnt little
child was sublime. Falsehood and |w-r
j jury hud proceeded her. The prisoner
hnd entrenched himself in lien. Wit
nesses had falsified facts in his favor
and villainy had manufactured for him
n sham defense. Hut lieforo her testi
mony it was scattered like chaff. The
little child for whom the mother hail
prayed for strength to be given to
speak the truth as it was frcfore God,
broke the vanning devises of mature.'.
villiany like H potter's venseL The
strength that her mother prayed for
wan given, arid sublime arid terrible
simplicity—terrible, J mean to the
prisoner and his associate with
which she spoke, was like a revelation
from God himself.
MADE IJTSAKE ItV EXILE.
A lIUUUII Aullior'i Hard W at* --How !•
W MciiUairtd.
The New York Volk+ZHtuny has
information that Nicolai hjiasskolT, a
itiissian refugee who arrived in Vienna
recently, reports that Twhernyschews
kij, the Russian author who has been
for nineteen years an exile, has tx-crt
insane since the beginning of the year.
When Spasskofl saw hirn he was con
fin'-d at Wilujsk, in the government of
Irkutsk, lie was raving marl. Tscher
nvschewskij was banished for writirig
the romance, "Ndito Djdatj." The
ceremony following upon his sentence
is thus described by an eye-witness:
It was on May 20, 186-1. A large
crowd was hurrying to the Kasan
place at (SL Petersburg, where a ncaf
fohl was erected, guarded by a detach
ment of soldiery. From far away I
could sis- the pillory overtopping the
scaffold and the surrounding crowd.
From the Kasan steeple the < hs:k
struck nine, and at the same time from
a small alley leading to the Kasan
place a • art issued; it waa painted
black and accompanied by two gend
armes. 'I he cart made its way through
the crowd toward the scaffold. Two
men descended from it, one of whom
was an oflicer, the other a civilian, who
hx.kcd vcrj pale. The oiljccr beckoned
the < iviiian to mount tfi<- affold. The
pale man obeyed. ]{ was received
u|Min the scaffold by two men, who
w-re -t,mding mar the pillory; they
wore risl >(iirt and red caps, and were
the helpers of the hangman. One of
them hung a blackboard about the
neck of the pah- man. In white letter*
these two words ware painted ujon
the blacklmard: "(iossudamtwennyj
I'restupnik" State Criminal. This
was, then, the official title of N. G.
Tschernyschew skij, tie beloved of Rus
sia's youth! The officer took from his
p-tckef a pajxT anA <omm<-nf <--1 r- ading
the sentence of the court, setting forth
that the- Honorable Councillor Tscher
ri\schewskij h.v! been condemned to
serve fourteen years at hard lalx.tr in
the mines f<-r having issued and circu
lated socialistic literature; ami that,
having served his term, he would be
banished for life to Siberia. Having
finished with reading, the officer com
manded the prisoner to kneel down.
Tschernyschew skij bent his knees, and
then two thin swords were broken
over his In ad, which was t > signify
that he was now divested of his title,
honors, arid citizen's rights for all time
to coine. At this moment a b-a itiful
Immpiet w as thrown tothe"di.xh< inured"
man of letter-; a shower < f txiuquet*
;uid flowers followed them fr--m all
sides. The officer made Tv hcrnys
chewskij stand up to the pillory that
he might not pick up any of the flow,
ers.
From the scaffold he was hurried di
rectly to Nertschinsk in Mlx-ria, where
he was compelled to dig in the mines
under a continual torture of blows
from the knout, ami of mental and
physical deprivations. After those
seven years of agony he was sent from
one prison to the other until they drove
him crazy.
Hard and Soft Water.
The hardness or so ft news of water
depends upon the amount of mineral
ingrrdients which it contains. These
mainly consist of carbonate and sul
phate of lime, the former giving rise
to w hat is called temporary hardncas
—it being for the most part removable
by continued lsdling. whereby it lx
comes inerustisl as chalk on the inside
of the vessel in which the water is
boiled ; and the latter to permanent
hardness, because it is not thus re
movable. A very hard water is inju
rious for drinking purposes Iterause
its power as a solvent for food is im
paired, and because it is absorbed by
the stomach with greater difficulty
than a soft water, thus giving rise to
indigestion or dyspepsia. In addition
to the long train of distressing symp
toms which are included under the
term dyspepsia, there is strong evi
dence to prove that the habitual drink
ing of very hard water also gives rise
to goitre, a disease associated in many
places with (hat fearful form of idiocy
known as cretinism. In many parts
of England goitre in found to prevail
only In those districts where the mag
nesian limestone formation in abun
dant. In some districts in Switzerland
the use of certain spring waters of un
usual hardness has been followed hy
the production of augmentation of the
disease in the course of a few days,
and similar results have frequently
been observed In India—Prof. Simp
sotj, M. />.
PEAKL.H OF TIIOI'UHT.
Advice in seldom welcome. Those
who need it most take it leant.
An every thread of gold Invaluable,
so in every minute of time.
J'ronj>erity in no junt male; adversity
in the only balance to weigh friends.
'i'he more we do, the more we ran do;
the more buny we are, the more leisure
we have.
Knavery is supple, and can trend,
hut honesty in firm and upright and *
' yields nut.
j No principle In more noble, an there
is none more holy, than that of a true
obedience.
He who is the rnont slow in making
a promise in the most faithful in the
• ! performance of it.
| Never let your zeal outrun your
r charity. The former is but human,
Ihe latter in divine,
Duty cannot ire neglected without
harm to those who practice an well an
to those who suffer the neglect.
Precept Is instruction that in written
in sand, and washed away by the tide;
example in instruction engraved on the
rock.
Whoever has a contented mind has
all ri'dies. To him whose b>ot is en
closed in a shoe, in it not a* though the
1 < earth were earjieted with leather?
Try to repress thought, and it is like
trying to fasten down steam an ex
plosion in sure to follow. I.et thought
| !<• free to work in itn own aj.j.ropriate
way, and it turns the ma bine, drives
the wheels, d'sni the w
( at air.
I There are many people who pretend
i to like caviar, and it is p>*.ibl* tii.it .
f< w may have forced themselves to
. relish the intensely salt or ram id prep
aration of sturgeon eggs called i>y this
name. We believe the "de|i< .i/ y" first
, fame from I'usnia, arid we can imagine
i that a native of Siberia, half Indian
I and half Esquimaux, might find caviar
i a delightful change from whale's
blublier and decayed seal. W have
tasted ' av i.r. ami think that old rusty
, mackerel brine i nectar beside it.
The (ieriusns pretend to love caviar
t and Americans who have l*-cn abroad
eat it liefore tie .r fricnils to show their
i a< juired taste contra/ted in foreign
i lands. We r< ad in the b< u !*■ in Fb
turri Ziituuj tiiat some Hermans have
Iwen making caviar from the eggs of
tlx- pike, and we wish them success ia
; their search after a new source of suje
ply of delicatessen. Shakespeare
-jc tksof something which the general
, public cannot relish as Ixsing "caviar
to the general." The bard is correct,
as usual. Caviar is on.ar, whether
made of trlptollllwl randd sturgeon *
eggs or of the ova of the ] ike flavored
witlisc.il blubl>er and stale mackerel
brine.
To our fricn<ls who have not yet
met this luxury we will say that at
flintier, after the pudding, ice cream
cheese, nuts, figs and raisin* have pass*
<sl. you take a piece of toast aiiout
three inches square and cover it with
a quarttr inch layer of something that
looks like broken rice stewed in coal
tar. On this you put a thick layer of
finely-chopped raw onion and squeeze
lemon over it You raise it to your
lips; you bite into it and roll your eyes
heavenward aud declare that you never
tasted anything half so delicious before.
At the first opportunity you slip down
j stairs and take a quiet drink out of the
kerosene can to get tip a proper after
taste in your mouth.
Yes, the Hermans have discovered a
new source of caviar in the pike, and
don't we wish we had some of it.
The memory of the caviar we have
eaten comes over us like the recollec
tions of an Arctic explorer when he
thinks of the train oil he has sw allow
ed.—[ Forest ami Stream.
Ex pert Ing a Letter.
"I don't see how it is," exclaimed an
east side man. as he entered the post
j office the other morning; "I can never
get my lett< rs on time!"
"Are you i\j>ceting something by
mall?" asked the postmaster, politely.
"Expecting something! I should
think I was. I've been expecting it
for the past three flays!" continues! the
j man. impatiently.
"This is probably what you expect
ed." said the man of letters, with a self
satisfied smile, as he took a bill from
the man's IKIX and handed it to him.
"Yes." growled the man. taking the -
envelope which ho supposed contained *
the expected letter, without looking st
it; "tliis was .lue three days ago!"
"Three days ago!" exclaimed the
piwtmaster, a little surprised. "Why.
your tailor said when he put it in that
it was due three months ago!" It did
not take that man long to discover the
true inwardness of the post master's re
marks, hut w hen lie did he was mad
enough to lick the postmaster and
every stamp in the office.—Statesman