sfahction, sartin. 'S a cause for all these things. An' ef she doos
kind o' rip an' tear, she's got to go b' Gunter. She's bound to foller
her constitootion as she understan's it, an' to stan' up for the great
principal of ekul freedom for all. Hope they'll be keerful to save some
o' the pieces. 'S a good deal o' comfort 'n these loose fragments. 'S
nuthin' like the raael odds an' ends--the Simon-pure, ginooine
article--to bind up the broken heart an' make the mourners joyful. No
tellin' how much good they do in restorin' gratitood to Providence, an'
smoothin' things over,--kind o' make matters easy, you know.
Interestin', too, to hev in the house,--pleasin' ornaments on the
mantel-piece to show to friends an' vis'ters. They allers like to hear
the story 'n connection with the native specimens, an' everybody feels
happified an' thankful. Yes, after all, th'r' is a master lot of solid
comfort in a raael substantial accident right in the buzzum of a
family,--none o' your three-cent fizzles, but a true-blue afflictin'
dispensation. 'S a heap o' pleasin' an' valooable associations
a-clusterin' round."

Here the vocal one paused for an instant, to draw breath, and rally for
another raid. Feeling his little army now well in hand, he burned for
fresh conquests. In glancing triumphantly around, his eye fell on a
certain benign smile then flitting over the face of his predestined
Satellite. Complacently nodding thereto, straightway the Peptic spoke:--

"I s'pose this 'ere group 's all insured, everythin' right an' tight an'
all square up t' the hub. Suthin' hahnsum for the widders an' orphans.
These little nest-eggs allers sort o' handy,--grease the ways, an' slick
things up ship-shape. Survivors bless the rod, an' fix up everythin'
round the house in apple-pie order. I hev known men that was so te'ble
pertickler allers to save the Company, that nuthin' ever did, n' ever
could happen. An' the despairin' friends kep' waitin' an' waitin', but
't was no sort o' use; they never got a red. 'T's wut I call bein'
desput keerful, an' sailin' pooty consid'able close to the wind. 'T's
like old Deacon Skillins's hoss, down to Mudville, that was so dreffle
conscientious he couldn't eat oats. No accountin' for tastes. Free
country, anyhow. Ef anybody likes to be fussy an' ructious 'n little
things, why, there's nuthin' to hender him from hevin' his own way. But
it don't exackly hev an hon'able look to common-sense folks.

"Ef the clipper's