"I am sorry," said Bentley, as we walked toward the pier where we had left our boat, "that we talked only to that ghost girl, and that the other spirits were all afraid of us. Persons whose souls are choked up with philosophy are not apt to care much for poetry; and even if my book is to be widely known, it is easy to see that she may not have heard of it." I walked triumphant. The moon, almost touching the horizon, beamed like red gold. "My dear friend," said I, "I have always told you that you should put more philosophy into your poetry. That would make it live." "And I have always told you," said he, "that you should not put so much poetry into your philosophy. It misleads people." "It didn't mislead that ghost girl," said I. "How do you know?" said Bentley. "Perhaps she is wrong, and the other inhabitants of the city are right, and we may be the ghosts after all. Such things, you know, are only relative. Anyway," he continued, after a little pause, "I wish I knew that those ghosts were now reading the poem which I am going to begin to-morrow." A PIECE OF RED CALICO I was going into town one morning from my suburban residence, when my wife handed me a little piece of red calico, and asked me if I would have time, during the day, to buy her two yards and a half of calico like that. I assured her that it would be no trouble at all; and putting the sample in my pocket, I took the train for the city. At lunch-time I stopped in at a large dry-goods store to attend to my wife's commission. I saw a well-dressed man walking the floor between the counters, where long lines of girls were waiting on much longer lines of customers, and asked him where I could see some red calico. "This way, sir." And he led me up the store. "Miss Stone," said he to a young lady, "show this gentleman some red calico." "What shade do you want?" asked Miss Stone. I showed her the little piece of calico that my wife had given me. She looked at it and handed it back to me. Then she took down a great roll of red calico and spread it out on the counter. "Why, that isn't the shade!" said I. "No, not exactly," said she; "but it is prettier than your sample." "That may be," said I; "but, you see, I want to match this piece. There is something already made of this kind of calico which needs to be enlarged or mended or something. I want some calico of the same shade." The girl made no answer, but took down another roll. "That's the shade," said she. "Yes," I replied, "but it's striped." "Stripes are more worn than anything else in calicoes," said she. "Yes, but this isn't to be worn. It's for furniture, I think. At any rate, I want perfectly plain stuff, to match something already in use." "Well, I don't think you can find it perfectly plain unless you get Turkey red." "What is Turkey red?" I asked. "Turkey red is perfectly plain in calicoes," she answered. "Well, let me see some."