The Tanner. “And so, if the Chair will examine the test-remark in the sack, we shall know which of these two frauds--[The Chair. “Order!”]--which of these two adventurers--[The Chair. “Order! order!”]--which of these two gentlemen--[laughter and applause]--is entitled to wear the belt as being the first dishonest blatherskite ever bred in this town--which he has dishonoured, and which will be a sultry place for him from now out!” [Vigorous applause.] Many Voices. “Open it!--open the sack!” Mr. Burgess made a slit in the sack, slid his hand in, and brought out an envelope. In it were a couple of folded notes. He said: “One of these is marked, ‘Not to be examined until all written communications which have been addressed to the Chair--if any--shall have been read.’ The other is marked ‘_The Test_.’ Allow me. It is worded--to wit: “‘I do not require that the first half of the remark which was made to me by my benefactor shall be quoted with exactness, for it was not striking, and could be forgotten; but its closing fifteen words are quite striking, and I think easily rememberable; unless _these_ shall be accurately reproduced, let the applicant be regarded as an impostor. My benefactor began by saying he seldom gave advice to anyone, but that it always bore the hall-mark of high value when he did give it. Then he said this--and it has never faded from my memory: ‘_You are far from being a bad man_--’’” Fifty Voices. “That settles it--the money’s Wilson’s! Wilson! Wilson! Speech! Speech!” People jumped up and crowded around Wilson, wringing his hand and congratulating fervently--meantime the Chair was hammering with the gavel and shouting: “Order, gentlemen! Order! Order! Let me finish reading, please.” When quiet was restored, the reading was resumed--as follows: “‘_Go, and reform--or, mark my words--some day, for your sins you will die and go to hell or Hadleyburg_--TRY AND MAKE IT THE FORMER.’” A ghastly silence followed. First an angry cloud began to settle darkly upon the faces of the citizenship; after a pause the cloud began to rise, and a tickled expression tried to take its place; tried so hard that it was only kept under with great and painful difficulty; the reporters, the Brixtonites, and other strangers bent their heads down and shielded their faces with their hands, and managed to hold in by main strength and heroic courtesy. At this most inopportune time burst upon the stillness the roar of a solitary voice--Jack Halliday’s: “_That’s_ got the hall-mark on it!”