Mrs. Smith's ghost sat down in the consciousness of having taken time by the forelock and that now she was sure that no one could defraud her of her chance to recite the atrocity which she seemed to think so worthy of admiration. The master of ceremonies was evidently put out to think that anyone should take liberties with his program, so that he grew rattled a little and instead of continuing to call upon the rest of the ladies he hurriedly said: “If Mr. John Beers is here will he please rise and tell us what they put on his gravestone?” A very decrepit old man stood up after several trials to do so and in a weak and quavering voice repeated: “John Beers, a Revolutionary pensioner, died April 22, aged 45. He fell as falls the oak with years, Which storms have beat upon, Upon his grave we shed our tears, To heaven we hope he's gone.” As this feeble old man sat down it seemed to the young man that it was a little hard on the old man’s memory that they had left his ultimate destination in doubt. Still, as the old man made no objection no one else had any right to complain. The old man received quite an ovation. As he subsided the master of ceremonies said: “Is Mr. Peleg Eddy here? I am sorry to say that I have never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Eddy, so I cannot tell which one of our invited guests he is.” He looked around three or four times, and again asked for the gentleman from out of town. Finally a gloomy-looking little man stood up with a very bad grace. He could not have been more than five feet tall in life and was now considerably less. He repeated: “Peleg Eddy and his wife, They sat out in early life. They turned about each other's hearts, But God doth call and they must part. 'Tis hard to part and leave behind A tender wife and child so kind. With anxious care she watched his bed, And kept cold towels on his head, But all in vain, for God doth send And call away her bosom friend. To his dear mother standing by, Saying, 'Dear mother, prepare to die, The heavens in glory is full in view,' He soon did bid this world a long adieu. A few hours after his senses fled, And now he sleeps among the dead; Sleep on, sleep on, and take thy rest, God called thee home we all thought best.” As this unfortunate man, whose family had laid this heavy load on him, sat down there were murmurs of condolence all around, and the newspaper man asked if he would permit him to ask where he was buried, whereupon he glared in the most ferocious manner at the interloper, while his bony fists clenched ominously: “You may ask if you like, but I shall not answer. Do you think it is not enough to have to lie under that stuff without letting all the rubberneckers in the country know where it is that they may come and make fun of it?”