"Well, suh, Colonel Talcott's mission to the post-office was to mail a letter to his factor in Richmond, Virginia, on business of the utmost importance to himself,--namely, the raisin' of a small loan upon his share of the crop. Not the crop that was planted, suh, but the crop that he expected to plant. "Colonel Talcott approached the hole, and with that Chesterfieldian manner which has distinguished the Talcotts for mo' than two centuries, asked the postmaster for the loan of a three-cent postage stamp. "To his astonishment, suh, he was refused. "Think of a Talcott in his own county town bein' refused a three-cent postage stamp by a low-lived Yankee, who had never known a gentleman in his life! The colonel's first impulse was to haul the scoundrel through the hole and caarve him; but then he remembered that he was a Talcott and could not demean himself, and drawin' himself up again with that manner which was grace itself he requested the loan of a three-cent postage stamp until he should communicate with his factor in Richmond, Virginia; and again he was refused. Well, suh, what was there left for a high-toned Southern gentleman to do? Colonel Talcott drew his revolver and shot that Yankee scoundrel through the heart, and killed him on the spot. "And now, suh, comes the most remarkable part of the story. If it had not been for Major Tom Yancey, Jedge Kerfoot and myself, there would have been a lawsuit." Fitz lay back in his chair and roared. "And they did not hang the colonel?" "Hang a Talcott! No, suh; we don't hang gentlemen down our way. Jedge Kerfoot vehy properly charged the coroner's jury that it was a matter of self-defense, and Colonel Talcott was not detained mo' than haalf an hour." The colonel stopped, unlocked a closet in the sideboard, and produced a black bottle labeled in ink, "Old Cherry Bounce, 1848." "You must excuse me, gentlemen, but the discussion of these topics has quite unnerved me. Allow me to share with you a thimbleful." Fitz drained the glass, cast his eyes upward, and said solemnly, "To the repose of the postmaster's soul." LOVE SONNETS OF AN OFFICE BOY BY S.E. KISER I Oh, if you only knowed how much I like To stand here, when the "old man" ain't around, And watch your soft, white fingers while you pound Away at them there keys! Each time you strike It almost seems to me as though you'd found So me way, while writin' letters, how to play Sweet music on that thing, because the sound Is something I could listen to all day. You're twenty-five or six, and I'm fourteen, And you don't hardly ever notice me-- But when you do, you call me Willie! Gee, I wisht I'd bundles of the old long green And could be twenty-eight or nine or so, And something happened to your other beau. VI