"A capital example," writes a reader, "of what is often termed 'taking the starch out,' happened recently in a country bank in New England. A pompous, well-dressed individual entered the bank, and, addressing the teller, who is something of a wag, inquired: 'Is the cashier in?' 'No, sir,' was the reply. 'Well, I am dealing in pens--supplying the New England banks pretty largely--and I suppose it will be proper for me to deal with the cashier.' 'I suppose it will,' said the teller. 'Very well; I will wait.' The pen-pedlar took a chair, and sat composedly for a full hour, waiting for the cashier. By that time, he began to grow uneasy, but sat twisting in his chair for about twenty minutes, and, seeing no prospect of a change in his circumstances, asked the teller how soon the cashier would be in. 'Well, I don't know exactly,' said the waggish teller, 'but I expect him in about eight weeks. He has just gone to Lake Superior, and told me he thought he should come back in that time.' Pedlar thought he would not wait. 'Oh, stay if you wish,' said the teller, very blandly; 'we have no objection to your sitting here in the day time, and you can probably find some place in town where they will be glad to keep you of nights.' The pompous pedlar disappeared without another word." THE EFFECT OF ELOQUENCE.--218. One of the late Governors of South Carolina was a splendid lawyer, and could talk a jury out of their seven senses. He was especially noted for success in criminal cases, almost always clearing his client. He was once counsel for a man accused of horse-stealing. He made a long, eloquent, and touching speech. The jury retired, but returned in a few moments, and proclaimed the man not guilty. An old acquaintance stepped up to the prisoner, and said: "Jem, the danger is passed; and now, honour bright, didn't you steal that horse?" To which Jem replied: "Well, Tom, I've all along thought I took the horse; but since I've heard the Governor's speech, I don't believe I did." HOTEL ACCOMMODATION IN THE SOUTH.--219. There was a traveller once, down South--say in the State of Georgia--who, halting for the night at an inn, where he was told that, as there were many guests, he must put up with a shakedown, was conducted after supper to an outhouse full of cows and pigs. "Where am I to sleep?" cried the despairing wayfarer. "Spect 'yiccan please yisself, mas'r," answered with a grin the negro who acted as chamberlain; "but," he continued, pointing to a corner of the lair, where there were only two cows and no pigs, "dat's de mose fashionable part." A PLUMP QUESTION.--220.