If this were the Millennium, every thing would doubtless be agreeable
to every body. But it is not--how very sad! True, how very sad! Where
was I? Oh! it's all devil take the hindmost. And because your neighbors
are dishonest, why should you starve? You see, Abel?"

It was in Mr. Boniface Newt's counting-room that he preached this gospel.
A boy entered and announced that Mr. Hadley was outside looking at some
cases of dry goods.

"Now, Abel," said his father, "I'll return in a moment."

He stepped out, smiling and rubbing his hands. Mr. Hadley was stooping
over a case of calicoes; Blackstone, Hadley, & Merrimack--no safer
purchasers in the world. The countenance of Boniface Newt beamed upon
the customer as if he saw good notes at six months exuding from every
part of his person.

"Good-morning, Mr. Hadley. Charming morning, Sir--beautiful day, Sir.
What's the word this morning, Sir?"

"Nothing, nothing," returned the customer. "Pretty print that. Just what
I've been looking for" (renewed rubbing of hands on the part of Mr.
Newt)--"very pretty. If it's the right width, it's just the thing. Let me
see--that's about seven-eighths." He shook his head negatively. "No, not
wide enough. If that print were a yard wide, I should take all you have."

"Oh, that's a yard," replied Mr. Newt; "certainly a full yard." He looked
around inquiringly, as if for a yard-stick.

"Where is the yard-stick?" asked Mr. Hadley.