state on a board on the sidewalk on hot days, half covered with ice,
and his scales looking as bright as silver. Some mornings, I am afraid
I used to catch a faint whiff of his breath, but of course this was
not to be remembered against him in his great trouble now. His troubles
had greatly changed him. From the aristocratic exclusiveness of the
ice-board he had been reduced to being strung up by a string through
his gills to a nail in the wall. The brightness of his scales was gone,
and as far as rank went, he looked as ordinary as the bunch of humble
hickory shad that hung near him. "What do you think of this way of
treating a fish that has come three hundred miles from the coast to
help you out in Lent? What sort of infidel authorities has this city
got, to string up the friend of repentance and reform in this sort of
way? Why, such a town as this ought to have nothing but herrings to
keep Lent with, and they ought to be salt." It was no use trying to
comfort my noble friend, but I could not help thinking that, fish that
he was, he was human in finding his great trouble not so much in being
strung up now, as in having seen better days and more distinction. And
very human he was, too, in taking the ill-treatment of himself as an
offence against Lent. We are so prone to take a grievance directed
against ourselves as an affront to our politics, our church, or
something else to which we bear about the same relation that a fish
does to Lent.

* * * * *

The mature young woman who stood in front of the millinery store, and
whom I have seen wear six different overcoats of various styles in one
day, was among the victims of the new law. Her figure was one of the
few that may correctly be termed wiry, but it was perfect. I may say
that I have never seen a waist so slender, or a bust more perfect. But