Gulch, Bumsteadville: she with her superb old nut-cracker countenance,
and he with the dyspepsia of more than thirty summers causing him to
deal gently with the fish-balls. They sat within sound of the bell of
the Ritualistic Church, the ringing of which was forever deluding the
peasantry of the surrounding country into the idea that they could
certainly hear their missing cows at last (hence the name of the
church--Saint Cow's); while the sonorous hee-hawing of an occasional
Nature's Congressman in some distant field reminded them of the outer
political world.

"Here is Mr. SCHENCK'S letter," said Mrs. SIMPSON, handing an open
epistle across the table, as she spoke to her son, "and you might read
it aloud, my OCTAVE."

Taking the tea-cup off his face, the Reverend OCTAVIUS accepted the
missive, which was written from "A Perfect Stranger's Parlor, New York,"
and began reading thus: "Dear Ma-a-dam--

I wri-i-te in the-e
Chai-ai-ai-air-"

--"Dear me, OCTAVE," interrupted the old lady, "can't you read even a
letter without Intoning--and to the tone of 'Old Hundredth,' too?"

"I'm afraid not, dear OLDY," responded the Gospeler. "I'm so much in the
habit of it. You're not so ritualistic yourself, and may be able to do
better."

"Give it back to me, my sing-sing-sonny," said the old lady; who at once
read as follows: "DEAR MADAM, I write from the chair which I have now