He can't be very particular.
The young fellow whom I have so often mentioned was a little free in his remarks, but very good-natured .-- Sorry to have you go,--he said .-- School-ma'am made a mistake not to wait for me.

Haven't taken anything but mournin' fruit at breakfast since I heard of it .-- MOURNING fruit,--said I,--what's that ?--Huckleberries and blackberries,--said he;--couldn't eat in colors, raspberries, currants, and such, after a solemn thing like this happening .-- The conceit seemed to please the young fellow.

If you will believe it, when we came down to breakfast the next morning, he had carried it out as follows.

You know those odious little "saas-plates" that figure so largely at boarding-houses, and especially at taverns, into which a strenuous attendant female trowels little dabs, sombre of tint and heterogeneous of composition, which it makes you feel homesick to look at, and into which you poke the elastic coppery tea-spoon with the air of a cat dipping her foot into a wash-tub, -- (not that I mean to say anything against them, for, when they are of tinted porcelain or starry many-faceted crystal, and hold clean bright berries, or pale virgin honey, or "lucent syrups tinct with cinnamon," and the teaspoon is of white silver, with the Tower-stamp, solid, but not brutally heavy,--as people in the green stage of millionism will have them,--I can dally with their amber semi-fluids or glossy spherules without a shiver,)--you know these small, deep dishes, I say.

When we came down the next morning, each of these (two only excepted) was covered with a broad leaf.