THE VILLAGE STORE. 355 



I skip to the dry goods department, where the odorous 

 corduroy, the Kentucky jeans, which faded as a flower, the 

 flashy calicoes, whose colors were fast only in the sense of 

 speedily leaving the goods, and the muslins of more or less 

 bleachedness are stored. I pass under the array of dangling 

 boots, which hang like a cloud of leathery manna, ready to 

 descend on an unshod world whenever it should be deemed 

 worthy. I will say nothing of the part devoted to school 

 books, the shelves of which in my younger days were filled 

 with those time-honored works— Comly's spelling book and 

 grammar, Pike's arithmetic, Olney's geography. Parley's 

 histories, etc.— but hasten on to that part of the store where 

 evidences of our nationality sit enthroned in the post-ofhce 

 department. True, there is some change here, for in old 

 times envelopes were not thought of, and the postage was 

 rarely prepaid ; but the general appearance is just as it was 

 then. People who have no reason to expect letters make 

 daily inquiries for them, just as they used to, and the wearied 

 postmaster answers them as courteously as he can. The vil- 

 lage miss, who is lucky enough to get a letter, makes tlie most 

 of it, and after trying to find out who it is from by looking at 

 the post-mark, carefully opens it and reads it as she saunters 

 homeward on the public highway— the envy of the less for- 

 tunate maids. The business man, to whom letters are no 

 novelty, runs his forefinger into the envelope and rips it 

 open without ceremony. The man who don't take a country 

 paper begs one of his neighbor's out of the pack, and does 

 his best to get through with it before it is called for. 



I pass from the stock of the store to the stock company, 

 which there plays its daily and nightly parts— from the in- 

 animate to the animate fixtures. First comes the head-centre 

 of the institution, the storekeeper himself. He is gray of hair 

 and whisker, but he looks no older to-day than when, a third 

 of a century ago, with my eyes on a level with the counter, he 



