106 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



tice, and clearly exhibiting, by the jagged leaves, 

 the moral as well as physical truth that sharp knives 

 are bad paper-cutters. An old quarto volume of 

 Raleigh's History of the World, in black letter, lay 

 open on a little table near the fireplace, with a bun- 

 dle of Cigars and some papers of Potato-seed on 

 one page ; and a small sharp Axe on the other. A 

 whetstone lay near, and a drop of blood, along the 

 edge, had left mark of some awkwardness or haste, 

 and had smeared the page below with an ugly red 

 line just under the word (StatttU&P. Except a tole- 

 rably well filled book-case too much stuffed with 

 stitched Reports and periodicals, there was nothing 

 else noticeable in the general medley, excepting an 

 ingenious atrocity in the shape of an easy chair, 

 with a traversing desk and a shaded reading lamp 

 screwed into one of the arms. A wood fire had 

 burnt out in the hearth, leaving the ends of the 

 brands reclined despondingly against the fire-dogs, 

 old-fashioned biped articles, which reared each a 

 neck and head of silver, by way of focal ornament 

 and finish, and which people who came on business 

 always fixed their eyes upon, and at some convenient 

 pause registered their approval of, in a tone that took 

 credit for originality of taste. 



