I agreed instantly to this proposition, and we went to look for a ladder.  We found one in the wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the front of the house.  It was raining, gently, during these performances, but we had on our old clothes, and were so much interested in our work that we did not care for a little rain.  I carried the sign to the post, and then, at the imminent risk of breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on the transverse beam of the sign-post.  Now our tavern was really what it pretended to be.  We gazed on the sign with admiration and content.

“Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?” I asked of my wife.

“Certainly,” said she.  “It’s a part of the house.  The place isn’t complete without it.”

“But suppose some one should come along and want to be entertained?”

“But no one will.  And if people do come, I’ll take care of the soldiers and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and mechanics.”

I consented to this, and we went in-doors to prepare dinner.—­Rudder Grange.

A PIECE OF RED CALICO.

Mr. Editor:—­If the following true experience shall prove of any advantage to any of your readers, I shall be glad.

I was going into town the other morning, when my wife handed me a little piece of red calico, and asked me if I would have time during the day, to buy her two yards and a half of calico like that.  I assured her that it would be no trouble at all; and putting the piece of calico in my pocket, I took the train for the city.

At lunch-time I stopped in at a large dry-goods store to attend to my wife’s commission.  I saw a well-dressed man walking the floor between the counters, where long lines of girls were waiting on much longer lines of customers, and asked him where I could see some red calico.

“This way, sir,” and he led me up the store.  “Miss Stone,” said he to a young lady, “show this gentleman some red calico.”

“What shade do you want?” asked Miss Stone.

I showed her the little piece of calico that my wife had given me.  She looked at it and handed it back to me.  Then she took down a great roll of red calico and spread it out on the counter.

“Why, that isn’t the shade!” said I.

“No, not exactly,” said she; “but it is prettier than your sample.”

“That may be,” said I; “but, you see, I want to match this piece.  There is something already made of this kind of calico, which needs to be made larger, or mended, or something.  I want some calico of the same shade.”

The girl made no answer, but took down another roll.

“That’s the shade,” said she.

“Yes,” I replied, “but it’s striped.”

“Stripes are more worn than any thing else in calicoes,” said she.

“Yes; but this isn’t to be worn.  It’s for furniture, I think.  At any rate, I want perfectly plain stuff, to match something already in use.”