THE THREE GLASSES.
Was looking over a rubbish heap near a hotel. Saw three tumblers of dark-colored bottle-glass. Seeing they were not cracked, I thought they might be worth taking care of. As I was about to pick them up I was noticed by the landlord, who called to me that I had better not meddle with those three glasses; they had been used by a party of very dirty people and were more irredeemably befouled than I knew.
Was living in village, and in passing out of the door onto the sidewalk, stumbled against a neighbor who was passing. Knew him as an undertaker, Joseph Smith by name. Went into the back yard and had some talk with my mother about undertakers –– objected to being buried by a man named Joe Smith. Expected to need services of the kind in a few days. As I talked, I stood and combed down the nap of a shaggy cloak I had on with a coarse comb.