s" with their edges pasted together.

"There is nothing better," said Barbel, noticing my glance toward this
novel counterpane, "for a bed-covering than newspapers; they keep you
as warm as a blanket, and are much lighter. I used to use `Tribunes,'
but they rattled too much."

The only part of the room which was well lighted was one end near the
solitary window. Here, upon a table with a spliced leg, stood a little
grindstone.

"At the other end of the room," said Barbel, "is my cook-stove, which
you can't see unless I light the candle in the bottle which stands by
it. But if you don't care particularly to examine it, I won't go to
the expense of lighting up. You might pick up a good many odd pieces
of bric-a-brac, around here, if you chose to strike a match and
investigate. But I would not advise you to do so. It would pay better
to throw the things out of the window than to carry them down-stairs.
The particular piece of indoor decoration to which I wish to call your
attention is this." And he led me to a little wooden frame which hung
against the wall near the window. Behind a dusty piece of glass it
held what appeared to be a leaf from a small magazine or journal.
"There," said he, "you see a page from the `Grasshopper,' a humorous
paper which flourished in this city some half-dozen years ago. I used
to write regularly for that paper, as you may remember."

"Oh, yes, indeed!" I exclaimed. "And I shall never forget your
`Conundrum of the Anvil' which appeared in it. How often have I
laughed at that most wonderful conceit, and how often have I put it to
my friends!"

Barbel gazed at me silently for a moment, and then he pointed to the
frame. "That printed page," he said solemnly, "contains the `Conundrum
of the Anvil.' I hang it there so that I can see it while I work.
That conundrum ruined me. It was the last thing I wrote for the
`Grasshopper.' How I ever came to imagine it, I cannot tell. It is
one of those things which occur to a man but once in a lifetime. After
the wild shout of delight with which the public greeted that conundrum,
my subsequent efforts met with hoots of derision. The `Grasshopper'
turned its hind legs upon me. I sank from bad to worse,--much
worse,--until at last I found myself reduced to my present occupation,
which is that of grinding points on pins. By this I procure my bread,
coffee, and tobacco, and sometimes potatoes and meat. One day while I
was hard at work, a