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ANGULAR SAXONS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Page 195

ANGULAR SAXONS.

I don't know,” said Mrs. Partington, and the expression,
considered as a mere abstraction, was true, for
there are some that have more of the world's wisdom
and a better knowledge of grammar than the dame; for
the school for her teaching was not one of letters.
But let us hear her. “I don't know,” said she, “about
these Angular Saxons being any better than our old-fashioned
ones.”

Ike had been reading to her an article upon the destiny
of the Anglo-Saxon race.

“And as for the race, Isaac,” and her voice fell to a
pitch of deep solemnity as she spoke, “it is n't proper at
all; for when a funeral goes too quick — to say nothing
about racing — it always is a forerunner, sometimes,
that somebody 'll die before the year 's out. The old
saxons were full fast enough, naturally; and arter the
parish gin our saxon the surfeit of plate for his officious
services, it spruced him right up, and it seemed as if it
would have pleased him to bury all of 'em, he was so
grateful. No, no, we don't want any Angular Saxons,
Isaac, when our own are full good enough.”

Ike, as she was talking, had amused himself with
tying the old lady's snuff-box in the corner of his handkerchief
and was experimentally swinging it around his
head; and she ceased just as the box, released from the
knot, dashed against the opposite side, scattering the


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Page 196
pungent powder in plenteous profusion upon the sanded
floor. Of course he did n't mean to do it, and that was
all that saved him.