It was with one of our little social groups of friends, that Mr. Dwight
gave the toast, "Here's to the coffeepot! If it is not
_spiritual_, it's not _material_!"
There was a gentleman who resided with us who had promised, on a
certain day, to assist a department of our industry with a loan of
cash, and had taken the light wagon to Boston for the purpose of
securing the funds and bringing them home for use. Somewhere about nine
o'clock in the evening the dwellers at the "Hive" were disturbed by the
approach of a team and the groans of a person. Going out, they
discovered that it was our team, and our member, who had apparently
fallen into the back part of the wagon in a helpless state. They
assisted him out and conveyed him to his chamber.
He did not seem to be much hurt; but he stated that in passing through
the little patch of woods on the "back road," some one came out and
knocked him off his seat and then robbed him. He had lain in the wagon,
unable to rise, and the horse had come home of his own accord. This is
the outline of the story. Parties went out on the road with lanterns,
but found no lost pocket-book. The news of the robbery spread. It was
the common talk the next day.
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