Plain Speaking
An elderly resident of a village in Western New York still tells with glee the story of his aspirations to become justice of the peace many years ago, when his youthful temper was not always under control. He says he went to the leader of the dominant party in the town, still well remembered for his prominence in that locality and with whom he was on familiar terms, and told him that he would like to get the nomination for justice of the peace. The answer he got, pronounced with great deliberation and dignity, was “A——, you are just as fit for justice of the peace as hell is for a powder house.”