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 THE LOST GROCER

terrible rage at the cruel tyranny of the Druids had gathered in my bosom before the clock had finished striking the hour. When it was about to strike the last beat, I arose from my seat in the centre of the circle and approaching the wicked old chief, I snatched the snuff tin from his hands and clapped it, snuff and all, right down over his eyes. Strange to say the contents of the tin had not diminished by so much as a single pinch, and such a fit of sneezing seized the old scoundrel that he rolled on the grass in the greatest distress, quite unable to put the usual spell upon me. All the other Druids, with abject terror expressed on 211