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 run to any country where he is unknown and can die in peace.

Thus the modern torture of the post service, besides drying up the flesh of a human creature free from crime, gives him a beautiful moral death.

And all this so that no news will be lacking to the learned people of the little towns, unserved by railroads; for they must get the daily paper and learn about the knifings between Spread-foot and Black Shirt, the cheese stolen by Little Bahiano from Manoel of the grocery-store, the novel translated from Georges Ohnet, the country's rescue from national thieving, the spouting of Leagues for this and that, the discovery of spies where there is nothing to spy, polyculture, zebu oxen, illiteracy, the falsehoods of the International News Agency and all the nonsense that sprouts from the soil of this wonderful country.

Colonel Evandro's policy in Itaóca fell through when, at a certain election, the rival candidate Fidencio, also Colonel, hoisted the quotation of votes of those who wore neck-ties, to five hundred mil réis and of those who went bare-foot to two suits of clothes and a hat besides. The first act of the winner was to turn out everyone turnoutable connected with public employment. Among those dismissed were the post-office employes, including the postman, who was replaced at the suggestion of the Government, by Izé Biriba.

Said Biriba was a human snail, slow in movement and obtuse in ideas, with two tremendous