Meshach

Meshach computed on a piece of paper, and the Judge, with easy curiosity, studied his singular face and figure.

"Here the sea once dashed its billows on a bar," said Meshach Milburn, reflectively.

As Meshach felt the chill of that pond he drew down his hat and buttoned up his coat.

As Meshach Milburn thought of these things he took up a portion of the bog ore from the hearth.

Meshach Milburn had locked the store after writing some letters, and had taken the broad street for Judge Custis's gate.