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on 'em, and see that they didn't run away with it. Bimeby in they came agin, and then they said somebody was guilty of something, who had just said he was innocent, and didn't know nothing about it no more than the little baby that had never subsistence. I come away soon afterwards; but I couldn't help thinking how trying it must be to sit there all day, shut out from the blessed air !”

Benjamin Penhallon Shillaber

(Mrs. Partington);

THE MUSIC

GRINDERS.

THERE are three ways in which men take

One's money from his purse,
And
very

hard it is to tell
Which of the three is worse;
But all of them are bad enough

To make a body curse.

You're riding out some pleasant day,

And counting up your gains;
A fellow jumps from out a bush,

And takes your horse's reins,
Another hints some words about

A bullet in your brains.

It's hard to meet such pressing friends,

In such a lonely spot;
It's very hard to lose your cash,

But harder to be shot;
And so you take your wallet out,

Though you would rather not.

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Perhaps you're going out to dine,

Some odious creature begs
You'll hear about the cannon-ball

That carried off his pegs,
And
says

it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.

He tells you of his starving wife,

His children to be fed,
Poor little lovely innocents,

All clamorous for bread,-
And so you kindly help to put

A bachelor to bed.

You're sitting on your window-seat,

Beneath a cloudless moon;
Your hear a sound that seems to wear

The semblance of a tune,
As if a broken fife should strive

To drown a cracked bassoon.

And nearer, nearer still, the tide

Of music seems to come;
There's something like a human voice,

And something like a drum ;
You sit in speechless agony,

Until your ear is numb

1

Poor “Home, sweet home” should seem to be

A very dismal place;
Your "Auld Acquaintance" all at once

Is altered in the face;
Their discords sting through Burns and Moore,

Like hedgehogs dressed in lace.

You think they are crusaders, sent

From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment,

And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,

And break the legs of Time.

But hark! the air again is still,

The music all is ground,
And silence, like a poultice, comes

To heal the blows of sound;
It cannot be, -it is,-it is,

A hat is going round!

No! pay

the dentist when he leaves A fracture in your jaw, And pay

the owner of the bear That stunned you with his paw, And buy the lobster that has had

Your knuckles in his claw;

But, if you are a portly man,

Put on your fiercest frown,
And talk about a constable

To turn them out of town;
Then close your sentence with an oath,

And shut the window down !

And, if you are a slender man,

Not big enough for that,
Or if you cannot make a speech

Because you are a flat,
Go very quietly and drop

A button in the hat!

Oliver Wendell Holmes. MISS CRUMP'S SONG.

MISS CRUMP was inexorable

. She declared that she was entirely out of practice. “She scarcely ever touched the piano;” “Mamma was always scolding her for giving so much of her time to French and Italian, and neglecting her music and painting; but she told mamma the other day that it really was so irksone to her to quit Racine and Dante, and go to thrumming upon the piano, that, but for the obligations of filial obedience, she did not think she should ever touch it again."

Here Mrs. Crump was kind enough, by the merest accident in the world, to interpose, and to relieve the company from farther anxiety.

Augusta, my dear,” said she, “go and play a tune or two; the company will excuse your hoarseness.”

Miss Crump rose immediately at her mother's bidding, and moved to the piano, accompanied by a large group of smiling faces.

“Poor child,” said Mrs. Crump, as she went forward, “she is frightened to death. I wish Augusta could overcome her diffidence."

Miss Crump was educated in Philadelphia; she had been taught to sing by Madame Piggisqueaki, who was a pupil of Ma’m’selle Crokifroggietta, who had sung with Madame Catalani; and she had taken lessons on the piano from Seignor Buzzifussi, who had played with Paganini.

She seated herself at the piano, rocked to the right, then to the left, leaned forward, then backward, and began. She placed her right hand about midway the keys, and her left about two octaves below it. She now puts off to the right in a brisk canter up the treble notes, and the left after it. The left then led the way back, and the right pursued it in

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