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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 out from 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.
Perhaps you're going out to dine-
Some filthy creature begs;
You'll hear about the cannon ball
That carried off his pegs,
And say 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:

You 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.

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.

But hark! the air again is still, The music all is ground,

And silence, like a poultice, com To heal the blows of sound; VOL. V.-W. H.

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 in a rage,
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.

0. W. HOLMES.

ANOTHER OF THE SAME.

I am the man who plays the horn
That toots at incense-breathing morn
Among a little German band
That on the sidewalk takes its stand.

Cold is our welcome, scant our dole,
I blow with all my heart and soul;
The sun shines o'er the chimney-tops,
I see afar a little copse-

The sun so blinds me that-I see

A little wife awaiting me,

A little home, a little crib,

A baby in a little bib.

The windows rise-"I say, move on,
I'll call an officer, begone-
The worth of quietness I know;
There is a nickel"--and we go!
J. P. B., in Philadelphia News.

"OUR HUSBAND."-In a cemetery in New London County, Conn., there is a lot containing five graves, one in the centre, the others near by, at the four points of the compass. The inscriptions on the latter read, respectively, after the name of the deceased: My I. Wife," "My II. Wife," My III. Wife, My IV. Wife," while the central stone bears the brief but eloquent expression, "Our Husband."

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PARTRIDGE AT THE PLAY

HOUSE.

[HENRY FIELDING. Born at Sharpham Park, Somersetshire, April 22, 1707. Educated at Eton and Leyden. Died at Lisbon, October 8, 1754.]

In the first row, then, of the first gallery, did Mr. Jones, Mrs. Miller, her youngest daughter, and Partridge, take their places. Partridge immediately declared it was the finest place he had ever been in. When the first music was played, he said, "It was a wonder how so many fildlers could play at one time without putting one another out." Nor could he help observing, with a sigh, when all the candles were lighted, "That here were candles enough burnt in one night to keep an honest poor family for a twelvemonth.

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As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the entrance of the ghost, upon which he asked Jones, "What man that was in the strange dress, something," said he, "like what I have seen in a picture. Sure it is not armor, is it?" Jones answered, "That is the ghost.' To which Partridge replied with a smile, "Persuade me to that, sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my life, yet I am certain I should know one if I saw him better than that comes to. No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear in such dresses as that neither." In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the neighborhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue till the scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to Mr. Garrick which he had denied to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior on the stage. "Oh, la! sir," said he, I perceive now it is what you told me. am not afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if it was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so much company and yet if I was frightened, I am not the only person. Why, who," cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward here beside thyself?" "Nay, you may call me coward if you will; but if that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay; go along with you! Ay,

I

to be sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such foolhardiness! Whatever happens, it is good enough for you. Follow you! I'd follow the devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is the devil-for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases. Oh! here he is again. No farther! No, you have gone far enough already; farther than I'd have gone for all the king's dominions. Jones offered to speak, but Partridge cried, "Hush, hush, dear sir! don't you hear him?" And during the whole speech of the ghost, he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the ghost, and partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet succeeding likewise in him.

When the scene was over, Jones said, "Why, Partridge, you exceed my expectations.

You enjoy the play more than I conceived possible.' Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "if you are not afraid of the devil, I can't help it; but, to be sure, it is natural to be surprised at such things, though I know there is nothing in them not that it was the ghost that surprised me, neither; for I should have known that to have been only a man in a strange dress; but when I saw the little man so frightened himself, it was that which took hold of me." "And dost thou imagine then, Partridge,' cries Jones, "that he was really frightened?" "Nay, sir," said Partridge, "did not you yourself observe afterwards, when he found it was his own father's spirit, and how he was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I should have been, had it been my own case? But hush! Oh, la! what noise is that? There he is again. Well, to be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder where those men are.

During the second act Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he help observing upon the king's countenance. "Well," said he, "how people may be deceived by faces! Nulla fides fronti is, I find, a true saying. Who would think, by looking in the king's face, that he had ever committed a murder?" He then inquired after the ghost; but Jones, who intended he should be surprised, gave him no other satisfaction

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