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was pretty but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered them selves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, specially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds sing; it was a foggy day, but not cold.

The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where no man ever was, certain. I could see that boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but could never get a-nigh 'em, who played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with the guitars did.

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could a got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any

I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-snivlin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus, and a brass band, and a big hall all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick; he give em no rest day or night; be set every livin'joint in me a-goin', and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered;

Go it, my Rube !"

Every blamed man, woman, and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, “Put him out! put him out!"

“Put your great grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle of next month!" I says. “Tech me if you dare? I paid my money and you jest come a-nigh me!"

With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would a fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die.

He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solenn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end and all the angels went to prayers.

Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop-drip, drop-drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white sugar mixt with powdered silver and seed diamonds. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, “Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me."

He stopt a moment or two to ketch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks until she fairly yelled. He knockt her down and he stampt on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a piy, she shrieked like a rat, and then he wouldn't let

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her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder, through the hollows and caves of perdition ; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the pints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He far’ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right and left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double bow knots.

By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fecht up his right wing, he fecht up his left wing, he fecht up his center, he fecht up his

He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, hy regiments, and by brigades. He opened his cannonsiege guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve pounders yonder-big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rokt-heavens and earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, ten-penny nails, Sampson in a 'simmon tree, Tump, Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle – ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle - raddle-addle-addle-addle - riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle reedleeedle-eedle-eedle-p-r-r- rlank! Bang! ! ! lang! perlang! p-r-r-r-r-r!! Bai z!!!

With that bang! he lifted himself bodily into the a'r and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on the pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two heme-demi-semi quivers, and I know'd no mo'.

When I come to, I were under ground about twenty

foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin'a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before, and never expect to agin. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name.

The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music on the half-shell for two !

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.-I. Edgar JONES,

“I have seen,” said the maid, “often seen in my dreams,
The man that my image of bravery seems;
A form like a statue, a face like a god's;
A hero that battles, nor thinks of the odds;
But moves in the strength of his majesty's might,
And conquers or dies in his struggle for right;
His lofty emotions marked out on his face,
And his form like Apollo's for beauty and grace.”
“Do you see," said her comrade, “that figure forlorn,
With weather-worn garments all tattered and torn-
Its rough matted hair, and the marks on its face
That labor, nor love, nor a life can effice-
Grim poverty's stamp on its features ergraved ?
Yet there stands the hero who rescued and saved
A score of brave men, who are living to-day,
And morning and night for their rescuer pray.
"It was one year ago, in the midst of the night,
When mad waves were rolling in tumult and fright,
As they followed each other-a murderous band-
Ai thundered, and dashed on the sea-sodden sand;
White silvery summits sprang high in the air,
Like tigers, enraged, springing up from their lair,
While the wind drove in gusts o'er the tempest-tossed sea,
And shirieked like a fiend in demoniac glee.
Far out a brave ship, with a shud er and shock,
Was driven like a bolt on yon tr ucherous rock,
And reduced in an hour to a teru r-tied wreck;
While the sea in mad anger swept over her deck,
And bore some poor sailor with glee to its lair
As he clung to a rope with the grasp of despair,
And prayed for the help that was hourly denied
As he struggled in anguish, grew weary, and died.
"We stood on the shore, in the wind's horrid breath,
And witnessed their fate; but 'twere toying with death
To row to their rescue; and though we were brave,
We shrank from the grasp of a watery grave.

But Absalom Smith walked erect to his boat,
In spite of remonstrance; and getting afloat-
With a word to his wife, and a hero's good-bye-
Pulled out through the breakers to do or to die.
“As he plunged in the valleys, or hung on the brink,
It seemed his frail bark could but instantly sink;
But, with thoughts that his God and himself only knew,
He finally triumphed and rescued the crew;
All those that were left of the terrified band
Were, thanks to his courage, brought safe to the land.
He's rough and unlettered, but not on God's ground
Can truer or worthier hero be found."
The maiden, with meek and admiring surprise,
Looked on, while the tears trickled fast from her eyes,
And reverently bowed with a worshipful grace
To the poorly-clad form and the weather-worn face,
Convinced that some heroes who win in the strife
Are called and ordained from the lowliest life,
To brand with heaven's scorn the poor impotent plan
That builds up a hero on models of man.

DAILY DYING.

The maple does not shed its leaves

In one tempestuous scarlet rain,
But softly, when the south wind grieves,
Slow, wandering over wood and plain,

One by one they waver through
The Indian summer's hazy blue,
And drop at last on the forest mold,

Coral, and ruby, and burning gold.
Our death is gradual like these;

We die with every waning day;
There is no waft of sorrow's breeze
But bears some heart-leaf slow away!

Up and on to the vast To Be,

Our life is going eternally!
Less of life than we had last year

Throbs in your veins, and throbs in mine,
But the way to heaven is growing clear,

And the gates of the city fairer shine,
And the day that our latest treasures flee,
Wide they will open for you and me.

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