he immediately turned, left the grocery, and shortly afterward the town.

From this time Mr. Oglethorpe Josh Green began to keep himself more at or about his home, and to grow more quiet and meditative. Occasionally, when he was at the court-house, or Wright's store, and others had been telling of the strange things they had seen in foreign parts, after listening with doubtful interest to their narrations, he would point with his mere thumb vaguely and distantly toward the far South, and calling to mind what in the times when he was a traveller he had seen, say about thus:

Gentlemen, it were a kind of a egiot; and it were grippy as a wise, and it were supple as a black-snake, and it were strong as a mule and a bull both putten together. And, gentlemen,' he would add, "egiot as it were, it were smarter'n any man ever I see; and as for its langwidges -well, gentlemen, they wa'n't no eend to its warious langwidges."-Harper's Magazine, August, 1881.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.'

(BORN, 1824.)

"I

A MUSICAL DUEL.

KNOW a story," suddenly exclaimed Count d'Egerlyn, one evening as we were taking supper at our parlor in the St. Nicholas, in New York. Now if the count had suddenly sung, "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows," he would not have excited. more astonishment. For though the count was a gentleman of wit, a finished cosmopolite, and a thorough good fellow, and had moreover a beautiful wife, he was never known to tell tales of any description, either in school or out of it.

At the word upstarted Wolf Short and young C—, the latter declaring that he was, like Time, all ears, while the former, listening as if dreaming,

heard him half in awe;

While Cabaña's smoke came streaming
Through his open jaw.

1 See Biographical Sketch, p. xxix.

In a calm, bland voice, our good count proceeded to narrate a curious incident, which I long afterward reduced to writing. As I remember it, the story would have been far better had it been given in the exact words in which it was originally told. But, alas! it was hardly concluded ere we had to scramble off to a party, and the next day we went all together to Boston; and it probably would never have been written out at all, had I not just been reminded of it by hearing "our nigger" Tom whistling through the hall, the air on which it is founded.

Vivace.

MENDELSSOHN was a great musician.

Mendelssohn signifies "The son of an almond." Had he been a twin, they would have christened him Philip-ina.

But as he was a Jew, they could not christen him. And as he was not a twin, he consequently remained single.

Which did not, however, prevent him from being wedded to Divine Lady Music, as amateurs call her.

Mendelssohn composed "Songs without words." Many modern poets give us words without songs.

"They should n't do so."

The story which I am about to relate is that of a duel which was fought as Mendelssohn's songs were sung-without words. The insult, the rejoinder, the rebutter, the sur-rebutter, and the challenge were all whistled.

But as, according to Fadladeen in Lalla Rookh, it is impossible even for an angel to carry a sigh in his hand, the reader will not find it strange that such an imperfect sinner as myself should find it difficult to whistle on paper or in print.

I will, therefore, take the liberty of representing by words the few notes which were whistled upon this melancholy occasion. The which notes are given at the beginning of this story.

And here the intelligent reader may remark that most authors put their notes at the end of their works. Mine, however, come before.

An Englishman was once seated in solitary silence in the Café de, France, solemnly sipping sherry and smoking a cigar. His reverie was unbroken, and his only desire on earth was that it should continue so.

Suddenly entered (as from the Grand Opera) a gay Frenchman, merrily whistling that odd little air from Robert le Diable, so well known to all admirers of Meyerbeer and contemners of worldly wealth or sublunary riches:

Oh, but gold is a chimera!

Money all a fleeting dream! *

Now the interruption vexed our Englishman. At any time he would have wished the Frenchman in Jerusalem. At present, the whistling so much disturbed him, that he wished him in a far less holy place. Mind! I do not mean New York, though it be, like Milton's scaly sorceress, close by the "Gate of Hell."

Therefore, in a firm and decided tone (which said, as plainly as if he had spoken it, "I wish, sir, you would hold your tongue"), he whistledOh, but gold is a chimera! Money all a fleeting dream!

But the Frenchman was in high feather, and not to be bluffed. He had had a dinner and a gloria of coffee and brandy, and some eau sucrée

*Folle è quei che l'oro aduna

E nol sa come goder,

Non provó giammai fortuna,
Che sta lunga dal piacer.