Thurle, who is a man of some capital, would be glad to take both the farms, as they could be worked so well together. But I don't want to part with an old tenant like you."

To be thrust out of the discussion in this way would have been enough to complete Mrs. Poyser's exasperation, even without the final threat. Her husband, really alarmed at the possibility of their leaving the old place where he had been bred and born-for he believed the old Squire had small spite enough for anything-was beginning a mild remonstrance explanatory of the inconvenience he should find in having to buy and sell more stock, with

when

"Well, sir, I think as it's rather hard " Mrs. Poyser burst in with the desperate determination to have her say out this once, though it were to rain notices to quit, and the only shelter were the workhouse.

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Then, sir, if I may speak-as, for all I'm a woman, and there's folks as thinks a woman's fool enough to stan' by an' look on while the men sign her soul away, I've a right to speak, for I make one quarter o' the rent, and save another quarter-I say, if Mr. Thurle's so ready to take farms under you, it's a pity but what he should take this, and see if he likes to live in a house wi' all the plagues o' Egypt in't—wi' the cellar full o' water, and frogs and toads hoppin' up the steps by dozens-and the floors rotten, and the rats and mice gnawing every bit o' cheese, and runnin' over our heads as we lie i' bed till we expect 'em to eat us up alive-as it's a mercy they hanna eat the children long ago, I should like to see if there's another tenant besides Poyser as 'ud put up wi' never having a bit o' repairs done till a place tumbles down-and not then, on'y wi' begging and praying, and having to pay half-and being strung up wi' the rent as it's much if he gets enough out o' the land to pay, for all he's put his own money into the ground beforehand. See if you'll get a stranger to lead such a life here as that: a maggot must be born i' the rotten cheese to like it, I reckon. You may run away from my words, sir," continued Mrs. Poyser, following the old Squire beyond the door-for after the first moments of stunned surprise he had got up, and, waving his hand towards her with a smile, had walked out towards his pony.

"You may run away from my words, sir, and you may go spinnin' underhand ways o' doing us a mischief, for you've got Old Harry to your friend, though nobody else is, but I tell you for once as we're not dumb creatures to be abused and made money on by them as ha' got the lash i' their hands, for want o' knowing how t' undo the tackle. An' if I'm the only one as speaks my mind, there's plenty o' the same way o' thinking i' this parish, and the next to 't, for your name's no better than a brimstone match in everybody's nose- -if it isna two three old folks as you think o' saving your soul by giving 'em a bit o' flannel and a drop o' porridge. An' you may be right i' thinking it'll take but little to save your soul, for it'll be the smallest savin' y' iver made, wi' all your scrapin'."

There are occasions on which two servant girls and a waggoner may be a formidable audience, and as the Squire rode away on his black pony, even the gift of short-sightedness did not prevent him from being aware that Molly and Nancy and Tim were grinning not far from him. Perhaps he suspected that sour old John was grinning behind himwhich was also the fact, Meanwhile the bull-dog, the blackand-tan terrier, Alick's sheep-dog, and the gander hissing at a safe distance from the pony's heels, carried out the idea of Mrs. Poyser's solo in an impressive quartette.

Mrs. Poyser, however, had no sooner seen the pony move off than she turned round, gave the two hilarious damsels a look which drove them into the back kitchen, and, unspearing her knitting, began to knit again with her usual rapidity, as she re entered the house.

"Thee'st done it now," said Mr. Poyser, a little alarmed and uneasy, but not without some triumphant amusement at his wife's outbreak,

"Yes, I know I've done it," said Mrs. Poyser; "but I've had my say out, and I shall be th' easier for't all my life. There's no pleasure i' living, if you're to be corked up for ever, and only dribble your mind out by the sly, like a leaky barrel. I shan't repent saying what I think, if I live to be as old as th' old Squire; and there's little likelihoods-for it seems as if them as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i' th' other world."

Jud Brownin's Account of Rubinstein's Playing.

"Jud, they say you have heard Rubinstein play when you were in New York?"

"I did, in the cool."

"Well, tell us all about it."

"What! me? I might's well tell you about the creation of the world."

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Come, now; no mock modesty. Go ahead."

"Well, sir, he had the biggest catty-corner'dest pianner you ever laid your eyes on; somethin' like a distracted billiardtable on three legs. The lid was heisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't, he'd a-tore the intire sides clean out, and scattered them to the four winds of heaven."

"Played well, did he?"

"You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sat down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin', and wish't he hadn't come. He tweedle-eedled a little on the trible, and twoodle-oodled some on the bass-just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to the man settin' next to me, s' I, 'What sort of fool-playin' is that?' And he says, 'Hush!' But presently his hands began chasin' one 'nother up and down the keys, like a parcel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar-squirrel turning the wheel of a candy-cage.

"Now,' I says to my neighbour, 'he's a-showin' off. He thinks he's a doin' of it, but he ain't got no ide, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play a tune of some kind or other I'd—'

"But my neighbour says, 'Heigh,' very impatient.

"I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking away off in the woods, and callin' sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up, and I see that Rubin was beginnin' to take some interest in his business, and I set down agin. It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breeze blowed gentle and fresh, some birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the

shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was the broad day: the sun fairly blazed, the birds sang like they'd split their throats; all the leaves were movin' and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a

fine mornin'.

up

I could see the long pearl earIt was pretty,

"And I says to my neighbour, 'That's music, that is.' "But he glanced at me like he'd cut my throat. Presently the wind turned; it began to thicken and a kind of thick grey mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then the silver rain began to fall, drops touch the ground, some flashed up like rings, and the rest rolled away like rubies. but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves 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 music, especially when the bushes on the bank 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. I never was, certain. I could see the boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, over the wall, and between the black sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lift-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but never got anigh 'em, and played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could a-cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with 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 and there and then preached a better sermon than any I

up

2 A

ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for-not a single 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 han'kerchief, and blowed my nose well to keep from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a gazin' at me a snivilin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But several glared at me as mad as Tucker. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He rip'd and he rar'd, he tip'd and he tar'd, 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 at any man in the face, and not afear'd of nothin'. It was a circus, and a brass band, and a big ball, all going on at the same time, He lit into them keys like a thousand of bricks; he gave 'em no rest, day nor night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumpt, sprang into my seat, and jest hollered :"Go it, my Rube!'

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

6

"I says, 'Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you jest come a-nigh me!'

"With that several policemen ran 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 Rube out or die.

"He had changed his tune again. He hopt-light ladies, and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft, and low, and solemn, I heard the church bells over the hill. The candles in heaven were 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 the angels went to prayers Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that could'nt be thought, and began to drop-drip, drop, drip, drop-clear and sweet, like tears of joy fallin' into a lake of glory. It was as sweet as a sweetheart sweet'n'd with white sugar, mixed with powdered silver and seed diamonds. It was too sweet. I tell you, the audience