The songster of the grove, it soon became apparent, was Jones. I saw him before he saw me. On a line, stretched between two trees, he had suspended by far the greater portion of his wardrobe,--that part which he still had on being equally light and scanty,--and, while busily engaged in his preparations to "turn out tidy" and "die dacent," now inspecting, now polishing, in a high state of exhilaration, he was carolling away, very much to his own satisfaction, at the top of his voice. The next strain was different:-- "When last I attempted your pity to move, Your scorn but augmented my cares. Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love; But why did you kick me down stairs?" The last line he twanged out with great pathos, not forgetting the repeat:-- "But why did you--why did you--kick me down stairs?" Then, stepping back a few paces, and complacently viewing his work, he suddenly threw himself into an attitude, extended one arm, and commenced a soliloquy:-- "What's life? A book; a pictur-book, a purty pictur-book! But, ah me, jest like other pictur-books! All the picturs at the beginning! Heavy reading's the rest on it; so I finds at least. Pertickerly when you've got a hempty backy-box, and can't git no good pigtail, not for love nor money, let alone shag. Thim straws, I considers, is renk pyzon." A quick march, stoutly whistled, sufficed to dispel these melancholy thoughts. Then followed a touch of the comic. Jones, it was clear, had been a witness of the preceding night's ball. Holding out, with bowed arms, the corners of a not very presentable shirt, which--excuse me if I'm too particular--hung loose from his shoulders, and mimicking the airs of a dancing belle, he sang:-- "Hands across, back again, down the middle-- 'Please to make room, for I'm going to faint.' 'Don't scream so loud, Miss; I can't hear the fiddle.' 'Ma'am, you're quite rude.'--'No, I'm sure I aint.' The doctor's dancing quite contráry, Holds his breath, and turns in his toes. Ranting, prancing, capering Mary Cocks her chin, and off she goes. Cross over to Betsy Maginnis, And foot it again to Major Shaw. 'Miss Molloy, your sweet mouth in a grin is.' 'Mister Mickey, keep off your paw.' The doctor's dancing quite contráry, Holds his breath, and turns in his toes. Ranting, prancing, capering Mary Cocks her chin, and off she goes. 'Down forty couple, I'm sure will fatigue us.' 'I told you it wouldn't, and here we're come.' 'Ma'am, shall I fetch you a tumbler of negus?' 'No, if you please, sir, a glass of rum.' The doctor's dancing quite contráry, Holds his breath, and turns in his toes. Ranting, prancing, capering Mary Cocks her chin, and off she goes."