Kerr Mudgeon complains that he has no friends, and is beginning to stand solitary and alone, with but a dreary prospect before him, in a world that grows “obstinater and obstinater every day;” and he has yet to learn, if such learning should ever penetrate through the armor of hostility wherewith he is begirt, that perhaps, if we desire to have a smooth and easy time of it, we must ourselves begin by being smooth and easy. The belligerent ever meets with belligerents. There’s no difficulty about that. There is a sufficiency of war in every atmosphere, if you are disposed to condense it upon yourself; and no one eager to enjoy the pleasure, need wander far in search of quarrels. Kerr Mudgeon finds them everywhere—“rumpuses and rowses”—But it is a shrewd doubt whether one’s general comfort is greatly promoted by the aggravation of rudeness and roughness. It is easier to bend a little to inclement blasts, than to be snapped off by perpendicular resistance—easier to go round an obstacle than to destroy your temper and your clothing, in the exhausting effort to clamber over it; and it may be said of every quarrel in which Kerr Mudgeonism is engaged, that probably both parties are in fault, though Kerr Mudgeonism is in all likelihood, the responsible party. Yet, “you wont, wont you?” is a great temptation to combativeness and destructiveness. Is it not, all ye people of the Kerr Mudgeon temperament? * * * * * [Illustration: Painted by Frankenstein Engraved by A. W. Graham PITTSBURG Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine] * * * * * PITTSBURGH. BY E. M. SIDNEY. As some vast heart that high in health Beats in its mighty breast, So, to and fro, thy living wealth Throbs through the boundless West. Thy keels the broad Ohio plow, Or seek the Atlantic main; Thy fabrics find the Arctic snow, Or reach Zahara’s plain! Toil on, huge Cyclop as thou art, Though grimed with dust and smoke, And breathing with convulsive start— There’s music in each stroke! What if the stranger smirch and soil Upon thy forehead sees? Better the wealth of honest toil Than of ignoble ease! And yet thou’rt beautiful—a queen Throned on her royal seat! All glorious in emerald sheen, Where thy fair waters meet. And when the night comes softly down, And the moon lights the stream, In the mild ray appears the town, The city of a dream! * * * * * ABROAD AND AT HOME. BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF “AARON’S ROD,” “PRIZE STORIES,” ETC.