“I TOOK my knitting-work and went up into the gallery,” said Mrs. Partington, the day after visiting one of the city courts; “I went up into the gallery, and, after I had adjusted my specs, I looked down into the room, but I couldn’t see any courting going on. An old gentleman seemed to be asking a good many impertinent questions,—just like some old folks,—and people were sitting around making minuets of the conversation. I don’t see how they made out what was said, for they all told different stories. How much easier it would be to get along if they were all made to tell the same story! What a sight of trouble it would save the lawyers! The case, as they call it, was given to the jury, but I couldn’t see it, and a gentleman with a long pole was made to swear that he’d keep an eye on ’em, and see that they didn’t run away with it. Bimeby in they came agin, and then they said somebody was guilty of something, who had just said he was innocent, and didn’t know nothing about it no more than the little baby that had never subsistence. I come away soon afterwards; but I couldn’t help thinking how trying it must be to sit there all day, shut out from the blessed air!” _Benjamin Penhallon Shillaber_ _(“Mrs. Partington”)._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _THE MUSIC-GRINDERS._ [Illustration: “IT’S HARD TO MEET SUCH PRESSING FRIENDS, IN SUCH A LONELY SPOT.”] THERE are three ways in which men take One’s money from his purse, And very hard it is to tell Which of the three is worse; But all of them are bad enough To make a body curse. You’re riding out some pleasant day, And counting up your gains; A fellow jumps from out a bush, And takes your horse’s reins, Another hints some words about A bullet in your brains. It’s hard to meet such pressing friends, In such a lonely spot; It’s very hard to lose your cash, But harder to be shot; And so you take your wallet out, Though you would rather not. Perhaps you’re going out to dine,— Some odious creature begs You’ll hear about the cannon-ball That carried off his pegs, And says it is a dreadful thing For men to lose their legs. He tells you of his starving wife, His children to be fed, Poor little lovely innocents, All clamorous for bread,— And so you kindly help to put A bachelor to bed.