This is the more curious to bear in mind, because he had no property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'ler six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the public believed to be the drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Cheney sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the end of every entertainment. His cue for that he took from me: "Ladies and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain." He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin' his property never come upon him so strong as when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run through him a little time, he would screech out: "Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting my guineas by thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun'! I feel the mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on the poetic mind. Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrairy, he hated it. He had a kind of everlasting grudge agin the public; which is a thing you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was that it kep' him out of society. He was continiwally sayin': "Toby, my ambition is to go into society. The curse of my position towards the public is that it keeps me hout of society. This don't signify to a low beast of a Indian; he ain't formed for society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; _he_ ain't formed for society--I am." Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, besides having the run of his teeth--and he was a woodpecker to eat--but all dwarfs are. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so many half-pence that he'd carry 'em for a week together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher. And yet he never had money. And it couldn't be the Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that when you have a animosity towards a Indian which makes you grind your teeth at him to his face, and which can hardly hold you from goosing him audible when he's going through his war-dance--it stands to reason you wouldn't under them circumstances deprive yourself to support that Indian in the lap of luxury.