s mainly with
the inward character of the people themselves, and is generally too
profound to be theorized upon. We only know that at every step we
advance in the science of music we are deciphering what is written
within us, not transcribing anything from without.

Nor as Americans are we insensible to the value of a national music. The
few airs which have any claim to represent us in this capacity have done
service that no money can estimate. During the late war wherever the
rebel flag was raised it was necessary to silence "Yankee Doodle." Like
the "Marseillaise," it was an institution before which its enemies
trembled; and when we have produced or annexed something infinitely
grander we shall not forget the saucy, free-and-easy,
mind-your-own-business melody that carried the nation cheerfully through
two great crises.

AMELIA E. BARR.

MALLSTON'S YOUNGEST.

The railroad-village of Fairfield woke up one spring morning and found a
clumsy blue car, with a skylight in its roof, standing on the common
near the blacksmith-shop. Horses and tongue were already removed, the
former being turned into the tavern pasture and the latter stowed in the
tavern barn. A small sky-colored ladder led up to the door of this
artistic heaven, which remained closed long after a crowd of loungers
had gathered around it.

The Fairfield loungers were famously lazy savages, though to the last
degree good-natured and obliging. They wore butternut overalls and
colored shirts, a few adding the picturesque touch of bright
handkerchiefs and broad straw hats: there were a few coats in various
stages of rags and grease, and one or two pairs of boots, but the
wearers of these put on no airs over the long ankles and sprawling toes
which blossomed around them. The whole smoking, stoop-shouldered,
ill-scented throng were descendants of that Tennessee and Carolina
element which more enterprising Hoosiers deplore, because in every
generation it repeats the ignorance and unthrift branded so many years
ago into the "poor white" of the South.

Those who could read traced the legend "Photographic Car" on the sides
of the vehicle, and with many a rude joke each bantered the other to
have his picter took for such purposes as skeerin' stock off the
railroad-track or knockin' the crows stiff. Their scuffling and haw-haws
waked the occupant of the car, who rose in his bunk and drew the curtain
from a window. The boys saw his face and hushed. Raisin