ald_, Crosses, Rustic Seats,
Dark-eyed Maids, Babel, Terrapins, Marble Pavements, Spiders,
Dreamy Haze, Jews, Cossacks, Hens, All the Past, Rags, The
original Barrel-organ, The original Organ-grinder, Bourbon Whisky,
Civita Vecchia Olives, Hadrian's Mausoleum, _Harper's Magazine_,
The Laurel Shade, Murray's Hand-book, Cicerones, Englishmen,
Dogcarts, Youth, Hope, Beauty, Conversation Kenge, Bluebottle Flies,
Gnats, _Galignani_, Statues, Peasants, Cockneys, Gas-lamps,
Dundreary, Michiganders, Paper-collars, Pavilions, Mosaic Brooches,
Little Dogs, Small Boys, Lizards, Snakes, Golden Sunsets, Turks,
Purple Hills, Placards, Shin-plasters, Monkeys, Old Boots,
Coffee-roasters, Pale Ale, The Dust of Ages, The Ghost of Rome,
Ice Cream, Memories, Soda-Water, Harper's Guide-Book.

CHAPTER XXI.

HARMONY ON THE PINCIAN HILL.--MUSIC HATH CHARMS.--AMERICAN MELODIES.
--THE GLORY, THE POWER, AND THE BEAUTY OF YANKEE DOODLE, AND THE
MERCENARY SOUL OF AN ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER.

The Senator loved the Pincian Hill, for there he saw what he loved
best; more than ruins, more than churches, more than pictures and
statues, more than music. He saw man and human nature.

He had a smile for all; of superiority for the bloated aristocrat; of
friendliness for the humble, yet perchance worthy mendicant. He longed
every day more and more to be able to talk the language of the people.

On one occasion the Club was walking on the Pincian Hill, when
suddenly they were arrested by familiar sounds which came from some
place not very far away. It was a barrel-organ; a soft and musical
organ; but it was playing "Sweet Home."

"A Yankee tune," said the Senator. "Let us go and patronize domestic
manufacture. That is my idee of political economy."

Reaching the spot they saw a pale, intellectual-looking Italian
working away at his instrument.

"It's not bad, though that there may not be the highest kind of
musical instrument."

"No," said Buttons; "but I wonder that you, an elder of a church,
can stand here and listen to it."

"Why, what has the church to do with a barrel-organ?"

"Don't you believe the Bible?"

"Of course," said the Senator, looking mystified.

"Don't you know what it says on the subject?"

"What the Bible says? Why no, of course not. It says nothing."

"I beg your pardon. It says, 'The sound of the grinding is low.' See
Ecclesiastes, twelfth, fourth."

The Senator looked mystified, but said nothing. But sudden