hrough Tara's
Hall," "She is Far from the Land," "In Death I shall Calm Recline,"
and other popular pieces. When Straws missed a note he went back to
find it; when he erred in a phrase, he patiently repeated it. The
cadence in the last mournful selection, "Bid her not shed a tear of
sorrow," was, on his first attempt, fraught with exceeding discord,
and he was preparing once more to assault the citadel of grief,
entrenched with bristling high notes, when an abrupt knocking at the
door, followed by the appearance of a face marred by wrath and adorned
with an enormous pair of whiskers, interrupted his attack.

"Sair," said this person, excitedly, with no more than his head in the
room, like a Punch and Judy figure peering from behind a curtain, "you
are ze one gran' nuisance! Eet is zat--what you call eet?--whistle! I
am crazee--crazee!"

"Yes; you look it!" replied Straws, sympathetically. "Perhaps, if you
had a keep--"

"I am not crazee!" vociferated the man.

"No? Perhaps I could tell better, if I could see more of you. Judging
from the sample, I confess to curiosity for a full-length view. If you
will step in--"

"I will not step in! I will step out! I will leave zis house! I will
leave--forever!"

And the head vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, to be followed
by hasty footsteps down the stairway.

"Now I can understand why Orpheus was torn to pieces," ruminated
Straws, mournfully surveying the offending pipe. "He played on the
lyre! Return to thy cupboard, O reed divine!"--putting the whistle back
in the box--"a vile world, as Falstaff says! Heigho!"--yawning--"life
is an empty void--which reminds me I have a most poetic appetite. What
shall I do"--and Straws sat up relinquishing his lounging attitude--"go
out, or have pot-luck in the room? Tortier's bouillabaisse would about
tickle the jaded palate. A most poetic dish, that bouillabaisse!
Containing all the fish that swim in the sea and all the herbs that grow
on the land! Thus speaks gluttony! Get thee behind me, odoriferous
temptation of garlic! succulent combination of broth and stew!"

So saying, Straws sprang from his bed, lighted a charcoal fire in his
tiny grate; rummaged a bureau drawer and drew forth an end of bacon, a
potato or two, a few apples, an onion and the minor part of a loaf of
bread, all of which, except the bread, he sliced and thrust
indiscriminately into the frying-pan and placed over the blue flame.
Next from behind the mirro