In the mean time the _King_ had returned to the stage, and the
performance concluded without any music. After this the manager will
employ home talent when he wants airs on the bugle.

* * * * *

I have been studying the horn to some extent myself. Nothing is more
delightful than to have sweet music at home in the evenings. It
lightens the burdens of care, it soothes the ruffled feelings, it
exercises a refining influence upon the children, it calms the
passions and elevates the soul. A few months ago I thought that it
might please my family if I learned to play upon the French horn. It
is a beautiful instrument, and after hearing a man perform on it at a
concert I resolved to have one. I bought a splendid one in the city,
and concluded not to mention the fact to any one until I had learned
to play a tune. Then I thought I would serenade Mrs. A. some evening
and surprise her. Accordingly, I determined to practice in the garret.
When I first tried the horn I expected to blow only a few gentle notes
until I learned how to handle it; but when I put the mouth-piece to my
lips, no sound was evoked. Then I blew harder. Still the horn remained
silent. Then I drew a full breath and sent a whirlwind tearing through
the horn; but no music came. I blew at it for half an hour, and then I
ran a wire through the instrument to ascertain if anything blocked it
up. It was clear. Then I blew softly and fiercely, quickly and slowly.
I opened all the stops. I puffed and strained and worked until I
feared an attack of apoplexy. Then I gave it up and went down stairs;
and Mrs. A. asked me what made me look so red in the face. For four
days I labored with that horn, and got my lips so puckered up and
swollen that I went about looking as if I was perpetually trying to
whistle. Finally, I took the instrument back to the store and told the
man that the horn was defective. What I wanted was a horn with insides
to it; this one had no more music to it than a terra-cotta drainpipe.
The man took it in his hand, put it to his lips and played "Sweet
Spirit, Hear my Prayer," as easily as if he were singing. He said that
what I needed was to fix my mouth properly, and he showed me how.

After working for three more afternoons in the garret the horn at last
made a sound. But it was not a cheering noise; it reminded me forcibly
of the groans uttered by Butterwick's horse when it was dying last
November. The harder I blew, t