t keep you any longer from your dinner. Will you bear
me company," asked he of me, "as far as Chiavari? It's a fine day, and
we shall have a pleasant drive."

I agreed, and we started.

The road was interesting, the post-horses which we took at Borghetto
went well, and the cigars were good, and somehow we said very little to
each other as we went.

"This is the real way to travel," said my companion; "a man to smoke
with and no bother of talking; there's Chiavari in the hollow."

I nodded, and never spoke.

"Are you inclined to come on to Genoa?"

"No."

And soon after we parted--whether ever to meet again or not is not so
easy to say, nor of very much consequence to speculate on.

THE ORGAN NUISANCE AND ITS REMEDY.

There is scarcely any better measure of the amount of comfort a man
enjoys than in the sort of things of which he makes grievances. When
the princess in the Eastern story passed a restless night on account of
the rumpled rose-leaf she lay on, the inference is, that she was not,
like another character of fiction, accustomed to "lie upon straw."

Thus thinking, I was led to speculate on what a happy people must
inhabit the British Islands, seeing the amount of indignation and
newspaper wrath bestowed upon what is called the Organ Nuisance. Now,
granting that it is not always agreeable to have a nasal version of the
march in 'William Tell,' 'Home, sweet Home,' or 'La Donna e mobile,'
under one's window at meal-times, in the hours of work, or the darker
hours of headache, surely the nation which cries aloud over this as a
national calamity must enjoy no common share of Fortune's favour, and
have what the Yankees call a "fine time" here below.

Scarcely a week, however, goes over without one of these persecutors of
British ears being brought up to justice, and some dreary penny-a-liner
appears to prosecute in the person of a gentleman of literary pursuits,
whose labours, like those of Mr Babbage, may be lost to the world, if
the law will not hunt down the organs, and cry "Tally high-ho" to the
"grinders."

It might be grave matter of inquiry whether the passing annoyance
of 'Cherry ripe' was not a smaller infliction than some of the tiresome
lucubrations it has helped to muddle; and I half fancy I'd as soon
listen to the thunder as drink the small beer it has soured into
vinegar.

However, as the British Public is resolved on making it a grievance, and
as some distinguished statesman has d