kes after it with
terrible earnestness. But the tenor has miscalculated the agility of the
theme. All that it could do, with the most desperate effort, was to keep
the theme from running back into its hole again; and so they ran up and
down, around and around, dodging, eluding, whipping in and out of every
corner and nook, till the whole organ was aroused, and the bass began to
take part, but unluckily slipped and rolled down-stairs, and lay at the
bottom raving and growling in the most awful manner, and nothing could
appease it. Sometimes the theme was caught by one part, and dangled for
a moment, then with a snatch, another part took it and ran off exultant,
until, unawares, the same trick was played on it; and, finally, all the
parts, being greatly exercised in mind, began to chase each other
promiscuously in and out, up and down, now separating and now rushing in
full tilt together, until everything in the organ loses patience and all
the 'stops' are drawn, and, in spite of all that the brave organist
could do--who bobbed up and down, feet, hands, head and all--the tune
broke up into a real row, and every part was clubbing every other one,
until at length, patience being no longer a virtue, the organist, with
two or three terrible crashes, put an end to the riot, and brought the
great organ back to silence."

MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN

BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK

It owned not the color that vanity dons
Or slender wits choose for display;
Its beautiful tint was a delicate bronze,
A brown softly blended with gray.
From her waist to her chin, spreading out without break,
'Twas built on a generous plan:
The pride of the forest was slaughtered to make
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

For common occasions it never was meant:
In a chest between two silken cloths
'Twas kept safely hidden with careful intent
In camphor to keep out the moths.
'Twas famed far and wide through the whole countryside,
From Beersheba e'en unto Dan;
And often at meeting with envy 'twas eyed,
My grandmother's turkey-tail fan.

Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight.
Like a crook unto sheep gone astray
It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right,
And exhorted the sinners to pray.
It always beat time when the choir went wrong,
In psalmody leading the van.
Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song--