THE MUSIC GRINDERS.

THE MUSIC GRINDERS.-OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

THERE are three ways in which men take

One's money from his purse,

And very hard it is to tell

Which of the three is worse;

But all of them are bad enough
To make a body curse.

You're riding out some pleasant day,
And counting up your gains;
A fellow jumps from out a bush,
And takes your horse's reins,
Another hints some words about
A bullet in your brains.

Perhaps you're going out to dine,-
Some filthy creature begs
You'll hear about the cannon-ball
That carried off his pegs,
And says it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.

He tells you of his starving wife,
His children to be fed,
Poor little, lovely innocents,

All clamorous for bread,

And so you kindly help to put
A bachelor to bed.

You're sitting on your window-seat,
Beneath a cloudless moon;

You hear a sound that seems to wear
The semblance of a tune,

As if a broken fife should strive
To drown a cracked bassoon.

And nearer, nearer still, the tide
Of music seems to come,

There's something like a human voice,

And something like a drum;

You sit in speechless agony,

Until your ear is numb.

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You think they are crusaders, sent
From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment,
And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,

And break the legs of Time.

But hark! the air again is still,
The music all is ground,
And silence, like a poultice, comes
To heal the blows of sound;

It cannot be,-it is,—it is,—
A hat is going round!

No! Pay the dentist when he leaves
A fracture in your jaw,

And pay the owner of the bear,

That stunned you with his paw, And buy the lobster that has had Your knuckles in his claw;

THE COMET.

Ah! well may regal orbs burn blue,

And satellites turn pale,

Ten million cubic miles of head,

Ten billion leagues of tail!

And what would happen to the land,
And how would look the sea,

If in the bearded devil's path

Our earth should chance to be?
Full hot and high the sea would boil,
Full red the forests gleam;
Methought I saw and heard it all
In a dyspeptic dream!

I saw a tutor take his tube

The Comet's course to spy;

I heard a scream,-the gathered rays
Had stewed the tutor's eye;

I saw a fort, the soldiers all

Were armed with goggles green;

Pop cracked the guns! whiz flew the balls!
Bang went the magazine!

I saw a poet dip a scroll

Each moment in a tub,

I read upon the warping back,
"The Dream of Beelzebub;"

He could not see his verses burn,
Although his brain was fried,

And ever and anon he bent

To wet them as they dried.

I saw the scalding pitch roll down
The crackling, sweating pines,
And streams of smoke, like water-spouts,
Burst through the rumbling mines;

I asked the firemen why they made
Such noise about the town;

They answered not,-but all the while
The brakes went up and down.

I saw a roasting pullet sit

Upon a baking egg;

I saw a cripple scorch his hand

Extinguishing his leg;

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I saw nine geese upon the wing
Towards the frozen pole,

And every mother's gosling fell
Crisped to a crackling coal.

I saw the ox that browsed the grass
Writhe in the blistering rays,
The herbage in his shrinking jaws
Was all a fiery blaze;

I saw huge fishes, boiled to rags,

Bob through the bubbling brine;

And thoughts of supper crossed my soul;
I had been rash at mine.

Strange sights! strange sounds! O fearful dream!
Its memory haunts me still,

The steaming sea, the crimson glare,
That wreathed each wooded hill;
Stranger! if through thy reeling brain
Such midnight visions sweep,
Spare, spare, O spare thine evening meal,
And sweet shall be thy sleep!

RHYME OF THE RAIL.-JOHN G. SAXE.

SINGING through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges;

Whizzing through the mountains,

Buzzing o'er the vale,
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!

Men of different stations

In the eye of fame,
Here are very quickly

Coming to the same;

RHYME OF THE RAIL

High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level,

Traveling together.

Gentlemen in shorts,

Looming very tall; Gentlemen at large, Talking very small; Gentlemen in tights,

With a loose-ish mien; Gentlemen in gray,

Looking rather green;

Gentlemen quite old,

Asking for the news;
Gentlemen in black,
In a fit of blues;
Gentlemen in claret,
Sober as a vicar;
Gentlemen in tweed,

Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right

Looking very sunny,

Obviously reading

Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thicker

Wonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the Knicker

bocker Magazine!

Stranger on the left

Closing up his peepers: Now he snores amain,

Like the seven sleepers;

At his feet a volume

Gives the explanation,

How the man grew stupid

From "association !"

Ancient maiden lady

Anxiously remarks, That there must be peril

'Mong so many sparks: