washing. (That a good pianist could be hired for a small
sum in England was a matter of amusement to Artemus. More
especially when he found a gentleman obliging enough to play
anything he desired, such as break-downs and airs which had
the most absurd relation to the scene they were used to
illustrate. In the United States his pianist was desirous
of playing music of a superior order, much against the
consent of the lecturer.)

I like Music.--I can't sing. As a singist I am not a
success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear
me. They are sadder even than I am.

The other night some silver-voiced young men came under my
window and sang--"Come where my love lies dreaming."--I
didn't go. I didn't think it would be correct.

I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in
Utah--and I was very ill--I was fearfully wasted.--My face
was hewn down to nothing--and my nose was so sharp I didn't
dare to stick it into other people's business--for fear it
would stay there--and I should never get it again. And on
those dismal days a Mormon lady--she was married--tho' not
so much so as her husband--he had fifteen other wives--she
used to sing a ballad commencing "Sweet bird--do not fly
away!"--and I told her I wouldn't.--She played the accordion
divinely--accordionly I praised her.

I met a man in Oregon who hadn't any teeth--not a tooth in
his head--yet that man could play on the bass drum better