copper saucepan! when the sweet, mellifluous strains of an itinerant band
struck gently upon the drum of her ear. "Wapping Old Stairs" was
distinctly recognized, and she mentally repeated the words so applicable
to her bereaved situation.

"Your Molly has never proved false she declares," 'till the tears
literally gushed from her "blue, blue orbs," and trickled down her plump
and ruddy cheeks; but scarcely had she plunged into the very depths of
the pathos induced by the moving air, which threatened to throw her into
a gentle swoon, or kicking hysterics, when her spirit was aroused by the
sudden change of the melancholy ditty, to the rampant and lively tune,
with the popular burden of, "Turn about and wheel about, and jump Jim
Crow!"

This certainly excited her feelings; but, strange to say, it made her
leap from her chair, exasperated, as it were, by the sudden revulsion,
and rush into the area.

"Don't, for goodness sake, play that horrid 'chune,'" said Molly,
emphatically addressing the minstrels.

The 'fiddle' immediately put his instrument under his arm, and, touching
the brim of his napless hat, scraped a sort of bow, and smilingly asked
the cook to name any other tune she preferred.

"Play us," said she, "'Oh! no, we never mention her,' or summat o' that
sort; I hate jigs and dances mortally."

"Yes, marm," replied the 'fiddle,' obsequiously; and, whispering the
'harp' and 'bass,' they played the air to her heart's content.