another of my constitutional dislikes. If these matters must be divided,
give me the melody, and whoever else will, may take the noise. The truth
is, my dear PUNCHINELLO--and I may as well begin calling you what the
public will do one of these early days--there is nothing like notes. But
bank-notes are my weakness. My weakness in that direction is, I may
confidently state, very strong. The ladies are not the only greenbacks that
are accepted at sight; and acceptable to it. The bank on which I should
like to dwell--do you not guess it?--is the auriferous National. Those
musical neighbors-how they do play, though! But, to borrow from Mr. SLANG,
my queer neighbor opposite, they have about played out. Our gentlemanly
landlord--all landlords are so very gentlemanly, kind, good, and
considerate--Mr. GRABB, says it don't pay to keep such tenants.

"Mr. GRABB, pay--pray, why don't it pay?"

"Why, Mr. TODD, why, sir--because _they_ don't pay. D'ye see it, Mr.
TODD?"

Mr. TODD did see it.

"Music hath charms," and all that fine thing; but it can't evidently charm
a landlord, as at present constructed, into the faith that the notes of a
fiddle, a clarionet, a bugle, or a trombone are negotiable at the corner
grocery, or in Wall and State streets.

Going from bars to banks is a distance. But when I go anywhere, I like to
have it distant. The enjoyment is invariably greater. It saves my tailors,
hatters, restaurant keepers, and some others, the expense and trouble of
too much correspondence. Such isn't good for the brain--especially where it
is small, and easily overtaxed. "Distance lends enchantment to the view."