And immediately afterwards, in much the same key, came a musical note and a message babbling of green fields, from a painter:—­“I shall leave town to-morrow.  Meet me at Bullshornville at ten, A.M.  Don’t forget to bring my field-easel, canvases, and the other traps.”

If there is more of this music, I said, I think I shall stay.  I love the sportsmen and the artists, and am glad they are going to have a good time.  The weather promises well for them.

There was a little pause, and then a strain of perfect jubilation came leaping along the wire, like the flying song of the bobolink over tracts of blowing clover and apple-blossoms.  I expected something very rare,—­a strain of poetry at least.  It was only this:—­“Mr. Grimkins, Sir, we shall expect rooms for the bridal party at your hotel, on the side overlooking the lake, if possible.  Yours, P. Simpkins.”

Ah, I said, that’s all Greek to me,—­poor, lonely bachelor that I am!  I wonder, by the way, if they ever wrote their love-letters by telegraph.—­But what is this coming?  I am clearly getting back to my normal condition:—­“Miss Polly Wogg wishes to say that she has been unable to procure the silk for Mrs. Papillon for less than five dollars a yard.”—­Nonsense!  I’m not in the dry-goods, nor millinery, nor young-lady department.

And here was another:—­“I have found an excellent school for Adolphus in Birchville, near Mastersville Corners.  Send him up without delay, with all the school-books you can find.”

And another,—­important, very:—­“I find that ’One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin’ is in ‘Troilus and Cressida.’  Don’t send the MS. without this correction.”

But what’s this, accompanied with a long, low whistle?—­“The cars have run off the track at Breakneck Hollow.  Back your engine and wait for further orders.”

We are getting into the minor key again, I thought.  Listen!—­“Mr. S. died last night.  You must be here to-morrow, if possible, at the opening of the will.”

Well, said I, I have had plenty of despatches, and have expended enough sympathy, for one night.  I have been very mysteriously affected,—­how, I can’t exactly tell.  But who will ever believe my evening’s adventure?  Who will not laugh at my pretended discovery?  Even my cousin Moses will be incredulous.  I shall be at least looked upon as a medium, and so settled.

And here allow me to remark,—­Have you not observed how easily things apparently difficult and mysterious are arranged in the popular understanding by the use of certain stereotyped names applied to them?  Only give a name to a wonder, or an unclassified phenomenon, or even an unsound notion, and you instantly clear away all the fog of mystery.  Let an unprincipled fellow call his views Latitudinarianism or Longitudinarianism, he may, with a little adroitness, go for a respectable and consistent member of some sect.  A filibuster may pass current under some such label as Political