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HARMONY ON THE PINCIAN HILL.--MUSIC HATH CHARMS.--AMERICAN MELODIES. --THE GLORY, THE POWER, AND THE BEAUTY OF YANKEE DOODLE, AND THE MERCENARY SOUL OF AN ITALIAN ORGAN-GRINDER.
The Senator loved the Pincian Hill, for there he saw what he loved best; more than ruins, more than churches, more than pictures and statues, more than music. He saw man and human nature.
He had a smile for all; of superiority for the bloated aristocrat; of friendliness for the humble, yet perchance worthy mendicant. He longed every day more and more to be able to talk the language of the people.
On one occasion the Club was walking on the Pincian Hill, when suddenly they were arrested by familiar sounds which came from some place not very far away. It was a barrel-organ; a soft and musical organ; but it was playing "Sweet Home."
"A Yankee tune," said the Senator. "Let us go and patronize domestic manufacture. That is my idee of political economy."
Reaching the spot they saw a pale, intellectual-looking Italian working away at his instrument.
"It's not bad, though that there may not be the highest kind of musical instrument."
"No," said Buttons; "but I wonder that you, an elder of a church, can stand here and listen to it."