ALL ABOUT “WHAT’S IN A NAME.”
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BY CAROLINE C——.
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’Tis folly to think of life’s troubles, yet they have the most inconvenient faculty of forcing themselves on the minds of men! An. Phi.
Proprietor of the visual organs now scanning this page, which the publisher, with the still but potent voice of print, proclaimeth henceforth and forever mine, do you love music? rejoice you in the melody of singing voices? If you reply in the affirmative, then most heartily do I wish that you occupied my place at this present moment; for over the way—oh, most uncomfortable proximity!—there is a “Hall,” where regularly meet a number of vocalists, whose chief object in life, for all I can discover, seems to be to ascertain to a certainty the exact power of their individual lungs—perhaps a secondary intent may be to edify this usually calm neighborhood; in case this latter should be at all an influential motive, I hereby proclaim that I, being the neighbor most concerned, am fully satisfied, and far from following the pernicious example of the world-renowned Oliver, I will not cry for “more,” on the contrary, I would much rather stoop to compromise; and if they will but cessate, I will henceforth and forever maintain a most unbreakable silence on all musical subjects, though in doing so, you can hardly conceive what a sacrifice I would be making.
Oh, could you but hear them shout “I will praise the Lord!” perhaps if you are a good Christian you might put up with the nuisance, after having given utterance to only a partial sigh; but possessing as I do so small a share of the Christian graces, I can only say in answer, though with all reverence, “if you call this praise, beseech you, expedite your glorifyings, and have done.”
Perhaps I owe an apology, at least a reason, for opening this chapter in such an exceedingly unamiable style: here it is then. I came into my “sanctum” with the express purpose of thinking of one I would fain tell you all about, but with thoughts so distracted as mine are at present, I fear I shall hardly do justice to any body in giving them utterance to night, and yet I feel constrained so to do; remember, in mercy, how I have been outraged by the explosion in yonder “Hall,” and so proceed.
My heroine lived and lives in this most beautiful of all villages in the Empire State, which, as perhaps you know, is footed by the most charming of lakes imaginable, and is, though a “sleeping beauty,” (the village I mean,) when taken all together quite perfect in its way.