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Neck flung down his fiddle, and catching
The comb at arm's length, dived below.
And Frieder, the instrument snatching
Across the weird strings drew the bow,
To and fro--to and fro!
Till out of the forest came springing
Roebuck and rabbit and deer;
Till the nightingale stopped in its singing
And the black flitter-mice crowded near,
The sweet music to hear.
* * * * *
Forth from that moment went Frieder
Far countries and kingdoms to roam,
Of all earth's musicians the leader,
King's castles and courts for a home,
But, alas, for his comb!
Gold he had, but a comb again, never!
And his hair in a wild disarray
Henceforth grew at random.--And ever
Musicians to this very day
Wear theirs the same way!


"ONWARD."
_A TALE OF THE S. E. RAILWAY_.
ANONYMOUS.

No doubt you've 'eard the tale, sir. Thanks,--'arf o' stout and mild.
Of the man who did his dooty, though it might have killed his child.


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