DROPPING ON AN ORGAN GRINDER.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 4824, 7 September 1876, Page 3

DROPPING ON AN ORGAN GRINDER.

(From the Danbury NeW3.) An organ grinder, accompanied by a monkey, appeared in front of Prix's residence, on Willow Place, the other afternoon and struck up that exquisitely beautiful air, " Gentle Spring." Now it bo happened that on this particular afternoon Prix was kept at home with a " sebbere code id der head, you dnow," and at this particular moment was engaged in soaking his feet in hot water, and when the emanations of that heavenly instrument smote the air, poor Prix bounded from his seat, and came down with a jar. Striking the edge of the foot-tub in his descent his skin was barked for two inches in a perpendicular line. Then he laid down on the floor and rolled over and over, and in his agony tried to think what he had done that this dire affliction should be visited upon him. But he could think of nothing that would justify the terrible suffering imposed. " Just thig," said he to himself, " here I ab wid ad idferdal cole id my head ad thad odemaggarodi debaatader gridig out sprig, sprig, gedud sprig." But this gave him no relief, and still the man ground away wholly unconscious of the diabolical plot being prepared against him; for Prix, now terribly enraged, had conceived a plan by which he hoped to rid himself of the plague. Taking a Bheet from the bed he fastened it across the lower sash of the window, then noiselessly lowering the upper sash, and placing the coal-scuttle on a chair beside the window, he was ready to test the efficacy of his plan. Cautiously poking his head above the sash, he carefully gauged the distance with his eye, and let a lump of coal drop on the organ-grinder's head. That individual. shrieked "Garibaldi!" and looked around in every direction to see where the missile came from, but he was unable to ascertain, and giving his machine a terrible wrench, and communing with himself in his native tongue, he turned the crank with redoubled vigor. Prix was anxiously awaiting the result of his stratagem, and when he saw the effect it had he grinned, seized another lump and dropped it on the Italian's instrument, coming within an ace of hitting the grinder's hand and making a dent in the organ the size of a duck's egg. The Italian threw up his hands, jerked his neck back with a Bnap that endangered the safety of his spiDal column, and ejaculated, '.' Breakee me moozic ! Hitte me head ! Vare?" and anxiously looked for the transgressor, but it was no use, for Prix was behind the sheet, holding his sides, so hard was his laughter. The organ-grinder returned to his post, and increased the revolutions of the crank tenfold, and to see the vehemence with which he turned that crank would lead you to suppose that he had the disturber of his vocation inside the organ and was reducing him to mincemeat as fast as possible. Prix got over his fit of laughter, and waiting a moment for something to direct the performers attention, he grabbed another hunk and dropped it on the manipulator's foot, causing that worthy to drop his crank aa if it were a piece of red-hot iron, pick up his foot with tender solicitude and howl with pain. While he was nursing his foot, Prix devoted his attention to the monkey, which was sitting on the curbstone, chattering at the gamins who surrounded him. Prix let a lump drop at him which fell within an inch of his head. The monkey looked up, but could see nothing, and seizing the coal, with a perfectly reckless swing he spitefully threw it from him, striking the grinder on the back »f the head, making him suddenly drop his foot, clasp his hands to the seat of his fresh injury, and talk to somebody about four blocks away in Italian. Prix was now fairly crazy with laughter. He threw himself on the bed and roared, declaring to himself that it was the best thing he had ever seen. He controlled himself and again appeared at the window just in time to see the grinder shoulder his apparatus, seize his monkey by the back of the neck and strike into a tremendous gait up the street. Prix in relating the incident at the club the next night said—" To see that wild-eyed devotee of Garibaldi get up that Btreet was better'n goin' to the minstrels."