He wandered, turning the handle of his organ, for many a weary mile.  He passed through towns, hamlets, and cities; the people put their heads out of their windows, and urged him imperiously to be gone; and as he hurried away he gazed at their faces, hoping to have seen the King, his Master, but without avail.  He felt, that were His Majesty to hear his music, there would be a farther supply of language savouring rather of the dicing-house than the cathedral.  But, alas! his search was in vain.  At length, he reached London, and found it as silent as the grave!  There were no German bands, no Niggers, not even a hurdy-gurdy!  Greatly surprised, BLONDEL asked a policeman the meaning of this strange, this unlooked-for quietude!

“Strike up that organ of yours,” said the constable, surlily, “and I will soon show you!”

BLONDEL turned his handle, and was immediately arrested.

“What for?” echoed the policeman; “why, for infringing the provisions of the Jacobi Street Music Prohibition Act!”

And with this brief explanation BLONDEL was carried off to prison!

* * * * *

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