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It's an ongrateful world but I allcrs sez there ain't no use complainin'; it's what we've got ter expec', triberlation an' anguish an' mournin' an' woe. It's good enuff fer us too. Sech wurms ez we be!" "Well, Evadne, how do you do, child? I'm dretful glad to see you," and Penelope, breezy and keen as a March wind, came bustling into the room.

"Folks ain't never satisfied with their mercies. Allers a' flyin' in the face uv Providence. I tell you we'se wurms, child; miserable, shiftless wurms, a' crawlin' down in this walley of humiliation, with our faces ter the dust." "But you've got a great deal to be thankful for, Mrs. Riggs," ventured Evadne, "in having such a daughter. Aunt Marthe thinks she is a splendid character."

This scene of peace and plenty was suddenly changed into a desert, and the prospect of the smoking ruins could alone distinguish the solitude of nature from the desolation of man. The flourishing city of Mentz was surprised and destroyed, and many thousand Christians inhumanly massacred in the church. Wurms perished after a long and obstinate siege.

Wagner had not then dreamed of the Nibelung's Ring with its menagerie of nymphs who could sing under water, giants, dwarfs, bears, frogs, crocodiles, "wurms," dragons and birds with the gift of articulate speech; and he would have nothing to do with the serpent. The lady must be changed into a stone.

There's an old hymn Mother's dredful fond of, I don't remember how it goes now, but there's one line she keeps repeatin' over an' over till I feel ready to jump. It's this, 'What dyin' wurms we be. So, when she begun her wurm song that mornin' I just let fly. 'Ef I am a wurm, sez I, 'I ain't goin' ter be allers lookin' to see myself squirm! and with that I up and out of the house.

"Hum!" said the old lady ungraciously, "I hope it's better than the last wuz. Guess Mis' Everidge ain't ez pertickler ez she used ter be." "Aunt Marthe!" cried Evadne indignantly. "Why, everything she does is perfection!" "Land, child! There ain't no perfecshun in this world. It's all a wale, a wale o' tears. We'se poor, miserable critters, wurms o' the dust, that's what we be."

"Gulden were scarce, or were all in Kaisar Friedrich's great chest; the ransoms could not be raised, and all died in captivity. I heard about it when I was at Wurms last month." "The boy at Wurms?" almost gasped Sir Eberhard in amaze.

We find Robert Schumann at nineteen domiciled in the beautiful city of Heidelberg, and surrounded by a few musical friends, who were kindred spirits. With a good piano in his room, the "life of flowers," as he called it, began. Almost daily they made delightful trips in a one-horse carriage into the suburbs. For longer trips they went to Baden-Baden, Wurms, Spires and Mannheim.

He jes' mak 'em bite off de heads o' baccer wurms; mysef I'd ruther tuk a lickin." "On Christmus Day, we'd git fiah crackahs an' drink brandy, dat wuz all. Dat day wuz only one we didn't wurk. On Saturday evenin's we'd mold candles, dat wuzn't so bad." "De happies' time o' my life wuz when Cap'n Tipton, a Yankee soljer cumed an' tol' us de wah wuz ober an' we wuz free. Cap'n.