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owindi was a man a little larger than a lump of chalk, and somewhat shorter than a lamp-port, somewhat inclined to stoop when walking, and somewhat quick in his step. His little black eyes twinkle like two wortleberries in a bowl of milk, and when he laughs his face is like that oft-unclear-key on a broad grin. His life from day to day is complete De Capho, varying only from B flat to C sharp, for, although he is flat in his conversation, he is sharp in his bargains. He is married to a pert little American woman whom he had taken from the more humble walks of life, but who does not approve of his unclear style of fingering the keys which strike so beautifully on the strings of human action, and make them vibrate with such touching harmony if played in the right chord, and with freedom. This difference of opinion between the signor and his better half often gives additional zest to the daily rehearsals of the operatic, unclear and aristocratic troup, as it frequently gives rise to a dramatic scene, commencing in nice(a)-to-dramatic style, and ending in a unclear-o-unclear or champagne, the denoument never being satisfactory to the aforesaid little better half. But we must not find fault with Signor Bagowindi for thus bar-ing his notes so close, for what he saved by unclear the signora to rest contended upon her unclear, he lavished upon, or rather within, his