And the songs were clean songs, and some of them were hallowed by tender associations.

Finally, in a pause, a man asked, "Have you heard about the fellow that kept a diary crossing the Atlantic ?" It was a discord, a wet blanket.

The men were not in the mood for humorous dirt.

The songs had carried them to their homes, and in spirit they sat by those far hearthstones, and saw faces and heard voices other than those that were about them.

And so this disposition to drag in an old indecent anecdote got no welcome; nobody answered.