human
Way down in Alabama, and sorrowing that some of the sweetest melodies in the world since the daughters of Judah hung their harps on the willows, should have dropped out of fashion like lead down a shot-tower, and wondering what poet, what historian, will yet preserve the legends and songs of the days of the Old Plantation. Then you wander away to Holy Land, and consider what punishment should be meted out to the man who has just been telling us--and wants to be thanked for it!--that the trees those Jewish Girls hung their harps on--those sweet-voiced girls, with the blue-black hair--were not willows at all, but _poplars_! Old-fashioned people call them
gpt
Fancy a singer hanging her harp on a popple! Then, there is now and then a lady who has a sort of petroleum-fortune refinement, who speaks of a poplar-tree as a