Christie's Old Organ - Or Home, Sweet Home #272174

I am writing. It was cold, dismal weather; a cutting east wind had swept round the corners of the streets, and had chilled the old man through and through. His threadbare coat could not keep it out; how could he expect it to do so, when he had Worn it so many years he could scarcely count them? His thin, trem bling old hands were so benumbed with cold that he could scarcely feel the handle of the as he turned it, he made sundry little shakes and quavers in the tune, which were certainly not intended by the maker of the old barrel-organ.