bulls-eyes, if they would only sit still like "gude maids."

But at Valencia's coming the children all looked round, and jumped up
and curtsied, and then were afraid to sit down again.

"You have spoilt my group, Miss St. Just, and you must mend it!"

Valencia caught the humour, regrouped them all forthwith; and then
placed herself in front of them by Claude's side.

"Now, be good children! Look straight at me, and listen!" And lifting up
her finger, she began to sing the first song of which she could think,
"The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers."

She had no need to bid the children look at her and listen; for not only
they, but every face upon the pier was fixed upon her; breathless,
spell-bound, at once by her magnificent beauty and her magnificent
voice, as up rose, leaping into the clear summer air, and rolling away
over the still blue sea, that glorious melody which has now become the
national anthem to the nobler half of the New World. Honour to woman,
and honour to old England, that from Felicia Hemans came the song which
will last, perhaps, when modern Europe shall have shared the fate of
ancient Rome and Greece!

Valencia's singing was the reflex of her own character; and therefore,
perhaps, all the more fitted to the song, the place, and the audience.
It was no modest cooing voice, tender, suggestive, trembling with
suppressed emotion, such as, even though narrow in compass, and dull in
quality, will touch the deepest fibres of the heart, and, as delicate
scents will sometimes do, wake up long-forgotten dreams, which seem