should study the common branches; my standing in the school was such
that I went down into the primary classes without shame, and I must
say that I was the dullest scholar in them. We also had a drawing
master and a music-teacher. The latter was an amiable woman, with
theatrical manners. She was a Mrs. Lane; but no Mr. Lane had ever been
seen in Rosville. We girls supposed he had deserted her, which was
the fact, as she told me afterward. She cried whenever she sang a
sentimental song, but never gave up to her tears, singing on with
blinded eyes and quavering voice. I laughed at her dresses which had
been handsome, with much frayed trimming about them, the hooks and
eyes loosened and the seams strained, but liked her, and although
I did not take lessons, saw her every day when she came up to the
Academy. She asked me once if I had any voice. I answered her by
singing one of our Surrey hymns, "_Once on the raging seas he rode_."
She grew pale, and said, "Don't for heaven's sake sing that! I can
see my old mother, as she looked when she sang that hymn of a stormy
night, when father was out to sea. Both are dead now, and where am I?"

She turned round on the music stool, and banged out the accompaniment
of "_O pilot, 'tis a fearful night_," and sang it with great energy.
After her feelings were composed, she begged me to allow her to
teach me to sing. "You can at least learn the simple chords of
song accompaniments, and I think you have a voice that can be made
effective."

I promised to try, and as I had taken lessons before, in three months
I could play and sing "_Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee_,"
tolerably well. But Mrs. Lane persisted in affirming that I had
a dramatic talent, and as she supposed that I never should be an
actress, I must bring it out in singing; so I persevered, and, thanks