superfluous energy, and to charm the servants, and le Pere et la Mere
Francois, and the five followers of Napoleon, and all and everybody who
cared to listen, and last and least (and most!), myself.

For this great neglected gift of his, on which he set so little store,
was already to me the most beautiful and mysterious thing in the world;
and next to this, my mother's sweet playing on the harp and piano, for
she was an admirable musician.

It was her custom to play at night, leaving the door of my bedroom ajar,
and also the drawing-room door, so that I could hear her till I fell
asleep.

Sometimes, when my father was at home, the spirit would move him to hum
or sing the airs she played, as he paced up and down the room on the
track of a new invention.

And though he sang and hummed "pian-piano," the sweet, searching, manly
tones seemed to fill all space.

The hushed house became a sounding-board, the harp a mere subservient
tinkle, and my small, excitable frame would thrill and vibrate under the
waves of my unconscious father's voice; and oh, the charming airs
he sang!

His stock was inexhaustible, and so was hers; and thus an endless
succession of lovely melodies went ringing through that happy period.

And just as when a man is drowning, or falling from a height, his whole
past life is said to be mapped out before his mental vision as in a