THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Robert E. Johnson
 
 THE SOPRANO: 
 
 VfO't' VTi/^i 
 
 BOST01T: 
 OLIVER DITSON COMPANY. 
 
 STEW YORK: CHICAGO: PHILA: BOSTON- 
 
 C. H. Dltscn & Co. Lyon & Healy. ]. E. Ditson & Co. John c. Haynes'ft ca
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1809, bj 
 
 A. K. LOSING, 
 In Hie Clerk's Office of the District Court lor the District of Massachusetts.
 
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 'll tfat Intfc lift mOr brntlj sing Ja t^t 
 
 18PECTFULLY DKDICATBD 
 TO ALL 
 
 LortRS or GOOD uuato. 
 
 -
 
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 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " AND THE GLORY, THE GLORY OF THE LORD SHALL BE RB VEALED." 
 
 The Messiah. 
 
 11 You must not leave your seat. It is against the rules." 
 
 "I know it, sir, but I wish to speak to a gentleman 
 among the tenors. He has my book." 
 
 " Well, return as quickly as possible." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The scene : The rehearsal room of the Handel Choral 
 Society. The speakers : An elderly gentleman, commonly 
 known as the " alto monitor," and myself Number 159 
 alto, Jane Kingsford by name. Time : Fifteen minutes 
 past seven, Saturday evening, December 24th, 186 . 
 
 For the past week the newspapers have informed the pub 
 lic that on this evening the Handel Choral Society would 
 give the " Messiah," with eminent solo talent, a large orches 
 tra, the great organ, and the full chorus of the society, 
 numbering upwards of seven hundred voices. 
 
 In just fifteen minutes the overture will begin. It does 
 not look like it now. Who can bring order out of this chaos
 
 6 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 before us? The rehearsal room is a huge underground 
 hall, in shape like a bowl, cut in halves vertically. The 
 floor is in broad steps, rising from a common centre, and 
 reaching to the wall on every side save one. On each step 
 is a seat extending in a great sweep around the crescent- 
 shaped place. In the seats is a solid mass of human beings, 
 rising tier above tier until they nearly touch the ceiling. 
 There are no windows to the place, and but three doors. 
 Over each door is a sign; one reads "soprano," another 
 "alto and bass," and the third "tenor." All around the 
 wall, behind the seats, the gentlemen have hung up their 
 hats and coats, so that they look like a long black curtain. 
 The ladies have also laid aside their things, but still hold 
 them in their hands. When they go upstairs they will 
 leave them in the seats they now occupy. Over all is 
 thrown a brilliant glare of gas-light. All the aisles and 
 passage-ways are filled with people trying to find their seats, 
 and as they and everybody else are talking as fast as they 
 can, the confusion and uproar are perfectly jolly. Everybody 
 seems bent on saying all they have to say, and having as 
 merry and pleasant a time as possible. In a few moments, 
 all this great and noisy company will be as still as death, 
 and almost as motionless. 
 
 Having exchanged the few words with which my story 
 began, I pushed my way slowly up the steep steps, reached 
 the broad platform on top, and boldly dived into a crowd of 
 gentlemen, who made way for me politely enough, and
 
 THE SOPRANO. 7 
 
 walked half way round the room, till I came upon a mass 
 of men seated by themselves at one end of the crescent Go 
 ing down the aisle a few steps, I found the object of my 
 search, a light-haired, blue-eyed young man, F. Livingston 
 Grinnell by name, but, for the present, simply Number 
 95, tenor. 
 
 " Livingston, where is my ' Messiah ' ? " 
 
 11 Your book ? Oh ! here it is, I forgot to give it to you." 
 
 " Thank you. Meet me at the Winter Street door when 
 ft is over. Will you?" 
 
 "Yes, with pleasure." 
 
 Taking the book, I found my way back, and was just getting 
 into a comfortable chat with my seat-mates, when a bell rang 
 suddenly. At once all talking ceased, and every eye was 
 turned towards a benevolent-looking gentleman standing on 
 the stage in the centre of the amphitheatre. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen must find their seats, quickly. 
 We have only seven minutes left." 
 
 Directly the people in the passage-ways found seats, and 
 the whole assembly were hushed and quiet. 
 
 " The next rehearsal," resumed the speaker, " will be 
 held on Sunday evening, one week hence. A full attend 
 ance is desirable. It is now nearly time to go upstairs to 
 the large hall. I trust every one will follow their monitor, 
 and keep strictly in line ; otherwise they will lose their seats 
 on the stage." 
 
 Having said this he sat down. At once every one began
 
 8 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 to talk. The sound of the voices seemed to break out in a 
 sudden roar that drowned everything. A moment after, I 
 was made aware that something else was about to happen. 
 Everybody was turning towards one of the doors, as if some 
 one was expected to appear. Looking up, I saw a tall, ele 
 gant-looking man enter the door, and walk slowly down the 
 steps towards the stage. He was smiling pleasantly, and 
 nodding to the people on either side, as if he knew every 
 ^one there. He must be a great favorite, for they all seemed 
 delighted to see him. Handkerchiefs were waved, and every 
 pair of masculine hands in the house greeted him with ap 
 plause. Going up to the gentleman whom we familiarly 
 called " the doctor," and who had just addressed us, he ex 
 changed a few words with him, and then turned towards us 
 as if he wished to speak. The applause at once died away, 
 and nothing could be heard save the dull sound of the peo 
 ple moving about in the room overhead. As he stood there 
 waiting to speak, he made a splendid picture. Fully six 
 feet high, of massive and symmetrical build, and, as the 
 girls said, ' ' with the face of a lion, ' ' plainly not an Ameri 
 can face thoroughly German, and full of genius ; the face 
 of a man born to command, and he does command ; he 
 wields a wand of mighty power; he is "the conductor." 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, you must do your best to-night. 
 You have sung the ' Messiah ' many times, but this must be 
 the best performance ever given. Remember the words 
 ' wonderful ' ' counsellor,' sing them shoutingly."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 9 
 
 A laugh and another round of applause greeted this, and 
 again a spattering sound of voices ran round the place. 
 This was at once stopped by "the doctor," who rose and 
 said : 
 
 "Are you all ready? Has everyone a book?'" To 
 this there was no reply, and he went on: " The monitors 
 will now rise and lead off." 
 
 Four gentlemen, among them the alto monitor before 
 mentioned, rose from their seats, and three of them started 
 at a rapid pace for the three doors. Two of them were fol 
 lowed by a long train of ladies, and behind the third 
 streamed a ribbon of gentlemen. It was a very odd sight. 
 If I had not seen it a score of times I should have laughed 
 outright. But there was no time for laxighter or anything 
 else now. All the girls in my seat had risen, and were 
 preparing to join the stream flowing towards the alto door. 
 Placing my hat and shawl on the seat, I started with the 
 rest, and away we went, very much like a skein of yarn 
 being unwound. Down the steps, over the stage, and into 
 a dark and narrow entry ; more steps up and up we go, 
 all walking as fast as we can, and still as mice ; a sudden 
 corner, a few more steps, and we emerge from a small door, 
 and are suddenly in a blaze of light, on the top of a steep 
 bank of broad steps, and at a dizzy height from the immense 
 floor spread out beneath us. If this were our first entrance, 
 we should be abashed, disconcerted, and ready to retreat; 
 but there is no retreat now. Those behind are still pushing
 
 10 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 forward, and we must go on. Walking along on the broad 
 steps, behind the narrow cushions on the edge, I count the 
 numbers on the seats until I find mine, Number 159, last seat, 
 second row, next the organ. Sitting down on the cushion, 
 and putting my feet on the next seat below, I make myself 
 as comfortable as possible, and prepare to inspect the curi 
 ous scene before me. 
 
 Immediately in front, and just below, is the orchestra, 
 extending from the front of the stage back to the organ. 
 On either side is the great chorus. Opposite me, the sopra 
 nos, two hundred and fifty strong, reach in a solid mass half 
 way up the amphitheatre-like steps. Above them are the 
 one hundred and fifty tenors. Beside, and above me, are 
 the altos, rising seat above seat till they meet the great 
 black crowd of basses, two hundred and fifty in number. 
 The ladies are brilliant in every color, and the gentlemen 
 are all in decorous black. Take us all together, we are a 
 showy and effective company. On the edge of the stage, in 
 front, are five empty chairs, a small platform, and a music- 
 stand. Behind the orchestra, and reaching to the lofty ceil 
 ing, is the enormous organ. Its huge silver pipes tower up 
 directly over my head, for my seat is close to the case ; in 
 fact, some of the heavy black walnut carving projects so far 
 that a portion of my view of the stage is cut off. If I 
 feel tired at any time I have only to sit round sideways, and 
 by leaning against the organ can have a comfortable back, 
 and a splendid lookout over the house. Beyond the stage
 
 THE SOPRANO. 11 
 
 is a great sea of faces all turned towards us. There must 
 be three thousand pairs of eyes looking this way. The 
 audience always interests me. I wonder what they are all 
 thinking about. Whether they are looking at, or thinking 
 about me, personally, never enters my head. I am only 
 one of the chorus, and I dare say no one can pick me out 
 from all this great choir ; besides. I don't care if they can, I 
 have come here to sing. It is a pleasure to do so. The 
 "Messiah" is to me a second edition of the Bible, the Scrip 
 tures illumined by music, and I love to take part in its ren 
 dering. Twenty-seven minutes past seven, we have three 
 minutes yet. I wish I could talk to the girls beside me ; but 
 that is against the rules, and would never do. See that 
 group of men in the orchestra. How easy and indifferent 
 they look, sitting there with their great brass instruments 
 lying about in confusion. Poor fellows, I suppose they are 
 very tired ; theirs is a hard life. But I wish they were not 
 quite so near me, they entirely overpower everything in 
 the forte passages. If it were not for the organ, they would 
 put me out of the pitch a dozen times in a chorus. When 
 ever they are very much excited, I creep close up to the 
 carved case, and can feel the tone through the wood-work. 
 The organ always thrills me through, and so inspires me I 
 cannot go wrong. Then they have an absurd practice of 
 pointing their instruments over their shoulders right at me. 
 I can look way down the great brassy throats. I wonder 
 what would happen if I should drop my book into the
 
 12 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 upturned mouth of some instrument just as it was sending out 
 some double-forte passage, would it blow up, or the man ? 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! How it would look ! Oh, dear, I wish I 
 
 
 
 was not so silly ; I ought to be more serious on such an 
 occasion as this ; but then, I am always finding something 
 to laugh at wherever I am. I wish it were not so. There 
 was my old school friend, Julia Ward; she used to hold me 
 back and keep my irrepressible flow of spirits within bounds. 
 Poor girl, I wonder what became of her ! Her father lostall his 
 property just before we moved from Rockford, and they were 
 dreadfully poor. It must have been hard for her, she was so 
 quiet and reserved. She had such a fine voice too ; it was 
 a pity she could not get beyond that wretched country 
 choir. Really, I wish she lived near us now. She 
 used to calm and soothe me wonderfully ; since I lost her I 
 believe I have run wild. To be sure, since I became 
 engaged to Livingston, he has tamed me in a measure, and 
 I hope in time he will quite tone me down. Dear boy, 
 there he sits in the very top row of the tenors, studying his 
 book, and as grave as a judge. Why, bless me ! the soloists 
 have come, and there is the conductor with uplifted baton. 
 The overture begins. What a queer opening that is ! so full 
 of strange sad chords black they seem to me. Somebody 
 says they represent the weary waiting of those ' ' that sat 
 in darkness," watching for the coming of light. Now for 
 the fugue. I like fugues. They make me dream. This 
 one is full of expectation and promise of something to come.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 13 
 
 The ending, too, is so strange, breaking off suddenly with a 
 great pause, and then closing in stately minor chords sug 
 gestive of coming events. Now for the solo. Jump up, 
 Mr. Tenor. Do your best. " Comfort ye " is a great field 
 for a tenor's talents. Well, and that is all you can do with 
 it, is it ? Dear me, it is a great pity that such a fine piece 
 of music should be rendered in such a lifeless manner. You 
 sang it very correctly, sir, but for all that it was cold com 
 fort you gave us. Now for the next solo. There, it is over, 
 and I am glad of it. 
 
 And now for the chorus. The monitors give the signal. 
 We are all standing shoulder to shoulder, eager, attentive, 
 and with kindling eyes. The conductor glances round upon 
 us all. His hand is raised the symphony begins. 
 girls, be ready ! The alto leads he is looking at us 
 now : " And the glory, the glory of the Lord " do hear 
 those tenors; how splendid! "shall be revealed, be re 
 vealed, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed." Four 
 bars of rest again altos "And all flesh shall see it 
 together." Hear those sopranos climb higher and higher 
 with their part. " For the mouth of the Lord hath spoken 
 it." All together again. "And the glory, the glory of 
 the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, 
 for the mouth of the Lord " A great pause. What a 
 master hand put this great silence in the midst of such 
 a flood of sound ! Now for the final chords, " Hath 
 spoken it." There, I fancy we sang that well. Was it
 
 14 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 not glorious? That I call pure religion, praise realized. 
 Why, what are all those people doing ? Applauding a 
 chorus ! They well may, it deserved applause. I can say 
 this if I did sing, for I was but one small drop in the great 
 sea of sound. 
 
 Now, Mr. Basso, you have a chance to show what you 
 can do. That was very fair, sir ; you have a rich, deep 
 voice, and you read very correctly. Only I wish you could 
 speak the words a little more plainly. Perhaps public 
 singers never can sing the words distinctly ; nevertheless, 
 I wish they could. * 
 
 Here's another chorus: "And he shall purify." It is 
 very scientific. Most audiences dislike such music. It 
 always interests me, and I love to sing it. I know nothing 
 of musical science, but I do admire wrought up and involved 
 choruses. The alto soloist can now display her talents, if 
 she has any. She has thrown aside her opera cloak, and is 
 standing up ready to sing. What a ninny she is, to be 
 sure ! The idea of a public singer appearing in oratorio in 
 a low-necked dress ! What can the woman know of "the 
 eternal fitness of things " ? The organ sounds and she sings 
 the recitative: "Behold a Virgin." Pretty well, my 
 dear. If you lo as well on the aria it will be an average 
 success. " Thou that tellest good tidings of Zion," 
 slides from her lips very sweetly and prettily ; correct to 
 a dot. 
 
 Another chorus and two more solos are performed. The
 
 THE SOPRANO. 15 
 
 solos interest me, because they are so full of darkness and 
 gloom. The second solo quite stirred me up, and prepared 
 me for the great chorus that followed. The words were, 
 " The people that walked in darkness have seen a great 
 light." 
 
 The chorus that followed was the second great event of 
 the evening: "For unto us a child is born." It was 
 opened by the sopranos, but we all soon joined in, and when 
 it came to the words, " And the government shall be upon 
 his shoulders," I was fairly wild with excitement. My 
 hands shook so that I could not see the notes, and I leaned 
 against the organ for support. The orchestra broke out 
 like a tempest. The organ became an earthquake ; I could 
 feel it tremble. First the tenors took up the words ; then 
 the sopranos came in ; then we altos, with the basses, joined 
 them. "And the government shall be upon his shoulders, 
 and his name shall be called Wonderful ! Counsellor ! 
 The mighty God ! The everlasting Father ! Prince of 
 Peace!" 
 
 It was fortunate for me that the pastoral symphony followed 
 this, otherwise, I should not have got over the excitement 
 that evening. The quiet, dreamy strains of the symphony 
 charmed me into peace and serenity. I could not under 
 stand why I was so much wrought up by the music to-night. 
 I seemed to be impressed with a vague sense of something 
 to come. I was restless and expectant ; why, I could not 
 guess. After this, a young lady in pink got up, and went
 
 16 THE SOPEANO. 
 
 through the recitative that followed, and this is all I can 
 say of her. Then we sang another short chorus. When 
 we sat down I shut my book, leaned against the organ, 
 closed my eyes, and prepared to hear the next solo, and get 
 a little rest at the same time. I only kept my eyes open 
 long enough to see who was going to sing. It was a young 
 person, who seemed a stranger to us all. I could not see 
 her face, as the soloists always turn their backs on us poor 
 chorus singers. She was of medium height, well formed, 
 of sturdy and robust build, and plainly dressed in blue silk, 
 with soft, snowy lace at throat and wrists. Her hair was 
 simply braided and looped up behind, and she wore no 
 ornaments of any kind. Supposing she would sing very 
 much as did the others, I closed my eyes, quite indifferent to 
 her doings. The symphony begins. How plainly the 
 violins seem to sing the words, " Rejoice greatly, 
 Daughter of Zion ! " Now the- voice comes in : " Rejoice, 
 rejoice, rejoice greatly, Daughter of Zion ! " 
 
 Really, what is this ? I must open my eyes and sit up. 
 What is the woman doing ? I never heard such singing 
 before. What a voice ! It is like a clarion ; it is wonderfully 
 powerful and resonant ; and yet how pure ! How plainly 
 she speaks the words, "Behold thy King coineth unto 
 thee." It is perfectly marvellous. Who taught her to 
 sing in that style ? Now she comes to the piano passage : 
 "He is the righteous Saviour, and he shall speak peace 
 unto the heathen." How delicious that word "peace"!
 
 THE SOPRANO. 17 
 
 Just hear her ! Was there ever anything like it ? Why, do 
 look at the choir, they are staring at her as if they were 
 beside themselves. Now she returns to the allegro again : 
 " Rejoice greatly." Isn't it splendid? There! Oh, dear, 
 what a noise ! The applause is enough to deafen one. Well, 
 she deserves it. But who is she, where did she come from ? 
 She must be something great to achieve such a success. 
 Wish I had a programme. Wonder if any of the girls have 
 one ? No, there is not one in sight. But it seems to me I 
 have heard that voice before ; when and where could it have 
 been ? Oh, she is going to repeat it. Well, I don't wonder, 
 but it is hardly fair to ask for a repetition ; yet I suppose 
 they never would be quiet if she refused. Again, and 
 better, if possible. Really, I never heard such singing 
 before, and yet I have certainly heard that voice some 
 where. How I wish I knew her name ! 
 
 Now she of the pink gets up. Poor thing ! I pity her. 
 She can never equal the other young lady. Well, I am glad 
 I was not obliged to sing that. The contrast was not pleas 
 ing. But who expected that this new voice would perform 
 such wonders ? Here comes the next aria. The new singer 
 has risen. How still it is ! Not a whisper from the nearly 
 four thousand tongues in the hall. I can almost hear my 
 self breathe. She begins : "Come unto Him all ye that 
 labor and are heavy laden, and He will give you rest. Take 
 His yoke upon you, and learn of Him, for he is meek and 
 
 lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls." 
 2
 
 18 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 Was that not perfect ? every word as clear and distinct as 
 cut glass ; and how full her voice seemed of the very spirit 
 of prayer and promise ! I am certain I have heard that 
 voice before. Can it be that of my old friend Julia Ward ? 
 No, it is impossible ; yet it reminds me of her. Oh ! there 
 is a programme on that man's music-rack. Kneeling down, 
 as if I wished to lace up my boot, I peer over the shoulders 
 of the girls in front of me, and by stretching my neck man 
 age to make out the words " Miss Julia." The rest I can 
 not read. But how can it be ? If I remember, Julia had 
 no such trained voice as that, and the Wards were too 
 deeply sunk in poverty to ever give her the musical educa 
 tion this girl exhibits. When she had finished the aria the 
 conductor had considerable difficulty in repressing the tu- 
 multous applause that rang through the house. Quiet was 
 at length restored, and we sang the last chorus in the first 
 part. I did not sing at all, being lost in wonder at the 
 discovery of my friend Julia ; for I felt certain it was she. 
 There the soloists have risen to retire for a few moments 
 of rest. She is standing among them, and, as she turns to 
 go, I catch a full view of her face. It is Julia Ward ! Oh, 
 I must see and speak to her ! I will search every hotel to 
 morrow till I find her ; but perhaps she will be off in some 
 early train to another city. To-morrow is Christmas ; doubt 
 less she will sing in oratorio elsewhere. It may be she is 
 to start in the owl train this very night, and I may never 
 see her again I must see her here and now. But how can
 
 THE SOPRANO. 19 
 
 I ? It is plain I cannot climb to the top of the stage again 
 through all those gentlemen. There is but one thing to be 
 done. Get down and find my way through the orchestra. 
 
 " Sir, please help me. I wish to get down." 
 
 " Get down ! What's that for ? " 
 
 " Oh ! please let me. I am not afraid to jump, if you 
 will help me." 
 
 "What, before the whole house?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, only give me your hand." 
 
 And he did, the good, dear trombone-man ; and in a mo 
 ment I was pushing my way through the crowded orchestra. 
 The whole choir took pains to watch my movements with 
 curiosity ; but I did not care for them. I was determined 
 to see Julia. Just as I came up to the front of the stage, 
 I glanced up to the tenors. There sat Livingston, quite 
 horrified at sight of me. Well, I am sorry, but it 
 cannot be helped now. In another moment, I had knocked 
 at the door of the anteroom behind the stage. It was 
 opened by the conductor. 
 
 " Is Miss Ward here ?" 
 
 " Yes; but you cannot see her. She does not wish to be 
 disturbed, and has given me orders to admit no one." 
 
 " But, sir, it is very important that I should see her. 
 Could you not say to her that Miss Jane Kingsford is at the 
 door?" 
 
 " I will tell her, but am sure she will not see you." 
 Then the door was closed, leaving me standing alone in
 
 20 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 the dark and narrow entry- way, flushed with excitement and 
 disappointment. Presently the door was reopened, and I 
 entered a small, richly furnished room. Gathered together 
 in a corner were the four singers, earnestly talking among 
 themselves. Seated on a low chair, with her feet on the 
 fender, sat my friend Julia, dreamily gazing at the fire that 
 blazed upon the hearth. Going up to her, I laid my hand 
 upon her shoulder and looked in her face. She remem 
 bered me at once, took my hand in hers, smiled, and kissed 
 me. 
 
 ." Jane Kingsford ! What a surprise ! Can it really be 
 you ? I have not seen you for years. Where did you come 
 from?" 
 
 " From the stage. I was in the choir, and saw and 
 recognized you. I asked a gentleman to help me down, 
 came through the orchestra, and here I am, delighted to 
 see you." 
 
 " It is just like you, Jane. You are the same wild and 
 affectionate girl you were in Rockford." 
 
 " I know it, Julia. I'm not tamed yet. But then, I 
 did so want to speak to you, and was afraid if I did not see 
 you now, I might never do so." 
 
 "You were partly right there. I sing before the Men 
 delssohn Society, to-morrow, in another city." 
 
 " I suppose you are singing somewhere every night." 
 
 " No, not every night. One must have some rest."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 21 
 
 " But, Julia, is not this a very great change from from 
 your Rockford life? " 
 
 "I know what you mean. I was poor very poor 
 and almost friendless when we lived there. However, things 
 have changed since then." 
 
 "I should say they had. I wish you had time to tell 
 me all about it. Hark ! is that the organ? How queer it 
 sounds down here under the very bellows ! I suppose I 
 must go now. Where shall I see you again ? Now that I 
 have found you, I must not lose you again." 
 
 "I shall be at my rooms at the Shawmut House, on 
 Monday. Come and see me. Come early and take tea. It 
 will seem like old times to talk over things with you." 
 
 Just then the conductor started up, and said it was time 
 to return to the hall. Thereupon they all went out, and I 
 after them. When I reached the floor of the house, I looked 
 up and discovered, to my dismay, that the choir and orches 
 tra were all ready to begin. What was I to do now ? If I 
 went down to the rehearsal-room and walked up the other 
 way, I should come out at the top of the stage, behind the 
 basses, and far above my seat. There was but one thing to 
 be done, pass along the front of the stage and find a seat 
 somewhere among the first row of altos. This I did, and, 
 through the aid of a friend, found a seat directly in front 
 and in line with the conductor. It was a very conspicuous 
 place, but I did not mind so long as I had such a fine 
 chance to see everything. The alto monitor looked at me
 
 22 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 very bard as I sat down, but I returned bis gaze -with a look 
 of demure innocence, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 The chorus, " Behold the Lamb of God," began at once, 
 and, as it is opened by the altos, I had quite enough to 
 do to sing with the rest. This chorus is in G minor, largo 
 time, and always impresses me. I never heard it sung bet 
 ter. Julia had evidently inspired the whole society, and 
 they seemed resolved to show her what they could do. 
 When it came to her turn, the low-necked alto also caught 
 inspiration from the soprano beside her. She sang ''"He was 
 despised and rejected " with great care and feeling. When 
 she sat down, Julia turned towards her, and, with a 
 smile, said a few words to her, " words of praise and en 
 couragement, no doubt," I said to myself; "she was 
 always so considerate and helpful towards others." 
 
 And so it went on, every one, soloists, choir, and orches 
 tra, seemed animated to do their best. I never heard a finer 
 performance of the "Messiah." Finally, the last notes of the 
 hallelujah chorus died away, and we came to the great event 
 of the evening, Julia's rendering of " I know that my Re 
 deemer liveth." When the symphony began, she rose from 
 her seat, opened her book, and advanced to the edge of the 
 stage. She looked splendidly, erect, shoulders wide apart, 
 and head thrown back as if looking at something above and 
 beyond her. When the orchestra ceased, she closed her 
 book, and began without it, ' I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth." Ay, she knew it, and filled the music with her
 
 THE SOPRANO. 23 
 
 belief. Again she sang " I know that my Redeemer liveth, 
 and that he shall stand, at the latter-day upon the earth." 
 I never listened to anything like it. Her tones were as 
 pure as crystal, every word pronounced plainly and dis 
 tinctly, while her voice was full of faith and trust as if she 
 believed what she sang. She used no ornaments in her 
 singing. Not a trill or run marred the exact simplicity of 
 her rendering of the music. The orchestra seemed fasci 
 nated, and played as I have never heard them play before. 
 They even forgot themselves, and played involuntarily so 
 softly that we caught every tone of her voice, however faint. 
 Presently she dropped down to the softest piano, and yet 
 could be heard at the farthest end of the hall (for a death 
 like stillness had crept over the assembled multitude), and 
 with a voice full of sorrow and resignation, she sang : " And 
 though worms destroy this body." After two bars of sympho 
 ny, she went on again : "Yet in my flesh shall I see God." It 
 was like a great and sudden light. Rising higher, louder, 
 and clearer, her tones broke forth : " Yet in my flesh shall 
 I see God ! " Oh ! it was glorious ! I never read or 
 dreamed of anything to compare with it. But it is alto 
 gether beyond me to describe how she sang the rest of the 
 piece. I can only say that it was beyond anything I had 
 ever imagined in music. When she had finished, and the 
 last notes of the orchestra had died away, there came a 
 pause, and an oppressive silence. As for Julia, she opened 
 her book, glanced at it for a second, shut it, gazed serenely
 
 24 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 around on the sea of faces before her, and quietly sat down 
 as if nothing particularly wonderful had happened. Just 
 as she seated herself, a man in the upper balcony leaned 
 over the railing and cried aloud, " Bravo ! " In an instant 
 the people burst into a perfect uproar of applause. The 
 choir overstepped all rules, stood up and fairly cheered her, 
 while the organist got so excited he put both feet on a dozen 
 pedals at once, with all the stops out ! As for the orchestra, 
 they went wild. The violinists rapped the backs of their 
 violins with their bows, the men of brass rattled their in 
 struments on the floor, and the kettle-drum-man pounded 
 his machine with his fists in an ecstasy of delight. Two 
 elderly cello' ists, in front of me, stood up, shook each other 
 by the hand, and said, "It ish magnifcent! The like we 
 never heard save in the Fatherland."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "GOD IS A CASTLE AND DEFENCE WHEN TROUBLES AND DISTRESS 
 
 INVADE." Luther's Hymn. 
 
 THE clock was striking five, and the short twilight fading 
 away, as I rang the bell at the ladies' entrance of the Shaw- 
 mut House, the next Monday afternoon. I was soon ush 
 ered into Miss Ward's private parlor, but found it empty. 
 
 "Miss Ward is busy at present, but will be at leisure in 
 a short time. Will you send your card, or wait? " 
 
 I informed the servant that I had come to spend the 
 evening, by invitation, and would await Miss Ward's con 
 venience. She was not to be disturbed on my account. The 
 servant withdrew, and, finding myself alone, I took the 
 opportunity to look about me. A fine, lofty parlor, richly 
 carpeted and furnished, but full of soft shadows ; a grand 
 piano, piles of music and books, and several pictures ; two 
 windows looking out upon the brilliantly lighted street, and 
 an open fire that served at once for warmth and light. This 
 last feature pleased me greatly ; if there is any one thing I 
 like before all others, it is an open wood-fire. This was not 
 a wood-fire, but next door to it, cannel-coal. Selecting a 
 "sleepy hollow" chair, I drew it up before the fire, and 
 slid myself into it. " Now, this is nice," mused I; " I am
 
 26 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 naturally lazy. This just suits me. I don't care if Julia 
 stays away just a very little while." And, as I sat there 
 gazing in the fire, I could not help thinking how different 
 all this seemed from the homely little back-parlor, with its 
 faded carpet and cast-iron stove, where I used to see Julia 
 studying her lessons, or sewing, long time ago, in dear old 
 Rockford. A great change, surely ! 
 
 "Well, Jule, have you got through with those music 
 fellows?" 
 
 Starting up to see who it was that spoke, I discovered 
 a white-haired, old gentleman standing near the door, who 
 had entered the room unobserved by me. He was partly in 
 the shade, but soon came forward into the fire-light. 
 
 "Excuse me, sir. I am not Julia. She will be here 
 presently. I have come to see her. My name is " 
 
 " Sis Kingsford, as I'm alive. Deary me, how you have 
 grown ! I knew you though. How do you do, my dear? " 
 and he came up to me and offered his hand. 
 
 " Quite well, Mr. Ward." 
 
 " Don't ' Mr.' me, girl. Call me Pa Ward, just as you 
 used to do." 
 
 He had not changed much. Just the same dear, cross 
 old man, I remember seeing so often years ago. 
 
 "Well, Pa Ward, how are you? I have not seen 
 you for a long time." 
 
 " It aren't such a very long time. It's only five years 
 ince we lived next door to Squire Kingsford's mill. Is he
 
 THE SOPRANO. 27 
 
 well? I always liked him since he drove Tom Slurry's 
 cows out of my corn." 
 
 " Thank you, father and mother are both quite well, and 
 would be glad to see you. We did not know you were in 
 the city till Saturday, or we should have called upon you." 
 
 u I hardly knew it myself. Julia travels round so fast, 
 I aren't always sure where I am. When I wake up in the 
 morning, I sometimes have to stop and think where I am. 
 I can't always tell." 
 
 " Do you like travelling, Pa Ward?" 
 
 "No, not much." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Ward enjoy life? " 
 
 "Yes, mother enjoys her life, I am sure; but it is a 
 different life from ours." 
 
 
 
 11 How so? Is she well now ? " 
 
 " Yes, she is very well now. She'll never more be sick 
 or ailing. They are never sick where she is." And he 
 gazed absently at the fire as if to recall something. 
 
 Finding that I had advanced upon unknown ground, I 
 stopped abruptly and stared hard at the carpet. Just at 
 this moment a side-door opened, and Julia entered. She 
 was plainly dressed in claret- colored poplin, and had her 
 hair done up in the same girlish fashion I so well remem 
 bered. Advancing to where her father stood, she put her 
 arm about him^ and kissed him; then she came to me, 
 took both my hands in hers, and saluted me also.
 
 28 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come, Jane. Are you all well 
 at home?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you. Mother sent her love, and says she 
 shall be happy to have you call on us. She would have 
 come with me, but could not." 
 
 " Come, let us sit down and be comfortable together." So 
 saying, she pushed a huge arm-chair up before the fire, and 
 assisted her father into it. Taking a low stool, she sat down 
 by his knee, while I sought my friend, " the sleepy hollow." 
 
 "Now let me tell our adventures. "What did you do 
 to-day, pa?" 
 
 " Not much worth telling. I read the papers and took 
 a nap. After dinner I went out to walk. I didn't go far. 
 The people jostled me, and it was cold and lonely so I came 
 home and found little Sis Kingsford." 
 
 "Don't call her 'sis,' pa. She is a grown-up woman 
 now." 
 
 " Yes, I shall. May I not, sis ? " 
 
 "Anything you like, sir. I have no doubt I am the same 
 wild girl I was in Rockford, and well deserve the name." 
 
 " That's just what I tell Jule. Things have changed, 
 but we haven't." 
 
 "I hope not, sir." 
 
 "Pa, please." 
 
 "I hope not, Pa Ward." 
 
 " That's a dear. Now, Jule, what have you been doing 
 all day?"
 
 THE SOPRANO. 29 
 
 " A little of everything. I practised all the m >rning, 
 and have been receiving callers in the public parlor all the 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Did any more of those music fellows come round? 
 I hate 'em." 
 
 " Only two, pa. One came to pay me some money, and 
 the other to engage me to sing next week." 
 
 "No, no. I don't mean those; I mean the music men 
 that do nothing about music but talk. I say I hate 'em." 
 
 " Don't say that, pa. Some of them are wise and good 
 men. It helps me to talk with them ; I get many new 
 ideas." 
 
 " I don't refer to those ; I mean the other men who talk 
 and don't say anything. Was there many of them? " 
 
 " Only a few this time. There are always some, you 
 know. I sent them all away as quickly as possible, so that 
 I might come to my pa again." 
 
 "That's right, deary. Don't let 'em keep you from me 
 too much. It is bad enough, ' torio ' nights. By the way, 
 sis, were you at the ' torio ' night before last ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am happy to say I was there." 
 
 " I am glad of it." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because, if you hadn't been, you would have a great 
 gap in your life that never would be filled up." 
 
 "I would not have missed being there for the world." 
 
 " No more would I. Didn't she sing splendid? "
 
 30 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 "Who, sir?" 
 
 " Why, my Jule." 
 
 " She did, indeed." Just then, I looked up, and, seeing 
 a queer expression in Julia's face, stopped suddenly. There 
 would have been an awkward pause if a servant had not 
 entered. 
 
 " What time will you have tea, miss ? " 
 
 "At seven, and we will have it in here by the fire." 
 
 " Shall I light the gas ?" 
 
 " No, Jule, don't let her. The fire-light is better." 
 
 " We do not care for lights, Kate. You may light the 
 burner in my room." Thereupon the servant departed. 
 
 " Now, pa, Jane and I are going to get ready for sup 
 per, and you must excuse us." 
 
 " Yes, dear. I'll take a nap till the paper comes.", 
 
 " That's right ; you need rest. Call a servant if you want 
 a light." 
 
 Beckoning to me to accompany her, she rose and went 
 towards the door of the next room. On entering, we found 
 ourselves in a cosey little chamber, well filled with furniture. 
 Everything was simple and elegant, betokening wealth and 
 refinement. Rolling two great arm-chairs up before the gem 
 of a fire, she offered me one, and took the other herself. 
 
 " Now, Jane let's be girls again." So saying she took 
 down her hair, letting it fall around her, put on a pair of 
 slippers, and, placing her feet on the fender, involuntarily 
 made a charming picture of herself. Nothing loath, I
 
 THE SOPRANO. 81 
 
 followed her example as far as I could. I did not let down 
 my hair, take off my boots, nor look pretty ; but I found the 
 softest corner in the huge chair, and followed my usual in 
 clination, laziness. 
 
 " Come, Jane, tell me all about it. Where have you 
 been, and what have you been doing all these long years? " 
 
 " Don't ask me, Julia. My life has been as dull as the 
 lives of the good girls in the story-books." 
 
 " You are not one of the good girls." 
 
 "Thank you, dear." 
 
 "I mean the story-book girls, who hemmed moral hand 
 kerchiefs and died early." 
 
 " Goodness ! I'm not one of those. I am naturally bad." 
 
 " Wild, not bad." 
 
 "Yes, wild. You knew all about me when we lived at 
 Rockford. I haven't changed much, nor has my life either. 
 " It's the same old story of getting into scrapes, and then 
 being dragged out by main force." 
 
 "Tell me about some of them." 
 
 " Not now, dear." 
 
 " Tell me, then, what you did when you left Rockford." 
 
 " I haven't done anything remarkable. I went to school 
 part of the time, and have been doing nothing at all ever 
 since. that is, nothing worth mentioning. By the way, how 
 did you manage to sing " I know that my Redeemer liv- 
 eth " without looking at the book? " 
 
 "That was easy enough. That solo has been almost
 
 32 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 burned into me. I know every note by heart. If I had 
 time I would tell you about it." 
 
 "Tell me now, please." 
 
 " Not just yet. It is a long and sad story. After tea 
 I will give it to you." 
 
 " Tell me something else, then. I'm dying to hear all 
 about your life since I saw you last. You must have passed 
 through some queer scenes." 
 
 "Some queer and some sad. Would you really like to 
 hear about it?" 
 
 " Indeed I would. I'll be all attention, unless you get 
 prosy; then I shall fall asleep. I always do." 
 
 " You are a naughty girl, Jane. If I see you close your 
 eyes, I'll stop short, and you shall not hear another word." 
 
 " Well, dear, I'll be good. Begin, please, and don't mor 
 alize." 
 
 My adventures began in a church. It was the Sun 
 day preceding father's failure in business. We all went to 
 church that day in pleasing ignorance of the trouble in 
 store for us. I was a little late, and sat down next the aisle. 
 While I was getting settled in my seat, and preparing to hear 
 the organ begin, some one tapped me on the shoulder, and, 
 looking up, I discovered Mr. Loudman, chairman of the 
 music committee, standing near me. 
 
 " Will you please come out into the entry, one moment, 
 Miss Ward?" 
 
 "What for, sir?"
 
 THE SOPRANO. 33 
 
 " I cannot tell you here. Please come ; it is quite im 
 portant." 
 
 I got up and went up the broad aisle towards the front 
 door. I am sure I was scarlet all the time. I knew every 
 one there, including those odious Waring girls, was staring 
 at us. Soon we reached the outer entrance of the church. 
 
 " We are so unfortunate as to be without a treble this 
 morning. Miss Vane has just sent word that she cannot 
 come. Will you be so kind as to take her place in the 
 choir to-day ? The music is very easy. I am sure you 
 can sing it." 
 
 "Oh, no, sir! I know I cannot. Get some one else, 
 please." 
 
 " We cannot find any one ; besides, it is very late, and Mr. 
 Purcell hates to have anything go wrong with the music." 
 
 " Then I am sure I'll not sing." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! I don't mean that. He does not like to 
 have the music omitted, and we must, if you do not sing." 
 
 Just then the organ began to sound. 
 
 " Come, please. The music is easy. You are sure to 
 do yourself credit." 
 
 " Well, sir, prepare for a failure. I am ready to go 
 with you." 
 
 " Never you fear ; " and in a moment or two I found my 
 self in the front seat of tke organ-loft. I was introduced in 
 a whisper to the members of the choir, and a music-book was 
 placed in my hand. I was left to my own thoughts for a while ;
 
 34 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 then my position broke upon me. How ridiculous, the idea 
 of my attempting to sing in a choir ! I know I shall break 
 down. I will not rise with the rest ; I'll sing without stand 
 ing. I never can face all those people. How I wish I was 
 at home ! Meanwhile the organ went droning on, in its usual 
 fashion. I wondered how I should know ,when it was time to 
 begin ; so I listened to the music, but gained nothing. Miss 
 Playon was our organist at the time. She composed her own 
 voluntaries, and, as she had but few ideas, her music seemed to 
 be a mere succession of closing chords, or " amens" as I used to 
 call them. I said every moment, " Now she will stop ; " but 
 she did not. It was .very aggravating, as it kept me in sus 
 pense all the time. Soon she turned round, and said, in an 
 important whisper, " Page ninety-one, first piece." On 
 looking over my book, I found the place readily. 
 
 11 Rise, please," said Miss Playon. 
 
 The three others did so, and I reluctantly followed their 
 example. 
 
 " Six bars, prelude. Ready now." 
 
 Well, we sang it somehow. It was a short anthem, very 
 asy and very poor. The reading of the Scriptures fol 
 lowed ; after that, Mr. Purcell read the hymn, 
 
 " Almighty Father ! I am weak, 
 But thou wilt strengthen me," 
 
 and we were requested to sing a tune to it I had never seen 
 before. The only thing I can remember about it was, that it
 
 THE SOPRANO. 35 
 
 was ineffably weak, however the words suited my case, and I 
 sang them as if I believed them, and I did. When we sat 
 down the alto stared very hard at me, why, I did not know. 
 After one more hymn Mr. Purcell began his sermon. I was 
 glad to see him rise, for I was far from pleased with my sur 
 roundings. Now I could listen to the discourse in peace. I 
 had tried to do my duty, and hope I succeeded, but peace was 
 not to be mine. The bass and alto must needs fall to whisper 
 ing, and the tenor touched my arm, and silently offered me a 
 brown-paper parcel. Not knowing what to make of this pro 
 ceeding, I stared at the man and shook my head ; then he 
 opened the package, and, displaying a quantity of candy, 
 said, as he passed it to me : 
 
 "Take some." 
 
 Putting a first-class frown on my face, I shook my head 
 emphatically. He did not seem to understand. 
 
 " Won't you have some ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I never eat between meals." 
 
 He subsided at this, and I again turned towards the pulpit, 
 but I could not fix my attention upon the sermon. The two 
 whisperers beside me, the extinguished young man on my 
 right, and the organist behind, fast asleep, were too much for 
 my peace. I had come to church to worship. I could not see 
 why it was not as much Sunday upstairs as down. One thing 
 is certain, I'll never sing in the choir after to-day. I sup 
 pose I shall be obliged to this afternoon, but it shall be the 
 last time. They must get some one else before next Sunday.
 
 86 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 As we came out of church I met Mr. Loudman. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Ward. You did yourself gieat cred 
 it." 
 
 A fib. 
 
 "We shall be pleased to have you try again this after 
 noon." 
 
 Doubted. Just here two gentlemen passed along with 
 the crowd. 
 
 " Who is the young soprano, doctor ? " 
 
 "Don't know. Can sing fairly." 
 
 " Yes, and with feeling. She put her whole soul into that 
 first hymn." 
 
 When I reached home I related my experience. Mother 
 was disgusted, and said I should not sing again. Father was 
 provoked, but said nothing. After dinner I went to church 
 once more. This time the performance was varied. The alto 
 fell asleep, the organist read a novel, and the two men talked 
 politics behind my back. When I reached home I vowed I 
 never would sing again in a country choir, if I could help it. 
 I never saw or heard a city choir, and of them I could not 
 then speak. 
 
 Two days after this, father's failure was announced. 
 Everybody was surprised, and none more so than ourselves. 
 It was a sorrowful time with us ; we had always been sur 
 rounded by wealth and luxury ; but that now was all over. I 
 will pass by our trials. Perhaps you remember some of them 
 yourself.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 37 
 
 " Tea, dear, I do. Those were, indeed, sad days for 
 you." 
 
 " Not half as sad as some others that came after." 
 
 " Indeed! Tell me more, please." 
 
 Well. It was, as you may recollect, on Tuesday that 
 our troubles began. Father was quite overcome, and stayed 
 at home all day, half-sick with care and anxiety. Mother 
 and I did our best to cheer him up, and promised to do and 
 bear everything without a murmur, and, we did, at least, 
 mother did, and I tried to. It was hard work to come down 
 from our high estate, and begin life once more under hum 
 bler circumstances. For my part, I felt it keenly. Oh, if 
 I had only been a boy ! Then I could go out and do some 
 thing, earn some money, and perhaps aid my father. But 
 no, I could do nothing. I was only a dead weight, of no 
 use to myself, or to anybody else. These were not pleasant 
 or good thoughts. There were many things I could do, if 
 I only tried. Throwing myself into a chair, I sat down by 
 the window, mortified and discouraged, and idly began to 
 look on the busy village-street. Plenty of men and boys 
 were walking or riding past, all eager and intent upon their 
 various occupations ; only myself an idler. Over the tops of 
 the opposite houses I could see the tall chimney of father's 
 mill. No cheerful banner of smoke streamed from its mouth. 
 The mill was closed, and the fires out, never more to blaze for 
 our benefit. Strangers had already taken possession of the 
 works. Suddenly the front-gate was opened, and Mr. Loud-
 
 38 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 man entered. On going to the door to meet him, I found he 
 was in search of myself. Mr. Chauncy, a wealthy neighbor, 
 had lost his wife. The funeral was to take place at the 
 church, the next day, and the services of the choir would be 
 needed. Miss Vane being still ill, Mr. Loudman had come 
 to ask me to take her place again. Glad to find anything 
 to do, however gloomy the work, I accepted the invitation, 
 and sang at the funeral. I am afraid I did not sing very 
 well. It seemed my own funeral instead of Mrs. Chauncy's, 
 the funeral of all my hopes and joys in life. After the ser 
 vice was over, I waited upstairs till the mourners should go. 
 I never follow the multitude, and gratify a morbid curiosity 
 by gazing on the face of the dead. When all had left, I 
 prepared to go home by myself. As I came downstairs I 
 met Mr. Loudman. 
 
 " Here is your pay, Miss Ward." 
 
 "Pay, sir?" 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Chauncy authorized me to engage the choir, 
 and, as it is not in the line of their regular duties, to give 
 the singers ten dollars apiece." 
 
 "But I do not belong to the choir." 
 
 "No matter. You did the work. Here is the money. 
 Take it, please." 
 
 My pride here asserted itself. I take pay ? Indeed I'll 
 Dot ! But, suddenly remembering my father, I yielded arid 
 took the money, and went home. 
 
 When I arrived I found trouble enough. Father had
 
 THE SOPRANO. 39 
 
 come in, quite broken down by a new sorrow. His book 
 keeper, a man whom he had trusted for years, had absconded, 
 taking with him every cent of my father's ready money. 
 When I entered our sitting-room, I found my mother in 
 tears, and my father sitting before the fire, with his face in 
 his hands, the picture of despair. 
 
 " What is the matter, mother? " 
 
 " Trouble enough, dear. Jepson, the book-keeper, has 
 run away." 
 
 " That is no loss. I am sure nobody cares." 
 
 "We would not care," said my father, " if he had left us 
 anything ; but he has not. We haven't fifty cents in the 
 house." 
 
 " Never mind. pa. Let me call one of the servants, and 
 we will have dinner. After that you will feel better." 
 
 ' Servants ? We have none. They have all gone, 
 went as soon as they heard the news." 
 
 " Well dear, let me play servant. I know how to 
 cook." 
 
 " Very little will your knowledge avail us. What have 
 we in the house to buy anything with ? And who will 
 trust us now? " 
 
 "Then we will pay cash," said I, triumphantly display 
 ing my ten-dollar bill. 
 
 " What's that you say, Jule ? " 
 
 " I say, we will pay cash, for here is the money." 
 
 "Where did you get it?"
 
 40 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " I earned it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By singing. Come, take it, pa. Go to the store, and 
 get something for dinner." 
 
 " No, dear, I cannot take it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It is not mine. It belongs to you. You had better 
 keep it. You will need it all soon enough." 
 
 " Don't be absurd, father. Please take it." 
 
 " I had rather not." 
 
 " But you must," cried I, forcing the bill into his hand. 
 He would not take it. "Mother, do reason with him. He 
 does not know what he is saying." 
 
 All the reply I received was fresh tears. 
 
 "Now, pa, you must take the money, or I shall at once 
 go out and spend it for you." 
 
 " Well, child, I'll take it upon this one condition, that I 
 may return it as soon as I can." 
 
 " You're sensible now. I am sorry it is such a small 
 sum. I wish I had more." 
 
 " Never mind, Julia, this is the day of small things with 
 us."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "ALL THAT HATH LIFE AND BKEATH SING TO THE LORD." Hymn 
 
 of Praise. 
 
 ON the following Sunday I again sang in the choir, Miss 
 Vane being still sick. To be brief, she never recovered, but 
 died soon after, and I stepped into her place with a salary 
 of one hundred and fifty dollars a year. Trifling as this 
 seemed, I was glad to accept it, in spite of my disagreeable 
 surroundings. At first, I tried to improve things in the 
 choir ; but failed signally, and gave it up. So far, I have 
 been telling you of things that, perhaps, you knew before. 
 All this, as perhaps you remember, took place before you 
 moved from Rockford. Your departure was the second trial 
 of my life. It was sad to have you leave us, Jane ; you 
 used to brighten and cheer me up when I was despondent 
 and discouraged. Doubtless you also remember how we 
 gave up our house, and went to live in the little cottage be 
 hind your father's mill. After you left us. things got set 
 tled somehow, and life began to be very humdrum. About 
 3ix months after I joined the choir, the calm surface of my 
 life was disturbed by a ripple that gradually rose into waves, 
 that nearly went over me. Miss Playon resigned, and we 
 had a new organist. It seemed a trifling matter, but to me it
 
 42 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 proved the beginning of my career. To the new organist 
 I owe everything. To be sure, he could not aid me greatly 
 beyond setting me on the right road, and taking the first 
 steps therein with me. If there is anything about my sing 
 ing that deserves praise, to him belongs the greater part of 
 the credit. It is true he only took the first steps to aid me ; 
 but if the first had not been taken, none others could have 
 been. Personally, he was a young gentleman, quite reserved, 
 and very silent at times; but able to express himself plainly 
 and well when it was necessary. Many people thought 
 him morose, but they only judged from the surface ; he was 
 kind, liberal, thoroughly educated, and capable of great 
 emotion, if the crust of reserve and silence was once broken. 
 In a crowd of men he would pass almost unnoticed, his plain 
 face expressing little beyond the average American young 
 man of sense and brains. Among his friends he was known 
 simply as Frank. 
 
 " Why, Julia, I know a Frank ! He used to be very 
 much such a person as you describe." 
 
 " Used to be ! Is he not the same now? " 
 " Oh, dear ! no. I soon cured him of his reserve." 
 " He must be a friend of yours." 
 " We are both very good friends." 
 " Tell me more about him. I am interested." 
 " Not now, by and by. Go on with your own story. I 
 can tell you mine some other time." 
 
 On the Saturday evening before he entered upon hia
 
 THE SOPRANO. 43 
 
 duties as organist, I went to the church a little earlier than 
 usual, or the others were a grain late, I am not sure which ; 
 but I am certain I got there before the others. When I opened 
 the door of the church, I heard the organ being played. 
 Not caring to go upstairs before the rest came, I sat down 
 in a pew near the door, just within the dusky shadow of the 
 gallery. There was but one light burning, and that was 
 over the desk of the organ ; the rest of the place was in par 
 tial gloom. The gilded leaves of the great Bible on the 
 pulpit glistened brightly, and the great beams in the lofty 
 ceiling stood out sharply against the dark roof. The rest of 
 the place was dim and misty. The organ in our church is, 
 as you know, neither a large nor particularly fine one, yet, 
 as I sat there listening to the music, I felt certain it was a 
 new one, or else being played by fresh hands. Miss Playon 
 had never made it sing before ; it roared and thundered 
 loud enough beneath her fingers, but now it sang, not loudly, 
 but sweetly. Thinking that perhaps the society had in 
 dulged in a new organ, I rose and went up the broad aisle, 
 till I could get a view of the instrument. The organ had 
 not been changed, but the player had. Becoming very much 
 interested in the matter, I put on a bold face and marched 
 upstairs to see who it could be. As I entered the choir, 
 the young man turned towards me, nodded pleasantly, said 
 "good-evening," and went on playing without once stop 
 ping. Taking my usual seat, I took up a book as if to read, 
 but I cculd do nothing savQ listen. The music fasci-
 
 44 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 nated me. I had never heard anything like it. At last my 
 curiosity got the better of my discretion, and I went and 
 stood beside the strange musician, to see him play, and to 
 find out what music-book he played from. Presently he 
 stopped and began turning the- leaves of the music-book be 
 fore him. 
 
 " What book is that, sir?" 
 
 "Rink's School." 
 
 "Rink's School?" 
 
 "Yes. C. H. Rink's 'Modern School for the Organ.' It 
 contains some of the best music ever written for the organ." 
 
 " I did not know organ music was so pleasing before. I 
 thought it was very scientific and uninteresting." 
 
 " Most of it is scientific, but to me that gives it interest. 
 Did you not like that fugue ? " 
 
 " I like the music, but must confess I don't know what 
 a fugue is." 
 
 " I am glad of it." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, for it gives one a chance to tell you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " Do you see the first two bars of that piece? " said he, 
 pointing to a piece in D minor on page twenty-one of his 
 book. Of course I saw the two measures, but they con 
 tained nothing very interesting; "only a short melody of 
 seven notes." 
 
 " Well, that short melody, as you call it, is the theme.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 45 
 
 Listen and observe how our author treats it : now. making 
 the soprano carry it above all, now the tenor lead it through 
 a maze of harmony ; then the alto repeat it in an undertone ; 
 now the bass emphasize it in double octaves ; now on the 
 outside, and then on the inside parts. Over and over again, 
 threaded through the whole piece from beginning to end, is 
 the same simple little seven note theme." 
 " Play*it once more, sir." 
 
 When he had finished playing it the second time, he 
 said : 
 
 "Could you follow it?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly. I am delighted with it. How rich the 
 harmony is, and so chromatic ! I never heard anything like 
 it before." 
 
 " Did not your former organist give you a fugue occa 
 sionally? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! she made up her own voluntaries." 
 
 "Indeed ! She must have been a genius. I should not 
 dare to improvise in church." 
 
 " She was far from a genius, I can assure you. Most of 
 her music seemed to consist of a mere succession of chords." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear you say this." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because I consider the position of organist to be fully 
 equal to that of preacher." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 ' I am sure it is. Does he not lead the congregation in
 
 46 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 an act of worship ? When he plays his instrument before 
 all the people, is it not as much an act of worship as if he 
 had said a prayer ? " 
 
 " I never thought of it in that way before, sir, and yet 
 1 can understand you. Music sometimes expresses more 
 than words." 
 
 " Then why should he ofier up before them, and to their 
 Maker, mere vaporings, in which there is neither sense nor 
 soul, and that, too, when all the sublime thoughts of the 
 great masters are at his hand? " 
 
 " Really, sir, your views of organ-playing are so novel 
 that I hardly know what to say; yet I think you are 
 right."' 
 
 Just here Mr. Loudman came in bringing the remainder 
 of the choir. We were then introduced to our new organist, 
 and the rehearsal began. Among his other duties, Mr. 
 Loudman had always taken upon himself those of procuring 
 the hymns of Mr. Purcell, and of selecting the tunes from 
 the music-book that were to be sung to them. On this oc 
 casion he followed his usual course, and gave us the music 
 we were to sing the next day. Our organist took the mu 
 sic, played it, and said nothing, though it was evident he 
 was far from pleased. 
 
 The next day was a calm, bright, summer's day. A very 
 Sabbath of nature. I went to church early, as was my cus 
 tom, took my seat in the cool, dimly lighted building and 
 waited for the service to begin. The people soon began to come
 
 THE SOPRANO. 47 
 
 in, and as usual a far from pleasing noise of slamming pew- 
 doors and creaking boots filled the place, driving away all 
 thoughts of peace and worship. While I was watching the 
 people find their seats, I thought I heard some one sing 
 ing out in the field next the church, faint, and seemingly 
 far away, yet it was music plainly. Wondering what it 
 could be, I listened attentively. Again I heard it, sweet, 
 quiet, and soothing. Suddenly it rose higher and louder, 
 rippled a little, and died away again. Turning round, I dis 
 covered the music was from the organ, touched by fresh and 
 rare fingers. Smooth, unbroken, and like an unruffled 
 stream the music flowed on, making a new and better Sab 
 bath of the place and day. The pew doors were closed 
 softly, and all the usual bustle and stir of the people died 
 away ; it was very quiet, more so than I had ever known in 
 church before. At last the voluntary died away in the 
 softest piano, and came to an end amid the soft breathing of 
 the notes. To me it was something quite wonderful. I had 
 never seen a congregation so completely calmed down into 
 such a state of absolute silence. Then our white-haired 
 old pastor rose and read the hymn : 
 
 " How gentle God's commands ! 
 How kind his precepts are ! 
 Come, cast your burden on the Lord I 
 And trust his constant care." 
 
 Nothing could be more in keeping with the music we had 
 just heard ; it seemed a remarkable coincidence to me. Little
 
 48 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 did I know that consummate art was at the bottom of it, nor 
 did I know that our organist had made himself acquainted 
 with the general style of the sermon and hymns, and fitted 
 his music to it. Now, if the tune that had been given out 
 for the hymn had been in keeping with the words the whole 
 service would have been perfect. But no, we sang it to " La- 
 ban," and by so doing made the hymn simply ridiculous. 
 If we had sung the words of " Home, sweet home," to 
 " Hail Columbia," we could not have been more widely out 
 of all propriety. The only redeeming feature was that both 
 hymn and tune were of the same metre. The two other 
 hymns were just as badly selected, and it was plain that if 
 
 
 
 our new organist was to remain, a change of some kind 
 would be necessary. He was evidently disgusted with Mr. 
 Loudman's selections; however, he said nothing. The fol 
 lowing Saturday evening when we again met for rehearsal, 
 it was evident that action, not talk, was to be the order of 
 procedure. I was a little late, and found the rest waiting 
 for me. On our music-racks were four copies of a new mu 
 sic-book " The National Lyre." The book we had been 
 using was called the "-Temple Cymball." Perhaps you 
 remember it; a book of "original and selected music." 
 " Original " in its weakness and emptiness, and " selected " 
 from the dregs of the opera. Just as I took my seat, the 
 alto leaned over and said in a whisper : 
 
 "You ought to have been here a little sooner, Miss 
 Ward."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 49 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Mr. Loudman and the organist had a little passage at 
 arms, and Mr. Loudman has just gone away highly indig 
 nant." 
 
 " Really ! What was it all about ? " 
 
 "About tunes and books. The organist wanted to se 
 lect the tunes, and Mr. Loudman preferred to do it himself; 
 so there they had it." 
 
 "Which gave in?" 
 
 "Mr. Loudman, of course." 
 
 "I'm glad of it." 
 
 " So am I, and that is not all, we are to have a new 
 music-book." 
 
 " I'm glad of that too." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " We shall sing something new. I am tired of those old 
 tunes." 
 
 The new book, and the new style of music that was in 
 troduced into the choir, pleased us greatly. It was some 
 thing quite different from anything we had sung before. 
 Purer, more simple and refined ; then, too, we could not fail 
 to notice how the words were married to music that seeme^ 
 written for them. In fact, our whole service was remodelled 
 and made one harmonious whole, instead of the disjointed 
 affair that it had hitherto been. These changes were not 
 affected at once, nor without difficulty. We had a long and 
 wordy war between our organist and the church committee.
 
 50 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 The people generally took the side of the new man. The 
 improvement in the music was too palpable, and though at 
 first the music of the player did not attract much attention, 
 yet in time its purity, sweetness, and elevated character 
 won all hearts and charmed every ear. I tell you all this, 
 because I wish to show you how this young man first drew 
 my attention to the true and beautiful in music, and led me 
 on, step by step, till I became absorbed in my art, and fired 
 with an ambition to pursue it for its own sake, and to strive 
 ever after the highest excellence in it. One Sunday after 
 noon, as he was playing his organ while the congregation 
 passed out, I lingered after the others had gone. Going up 
 to the organ desk, and standing by his side, I watched him 
 play, and listened to the stream of harmony that flowed 
 from the pipes over my head. It was a simple five-part pre 
 lude in A minor. Any child with the least knowledge of 
 piano playing could have rendered it, so easy was it. He 
 was using the full organ, and the slow and almost mournful 
 chords seem to roll in heavy masses from the pipes. When 
 he finished, he turned to me and said : 
 
 "Solid, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, but very sad." 
 
 "Oh; no! to me there is nothing mournful about that. 
 It is in a minor key ; but for all that it inspires me with faith 
 and trust. Lively, dance music makes me sad ; this never 
 does." 
 
 l It would sound sad enough, if I should play it."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 51 
 
 "Why so?' 
 
 " I cannot tell. I only know that when you play such 
 music it is no longer mournful, but filled with faith and 
 peace. I wish I knew how to sing as you know how to 
 
 play." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " I mean I wish I could put my whole soul into my music, 
 as you seem to. I wish I had your expression." 
 
 " If you do not put feeling into your music, it is because 
 you do not have it." 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 "Be not offended. I speak plainly, yet with kindness 
 To be able to express feeling, we must have it in us." 
 
 " I do not think I am devoid of feeling, yet I never seem 
 to sing with the expression I desire." 
 
 " You have not suffered enough yet." 
 
 " Suffered enough ! " 
 
 "Yes, you have not yet passed through any deep experi 
 ences in life ; therefore it is impossible for you to express in 
 music thoughts and feelings you never had. The Germans 
 have a saying that I think is a true one : ' He only is a 
 musician who has suffered.' ' 
 
 " I do not like to hear you say that. It makes me think 
 that one has to pay a great price for the true and good ir. 
 art." 
 
 " All valuable things are costly." 
 
 " But is it worth the price ? "
 
 52 'liiE SOPKANO. 
 
 "That is for each on 3 to decide for himself. One thing 
 is certain, only ' thiough darkness riseth light.' " 
 
 This idea was ne* to me, and I leaned back against the 
 organ, lost in though *, while he went on playing those state 
 ly minor strains. I listened attentively to discover what 
 expression he was putting into them. Sad they were not ; 
 rather restful and calm than sad. Presently he stopped and 
 said : 
 
 " Yet this is not all. One may have a world of feeling 
 and not be able to express it ; to that must be added a knowl 
 edge of those mechanical laws by which sound is produced." 
 
 " And is that all ?" 
 
 " No. There is one thing more needed to make a musi 
 cian, the physical control of the instrument used, be it an 
 organ, or a human voice." 
 
 " Then music divides itself into three parts, the aesthet- 
 ical or emotional, the mechanical, and the physical." 
 
 "You have described it exactly. To be successful in 
 music one must be a mechanic and a doctor, and have added 
 thereto ali the training and culture of a refined and educated 
 man o r x/man." 
 
 11 Then I neVtsr shall be a singer. I can never accom 
 plish all these." 
 
 "lam not so sure of that. You never will know what 
 yen can do till you try." 
 
 By this time all the people had gone, and we found our-
 
 THE SOPRANO. 53 
 
 selves alone in the church with the twilight just gathering 
 about us." 
 
 " Really, sir, we ou^ht to go. We are ^uite alonje. What 
 will they say ? " 
 
 " I could not guess, nor do I care. Our intensions are 
 innocent. Who can blame us?" 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure ; but they do talk so ! " 
 
 iJy this time we had reached the outer door of the church 
 but found it fast. We were locked in. 
 
 " Never mind, Miss Ward, we can get out somehow. Let 
 us go downstairs to the vestry, and get out of some low 
 window." 
 
 Well, we did so, there being no other way of escape. 
 Frank climbed out first, and then helped me, and we both 
 passed through the gate at the side of the church. As we 
 came to the street the two Waring girls passed along. At 
 sight of us they exchanged a meaning glance with each 
 other. 
 
 " Now for detraction and perhaps slander," J sni<3 to my 
 self when I reached home.
 
 54 TPS SOPRANO. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "THROUGH DARKNESS RISETH LIGHT." - Elijah. 
 
 "To be a singer one must be a mechanic, a doctor, ani 
 have a certain amount of experience." These words kept 
 ringing in my ears day and night. That I wanted to be a 
 singer was plain enough, how could it be otherwise, for 
 Frank had inspired me with a love of music I had not 
 thought was in me. You must bear in mind that I saw 
 him regularly three times a week, sometimes oftener, and 
 on every occasion he taught me something new in his art. 
 We talked of nothing else when together, and his music was 
 jf such a high order that it carried me into a new world, 
 and inspired me to strive after his ideals. In my own 
 music I found myself imitating him ; I sought to acquire, 
 as far as I could, the careful and painstaking style he always 
 maintained. Every little hint that he gave me I eagerly 
 adopted. I tried my best to sing with all the expression I 
 could command. The new music-book, and the purer and 
 more elevated style of music we sang from it, gave me a 
 new insight into the art, and a new love for it. The fact 
 is, my ambition was fired, and I desired to become a singer, 
 a great singer. But how could I compass these three r3q- 
 uisites ? How could I master the science of acoustics, or
 
 THE SOPRANO. 55 
 
 study physiology sufficiently to understand the structure 
 and functions of my own vocal organs ? As for experience, 
 I had never had any. I was too young to have passed 
 through much of anything. I knew what I would do. I 
 would consult Frank. He would help me ; but ought I to 
 do so. Did I not see him quite enough already? Was it 
 right for us to meet so often. We were very good friends, 
 but where would our friendship end ? Thanks to certain 
 young people, we were talked about already. I had been 
 sitting in our little back parlor sewing, while these thoughts 
 passed through my mind. Suddenly the door was opened, 
 and my father entered very much excited. 
 
 " Get your things, Julia, as quickly as you can and call 
 the doctor. Mother has been taken suddenly ill." 
 
 Hastily getting my hat and shawl, I started out for the 
 doctor, and in an instant all thoughts of music were forgot 
 ten. The subject never once entered my head for six days, 
 till I heard the sad wail that stole from the organ, as we 
 sat by my mother's coffin, at her funeral in our church. 
 
 " Is your mother dead, Julia? " 
 " Yes, Jane, did you not know it ? " 
 " No ; how should I ? How sorry I am ! Why did you 
 not tell me before?" 
 
 1 I supposed you knew it." 
 
 * No, dear, I never heard of it till now. It was a sad
 
 56 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 blow for you. She was a lovely woman, and a good mother. 
 Was she sick long ? " 
 
 No. She was taken away from us almost instantly. She 
 was confined to her bed but twenty-four hours when she 
 died. Those were sad days for us. My father never en 
 tirely recovered from the loss. He has been a poor, broken 
 man ever since. Well, let me tell you about the music at 
 the funeral. It made a deep impression upon me. I shall 
 never forget the great sigh that seemed to break from the 
 organ as we entered the church. Not loud, but sad, gloomy, 
 and strange. I had never heard anything like it before. I 
 could not believe it was our old organ that produced such 
 tones. After a while, the slow minor chords became broken 
 and fragmentary, though still bound together by a thread, 
 as if the music was halting and pausing, unwilling to express 
 its sorrow. Suddenly it slid from G minor to some major 
 flat key, and died away to softest piano. The sting was 
 taken from it, but the pain remained, though lulled. At 
 last, it melted away into silence, leaving me, for one, quieted 
 and sustained. Then came the reading, and after that a 
 hymn. This I dreaded ; I was afraid Mr. Loudman would 
 interfere, and set the words to some outrageously inappropri 
 ate music. I was happily disappointed, for a more exquis 
 ite combining of word and music I never heard. If the 
 voluntary soothed me, the singing of the hymn restored my 
 drooping faith. After the hymn came the prayer. Hardly
 
 THE SOPRANO. 57 
 
 had the "amen " been pronounced, when I seemed to hear 
 another prayer, a prayer without words, I cannot describe 
 it to you. I have often seen and played it since myself. It 
 is on the seventh page of " Rink's School." After the 
 benediction that followed, we rose to follow my mother's re 
 mains to the church-yard. Perhaps you wonder how I can 
 speak of this so calmly ; simply because I was calm my 
 self at the time. The music inspired me. I had buried my 
 dead. My mother was safe, and at rest. I was almost glad 
 for her. She would have no longer the heavy burden of our 
 semi-poverty to bear, but was at rest in her Redeemer. Just 
 as I opened the pew-door and took my father's trembling 
 arm to go out, the organ broke forth clear and emphatic. 
 No gloomy minor strains now, but, suiting my mood, it 
 seemed to sing of hope and trust. I cannot explain to you 
 how it was ; in fact. I never expect to have it explained ; but 
 as I heard the music, these words came into my mind, I 
 know that her Redeemer liveth, and though worms destroy 
 her body, yet in her flesh shall she see God. 
 
 On the following Saturday evening I went to rehearsal, 
 as usual. Duties must be performed, if sorrows are heavy. 
 I reached the church before the other members of the choir 
 arrived. Frank was there, and busy at his organ. As soon 
 as I entered, he placed a handsomely bound book in my 
 hand, and asked if I would like to sing an air from the 
 " Messiah," next Sunday. 
 
 " I should be pleased to, but really I never heard of the 
 'Messiah ' before.'
 
 58 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " Never heard of Handel's ' Messiah? ' " 
 
 "No; what is it?" 
 
 " An oratorio." 
 
 " I never attended an oratorio in my life." 
 
 " Well, never mind. The aria is simple enough. Most 
 good music is simple." 
 
 Showing me the piece, he began to play the prelude. I 
 recognized it at once. It was the same thing he had played 
 at my mother's funeral. My eyes glistened when he com 
 menced ; but when the voice part came, the words so filled 
 me with thoughts of my mother, that somehow the music 
 sang itself. When I finished I sat down quite overcome. 
 The music had affected me in a way I never dreamed 
 of." 
 
 " Are you sure you never saw that before, Julia? " 
 
 "No, Frank, but I have heard it played." 
 
 " Where, and when? " 
 
 " At my mother's funeral." 
 
 " That accounts for the wonderful expression you put 
 into it." 
 
 " Did I sing with expression? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. You sang as if you believed it." 
 
 " And is that the secret of expressing singing? " 
 
 " Partly. Through suffering you have become a musi 
 cian, as far as mere expression is concerned." 
 
 " Now I understand what you meant when you said, 
 ' through darkness riseth light.' '
 
 THE SOPRANO. 59 
 
 " And I, Julia, understand now why you created such a 
 furore at the Music Hall, last Saturday, and why it was you 
 sang that aria without once looking on the book. You were 
 thinking of your mother, were you not? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, I quite forgot myself. The orchestra became 
 Frank's organ, and that great hall dwindled down to our 
 little church at Rockford. I only came to myself when 
 that ridiculous man in the gallery cried ' Bravo ! ' " 
 
 But not alone of my mother did I think. Another 
 thought came to me, and almost inspired me.
 
 <)0 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "HE THAT SHALL ENDURE TO T*~ XND SHALL BE SAVED." Elijah 
 
 THE following Saturday I was in my seat in the choir, 
 as usual. The lamps on the organ were lighted when I 
 arrived, for it was now nearly September, and the twilight 
 faded away early. While waiting for the rehearsal to be 
 gin, I noticed a white-winged insect fluttering round the 
 lamp over my head ; he seemed fascinated by the light, and 
 buzzed about the hot chimney, nearer and nearer. At last 
 his curiosity was too much for him, and he dashed at the 
 glass. Alas ! poor little thing, in an instant he was strug 
 gling helplessly on my open book, his wings nearly burnt 
 off. He did not seem to suffer much, but could not fly. 
 Not wishing to hurt him, I slid him off the book on to the 
 top of the gallery railing ; here he wandered aimlessly 
 about, and at last, coming too near the edge, tumbled over 
 into the darkness below. 
 
 At the close of the rehearsal I lingered after the rest had 
 gone, to hear Frank play. He was experimenting on one 
 of the tunes we were to sing the next day, changing the 
 key from E flat to D sharp. 
 
 " Why do you do that 1" 
 
 " To avoid the wolf in the organ."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 61 
 
 " The wolf!" 
 
 " Yes, did you not know there was one? " 
 "No. Tell me about it." 
 
 " You see that key," said he, pointing to C sharp. 
 
 " Plainly." 
 
 " Sometimes it is C sharp and sometimes D flat. In 
 music those two notes are quite different. In keyed instru 
 ments, like the piano or organ, they are united in one key. 
 Now, as they cannot tune the string or pipe to both, they 
 either go between the two, or favor one at the expense of 
 the other." 
 
 " Could they not have a key for each ? " 
 
 " No. It would be almost impossible to handle such an 
 instrument." 
 
 " How is this organ tuned? " 
 
 "In favor of the sharps. If played in sharp keys, it 
 sounds in better tune than when played in flat keys ; so I 
 try to avoid the flat keys, as when they are used you hear 
 that discord the organ builders call the 'wolf.' " 
 
 " Well, I must say I have learned something to-day. I 
 need not say 'perdidi diem ' to-night." 
 
 ' ' I hope you seldom have to say it. ' ' 
 
 Then he went on playing again. Soon I ventured to 
 speak to him once more. 
 
 " Did I tell you that I intend to leave the choir? " 
 
 "No."
 
 62 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " To-morrow will be my last Sunday here; I am going 
 away to live." 
 
 " Going away ? " and he looked up surprised and troubled. 
 
 " Yes. I am going to the city to study music. I have 
 made up my mind to become a singer, and follow music as a 
 profession." 
 
 "Do you know what you are undertaking ? Have you 
 looked deeply into the matter? " 
 
 " Indeed I have. I propose to live with an aunt of 
 mine, give music-lessons, and sing in some choir, and so pay 
 for my education. It will cost me no more to live there 
 than here." 
 
 The only answer I got to this was a few vague, broken 
 chords from the organ. The player seemed lost in thought. 
 " Furthermore, I propose to study the anatomy of the 
 throat, and to attend lectures on the science of acoustics. 
 I mean to make myself perfect in my art. Do you not 
 wish me God-speed ? " 
 
 " I do, but my wishes are tuned to a minor key." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "With speeding comes parting." 
 
 " That is true. Life is made up of partings." 
 
 " That is why life is so sad." 
 
 Then he turned away from me, as if he wished to hide his 
 face by pretending to arrange the stops. Directly, a quiet 
 melody stole from some sweet toned-stop ; it was new to me, 
 and so pleasing that I involuntarily stopped to listen. As
 
 THE SOPRANO. 63 
 
 the music breathed slowly forth, I became more and more 
 charmed ; sitting down on a seat by the desk, I leaned back 
 against the organ, and facing the great gloomy church. 
 Frank was beside me, but looking the other way. I could 
 see his face plainly, lighted up as it was by the lamps over 
 our heads. A smile was on his lips, and his eyes, though 
 fastened on the open music-book before him, seemed to 
 glisten strangely. Still the music went on ; at last it rose in 
 a little ripple, trembled slightly, and died away into silence. 
 
 But I cannot tell the rest. Sufficient is it to say that 
 to my surprise he then and there told me he loved me ; 
 that he could not help it, nor keep silence ; that it would 
 break forth into words ; my sudden departure had taught 
 him how essential I was to his happiness. 
 
 I could not and did not love him, and told him so. It is 
 true I liked him, but was not certain of myself when it came 
 to more than that. 
 
 At last a deep silence fell upon us both. Suddenly the 
 bell high up in the steeple pealed forth ten strokes, while 
 the clock on the front of the gallery chimed sharply, break 
 ing the silence of the dark and shadowy place. Looking 
 round at the organ, I saw Frank leaning his elbows on the 
 music-rack and his face buried in his hands. 
 
 " I must go now. It is very late." 
 
 " In a moment, Julia." 
 
 Then I stood up by the organ, and laid my hand on his 
 shoulder.
 
 64 THE ,SOPRAN(/. 
 
 " Forgive me, Frank." 
 
 'Forgive you? What have I to forgive? Forgive me 
 rather." 
 
 " Freely. I am only sorry for your sake that it can 
 not be. I must go now." 
 
 " Wait till I close the organ, and shut off the water, and 
 I will go with you." 
 
 (The wind to our organ was, as you know, supplied by 
 water-power.) 
 
 " Oh, no, let me go alone. I prefer it so." 
 
 Fearing to say more, I left the organ-loft, and went down 
 stairs into the gloomy church. As I opened the front door 
 I paused a moment. Should I go back to him ? Perhaps I 
 am mistaken. Just then the organ spoke. If it had pos 
 sessed an articulate voice it could not have expressed more 
 sorrow and disappointment. As I heard the few sad chords 
 that echoed through the building, I took one step back 
 ward. It was very dark about me, though light above. I 
 could not find the stairs. Pushing the door open, I rushed 
 into the street ; the night was cold and stormy. Surely it 
 was cloudy within and cloudy without. As I walked away, 
 those strange, sad chords again broke on my ear. They have 
 haunted me ever since. I never knew what they were 
 from, till long years after; when I heard an orchestra 
 play the introduction to the " Messiah," I remembered them 
 at once. They form the closing movement of the over 
 ture.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 66 
 
 The next morning I rose early and endeavored to find 
 some one to take my place in the choir. I did not wish to 
 appear there myself. My efforts were fruitless, and I was 
 forced to sing as if nothing had happened. 
 * As I entered the choir I made a discovery. Something 
 had happened. Somebody had been misdoing, myself evi 
 dently. The choir plainly knew of something to my dis 
 credit. Could, it be possible that they had heard of my 
 last night's experience? Doubtful very. Personally I 
 was sad, nervous, and troubled, though I hid it from them, 
 and was as serene as a summer 's-day. What it was all 
 about, I did not learn till some time after, when I heard 
 through a friend that those Waring girls had amplified and 
 spread abroad our escape from the vestry window. And 
 what motive could they have had? Jealousy. Not OD 
 their own account, for they could not sing, but in behalf of 
 their cousin, our alto. The alto herself was a good-enough 
 girl, and the idea that I was trying to overshadow her 
 never would have entered her weak little head, if it had not 
 been put there by others. I never dreamt of such a thing ; 
 why should I ? If she could sing better than I, I rejoiced 
 in it. How my own performance struck her was something 
 I never thought of. What difference did it make who sang 
 best ? Besides who could decide between us ? Music is 
 not an exact science. No one can say with absolute cer 
 tainty which is the best of two performances. I can't see 
 the sense of the wretched feelings sometimes indulged in by 
 
 5
 
 66 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 singers. Are they more than the music, or was music writ 
 ten to display their voices ? Truly, the ways of musical 
 people are past my finding out. 
 
 I got through the morning service without exchanging a 
 look or a word with Frank. At last I went home, abso 
 lutely wretched. Why could they not let me alone in my 
 misery ? 
 
 The afternoon service I dreaded, and if I could have es 
 caped it, I would have done BO gladly. As I could not, I 
 went determined to perform my duty as well as I knew 
 how, and then bid farewell to the choir forever. The first 
 two hymns were evidently funereal in their character. Who 
 was to be preached about I wondered. When the sermon- 
 time came I shut my book, and prepared to listen to the dis 
 course. This was not a hard matter now. The unbecom 
 ing behavior that had so shocked me on my first entrance 
 to the choir had given place to some sort of decorum. 
 Frank had put an effectual stopper on their misconduct, and 
 that, too, without creating any ill-will, which was something 
 wonderful ; but then he was a wonderful fellow. I never 
 expect to meet his equal. 
 
 The sermon had not proceeded far before I discovered 
 that it was about my own mother. The preacher drew a 
 picture of her character, and gave a sketch of her good and 
 pure life. From that he argued her present happiness. 
 Her life was not endsd, bat just begun. The whole 
 sermon impressed me greatly. I saw and felt the force of
 
 THE SOPRANO. 67 
 
 his nrords. I firmly believed that her dear eyes were be 
 holding her God. When the sermon was finished, I found 
 myself leaning on my hands, and the tears streaming through 
 my fingers, not tears of sorrow alone, but of thankful 
 ness that she was safe and at peace. A solemn silence fell 
 on all the people as the minister sat down, and I felt that I 
 was not alone in my grief. Was I alone in my faith ? 
 Suddenly I felt a light pressure on my arm ; looking up, 
 I found Frank near me. 
 
 " Will you sing the aria now ? 
 
 1 'Which one? 
 
 " The one you rehearsed the other evening, the sopra 
 no air from the ' Messiah.' ' 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Then he placed the open book in my hand, and at once 
 began to play the prelude. Now my opportunity has come. 
 I will show these people I can sing, for all their talk. But 
 this is not a good thought for such a time or place. No, I'll 
 not care anything about it or them. I'll sing the aria to 
 show them all that I do know that my Redeemer liveth. 
 Now the prelude is almost over, and the voice part begins. 
 Listen, you people ! Lend your ears, not to my music, but 
 to my belief. Well, I sang it as well as I knew how at 
 that time, which I suppose was poor enough. As I went 
 along, a new inspiration came to me. I was singing to his 
 accompaniment. It was the last time I should do so, and 
 to the faith I tried to express in the music was added a
 
 68 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 shade of sadness at parting with hjm. When it was fin 
 ished I sat down, and immediately the benediction was pro 
 nounced, and the people began to go out. At once a slow, 
 sad strain streamed from the organ. It was new to me, and, 
 though in a minor key, was exquisitely beautiful, and plain 
 ly the work of a master-hand. The choir and many of the 
 people stopped to listen. It was wonderfully well per 
 formed. The organist seemed to have put his whole soul 
 into his fingers. They may have thought it was ray mother's 
 death that inspired the player ; but I knew better, it was 
 the parting so soon to come that tinged the music. 
 
 " What is he playing? " I asked of some one near. 
 
 " A tenor solo from ' Messiah.' ' 
 
 " What are the words ? " 
 
 " ' Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto his 
 sorrow.' ' 
 
 Soon the music slid into a major key, and he began to 
 play something else. After a little while the people 
 dwindled away, and we two were alone in the church. 
 Going up to him, I placed my hand on his arm and 
 said, " Good-by, Frank. I am going now." He never 
 answered a word, but went on playing in silence. Thinking 
 he would soon stop, I stood there patiently for a moment 
 or two. Presently my eyes wandered to the open book 
 from which he was playing. It was Mendelssohn's "Elijah," 
 and was open at that lovely alto solo on the two hundred 
 and sixteenth page : "Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently
 
 THE SOPRANO. 69 
 
 for him, and he shall give thee thy heart's desire." I 
 understood him at once. 
 
 " No, Frank. It can never be, you had best not think 
 so." 
 
 Still he went on playing in silence. Soon he was obliged 
 to turn the leaf of the book. As quickly as he had done so, 
 a new idea came to me ; pointing to the next chorus, on the 
 two-hundred and nineteenth page, I said : 
 
 "Play that, Frank; forget the other. Your heart's desire 
 cannot be given you ; therefore ' endure ' that you may be 
 ' saved.' Play that music; believe those words, they are 
 good and true words. Once more, good-by. Remember 
 me, but do not love me. Remember, too, that ' he that shall 
 endure unto the end shall be saved.' "
 
 70 THE SOPKANO. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "FOB HIS IS THK SEA AND HE HATH FASHIONED IT." MendelSSOhn'8 
 
 Ninety-fifth Psalm. 
 
 THE next morning, with my own little trunk carefully 
 packed, and in company with my father, I started in a cov 
 ered wagon for the nearest steamboat landing on the river. 
 
 The boat was at the wharf when we arrived. Hastily 
 checking my baggage, I hurried on board, and parted 
 from my father in all the bustle and confusion of the de 
 parture. I came to the edge of the deck next the landing, 
 while he stood near me on the pier. Suddenly he and the 
 wharf seemed to be drawn away from me, and I found my 
 self alone and a stranger on a crowded boat, and going to a 
 new and strange place, to begin an untried life. At first a 
 feeling of unutterable loneliness and homesickness came 
 over me, and I sat down on one of the seats which sur 
 rounded the deck, quite overcome. Thinking this not a 
 brave or good thing to do, I attempted to arouse myself, by 
 looking at the passing scenery. This did not help me much. 
 The graceful wooded hills on either bank kept gliding past. 
 Every moment I was drifting farther and farther from home. 
 Dear home, why did I ever leave it? How I wished my 
 self back again ! It was too late for backward steps. I must
 
 THE SOPRANO. 7i 
 
 go on. The boat was a large one, and crowded with passen 
 gers. Turning away from the lonely hills, I amused myself 
 by studying the people about me. The afternoon was mild 
 and pleasant, and the upper deck where I sat was filled with 
 men, woraen, and children, all enjoying the scenery, the mo 
 tion, and the fresh salt breeze that blew up the river from the 
 sea, towards which we were speeding. Among the people I 
 observed an old, one-armed sailor, carrying about on his re 
 maining arm a large basket full of marine shells, which he was 
 trying to sell to the passengers. Presently he passed in front 
 of me, and offered his stock in trade for inspection. I shook 
 my head to signify that I did not care to purchase ; then he 
 passed along to my neighbors, a lady with three little girls. 
 
 "0 mother," said the eldest of the children, "do buy 
 one of these pretty shells ! " 
 
 " Not now, dear ; wait until father comes." 
 
 " I want it now, mother ; I want to hear the fairy sing." 
 
 "0 mother, is there -a fairy in the shell? Do get 
 one. I want to see her," said another child. 
 
 " In a moment you shall have one ; wait, and father will 
 soon be here." 
 
 Then the first little girl spoke. " What a puss you are! 
 You can't see the fairy that lives in the shell, you can only 
 hear her when she sings." 
 
 Just here a tall, fine-looking gentleman came up and 
 joined the group beside me ; the purchase was soon made, 
 and the three children were completely happy with
 
 72 THE SOPRANO. I 
 
 their new toy. Holding the shell to their ears, they seemed 
 to listen with delight to the sound that seemed to come 
 from its pearly lips. After a while they became tired of 
 their plaything, and it fell to the deck at my feet. Pick 
 ing it up, I handed it to the eldest child, who sat next me, 
 and said : 
 
 " What did the fairy say to you ? " 
 
 "She didn't say anything, she only sings." 
 
 " Does she not sing any words ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, she only sings." 
 
 " Is it a pretty song ? " 
 
 " Yes, you put it to your ear, and you'll hear it." 
 
 Placing the lips of the shell to my ear I was surprised to 
 hear a low, sweet murmur as of some far-off tone. Taking 
 it away from my ear, the sound ceased ; replacing it, I 
 again heard the low, steady note. Wondering what caused 
 the sound, I said playfully to the little girl : 
 
 " Can you tell me the fairy's name ? " 
 
 " IShe hasn't got any name." 
 
 " Yes, she has," said the gentleman ; " her name is Re 
 verberation." 
 
 "Re ver ation! Oh, dear, what a dreadful name! It 
 isn't pretty, papa ; I shall call her ' Ation ; ' it's nicer." 
 
 Finding the ice broken, I ventured to ask the father of 
 the children if there was anything in the shell that pro 
 duced the tone. He did not laugh at my ignorance, but 
 politely explained to me that the hollow shell acted as a
 
 THE SOPRANO. 73 
 
 receiver and condenser of the various sounds in the air 
 about us. Any object of the same shape would produce 
 the same result. The waves of sound entered the mouth, 
 and striking the walls of the shell were re-echoed and sent 
 out again in the confused murmur that one hears on holding 
 it near the ear." 
 
 " And if there were no sounds in the air, would the 
 shell be silent?" 
 
 "Yes, but I doubt if that ever occurs; absolute silence 
 is very rare." 
 
 "I have been where it is very still, sometimes." 
 
 " Doubtless ; yet, if you had placed the shell at your ear, 
 I think it would have spoken as it does now. The shell 
 would catch up and repeat audibly, tones and sounds you 
 could not hear without it." 
 
 " What sounds would it repeat in my own room in the 
 middle of the night when everybody is asleep and the house 
 very still?" 
 
 11 The motion of the wind, or the sound of your own 
 breathing, sounds that perhaps you never heard in your 
 life." 
 
 " What you say interests me greatly. May I ask one 
 more question? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "Are there any tones in music that we cannot hear?" 
 
 " No doubt there are many both above and below the 
 scales of our pianos."
 
 74 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 "How can they know that? If there are tones our 
 ears cannot take in, how do we know that they exist? " 
 
 " There are several ways of showing their existence. If 
 I had time I would tell you more about it." 
 
 " I wish you had, for the whole matter is something I am 
 greatly interested in." 
 
 " Are you a musician ? " 
 
 " Not as yet. I hope to be." 
 
 Just here the little girl between us began to be very 
 restless and uncomfortable ; to quiet her, I took her up on 
 my lap, and in a moment the tired little head fell on my 
 shoulder, and she was fast asleep. This was a trifling act 
 of kindness on my part, but by performing it I laid the 
 foundation of my fortune. The parents of the little one 
 at once took me into their hearts. They smiled to see how 
 the child came to me, as though she had known and loved 
 me all her life. 
 
 " Is she not very heavy, Miss ? " 
 
 "Ward, madam. My name is Julia Ward. No, she 
 is not heavy, and she is sleeping so nicely we'll let her re 
 main ; besides, I want to hear more about reverberation, if 
 the gentleman is willing." 
 
 "Willing enough, but I suppose the supper-bell will 
 ring directly. Are you travelling alone, Miss Ward? " 
 
 Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then we shall be happy to have you join our pa^ty 
 Are you going through? "
 
 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 75 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am travelling by myself towards the city; 
 a stranger to the road and destination." 
 
 "Would I be impertinent if I ask what object you have 
 in going to the city?" 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; I am in search of teachers and schools 
 to aid me in my profession." 
 
 " Really, Miss Ward," said the lady. " Do you intend to 
 study a profession ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is my ambition to study music and become a 
 singer." 
 
 At this the gentleman and his wife exchanged a smile 
 and a meaning look. At sight of this I stopped abruptly, 
 not knowing what to say next. All this time the child in my 
 lap slept as quietly as though I had been her mother. The 
 other two children amused themselves on the deck before 
 us. Suddenly the supper-bell rang, and there was a gen 
 eral movement among the passengers toward the door of 
 the cabin. This being my first experience on a night-boat, 
 and being quite alone, I sat where I was, still holding the 
 sleeping child. The lady at once began to gather her 
 shawls and things together as if to go. While so doing, 
 she, and the gentleman held a whispered consultation to 
 gether. In a moment or two all was ready, and coming to 
 me she held out her hands as if to take the little one from 
 me. 
 
 " Come, Milly, wake up, dear; supper is ready. -I hope 
 she has not tired you, Miss Ward ; now that you have been
 
 76 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 so kind and motherly to our little Milly, let me return the 
 kindness; won't you join us at our table downstairs?" 
 At first I hesitated, these people were strangers ; could 
 I trust them ? Then I looked straight into her eyes ; they 
 were fair, open, honest eyes. 
 
 " Thank you, I should be very glad to do so, for I am 
 quite alone in all this crowd." 
 
 Then we all went down to the brilliantly lighted saloon, 
 and sat down to a small table by ourselves. My new-found 
 friends were evidently people of refinement, and some means. 
 At first I felt ill at ease, but the gentleman was so polite, 
 and the lady so kind and talkative, that my diffidence soon 
 wore away, and I enjoyed their company and the supper 
 extremely. Supper over, the lady said it was high time the 
 children went to their state-room ; so she took two, and I 
 followed with the other, not wishing to be left alone with 
 the father. When we reached their state-room door, I 
 found it was next my own. I was delighted to discover 
 this ; I seemed to be near friends. I assisted her to un 
 dress the little girls, and tuck them up in their berths. The 
 two younger ones were soon fast asleep ; but Milly seemed 
 restless, and out of sorts. After a while she fell asleep. 
 Then my new friend asked me if I would not like to join 
 her husband again. Not having anything else to do, I 
 gladly accepted her invitation. On reaching the deck we 
 found it was dark ; a cool salt breeze was blowing, and we 
 seemed to be far out on the open sea. The stars were shin-
 
 THE SOPRANO. 77 
 
 ing brightly ; two bright dots of light gleamed from the 
 shore far behind us ; on every hand the dark night and 
 darker water. We seemed to be moving very fast, and 
 though it was cool, the deck was crowded with passengers, 
 seated in groups, quietly talking among themselves, or en 
 joying in silence the swift motion and the lovely night. 
 After a short search we found my new friend's husband 
 near the bows of the boat, smoking a cigar. He procured 
 us seats, and we all sat down facing the dark, open sea, to 
 wards which we seemed to be rushing. Behind us, the huge 
 boat rose deck above deck, twinkling with lights ; before us, 
 the dark. Near by, stood a man gazing steadfastly into the 
 gloom ahead. 
 
 " What is that man doing, John? " 
 
 "He is the look-out. He is on the watch for passing 
 vessels." 
 
 " He must have good eyes ; I can't see anything." 
 
 " No better eyes than you have ; yet he would discover a 
 light long before you." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " He has improved his sight by practice, just as you have 
 improved your hearing by a long course of music." 
 
 This began to interest me, so I ventured to ask a que*. 
 tion. 
 
 "Do you think our senses are capable of improvement 
 sir? " 
 
 " I have no doubt of it."
 
 78 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 "What, one's hearing and sense of taste or touch?" 
 
 " Certainly ; why not ? " 
 
 "I do not know why aot, the idea is a new one to 
 me." 
 
 "It is often done. I once heard of an organist, who 
 played in a church where it was the custom to have a short 
 voluntary after the piayer. Now, the minister had a fash 
 ion of letting his voice fall to a whisper at the end of each 
 sentence. This was not pleasing to our organist ; for as 
 he used to say, 'I never knew when the prayer was over,' 
 and consequently aever knew when to play. To be sure 
 not to make a mistake, he was obliged to listen very sharply 
 for the almost inaudible ' Amen.' The result was, that 
 in time his hearing became wonderfully improved, and a 
 new world of sounds was opened to him. Little sounds 
 which before he never heard became distinct, and conversa 
 tions between persons at a short distance, that before were 
 unheard, became revealed to him. It was as though he had 
 put on ' soupci-spectacles,' or 'auricles,' as the doctors 
 call them. His sharpened hearing was useful in church ; 
 but elsewhere* 't sometimes proved an annoyance, for he 
 heard many things that were pleasanter unheard." 
 
 " I understand you now, sir ; but pray tell me what are 
 'auricles'?" 
 
 " Instruments used by persons hard of hearing, arranged 
 to gather the rays of sound and convey them in a stream 
 into the eir."
 
 SOPRANO. 79 
 
 "Rays of sound ! Does sound travel in i-aya? J)ou 
 it move like - 
 
 " Like what ? " 
 
 " Excuse me, sir. I fear I am asking too many questions 
 of a stranger. I am afraid I shall trouble you." 
 
 " Not a bit. I like to talk about the real, tangible things 
 in nature." 
 
 " Never you. fear, Miss Ward," said the lady. "My 
 husband is quite a philosopher, and is delighted to find an 
 appreciative listener at any time." 
 
 " Don't say that, wife. I am not a philosopher. Only 
 a dabbler in science; nothing more." 
 
 "If you are a dabbler, where do you find your pro 
 fessors, sir?" 
 
 "Don't know." 
 
 " Go on, Miss Ward. Pump him all you can. H< 
 rather likes it." 
 
 "Let me see," said the gentleman; " we were speak 
 ing of sound, rays of sound. No. I made a slip there 
 Sound does not exactly radiate, and yet it does." 
 
 " You are getting rather foggy, John." 
 
 " So I see. Well, sound can radiate from a given point 
 in every direction, and yet i f has more the character of a 
 wave or a pulse than a ray." 
 
 "Don't mystify the young lady, John. Tell her 
 plainly what sound really is " 
 
 'Yes, dear, Sound is simply an undulation or vibra-
 
 80 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 tion of the particles of air. If one particle of air is move* 1 it 
 moves the next, then slips back, that one agitates the next, 
 tnd so on, until the last one strikes against the drum of 
 the ear, and the auditory nerve conveys the sense of the 
 motion to the brain, and we call the impression the brain 
 receives, sound. Do you understand me? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; but does every particle of air between us 
 and that bell on the upper deck move to and fro, and con 
 vey the motion one from another till we are made aware of 
 it ? One would think it would take a deal of time for so 
 many motions to be made." 
 
 " It does take time; but you must bear in mind that each 
 motion is very rapid. It is estimated that sounds, or, rather 
 the transmitted motions, travel at the rate of about eleven 
 hundred feet a second." 
 
 Just here the look-out man beside us turned round and 
 shouted: " Ship on the 'starbud.' Bearing free." 
 
 We turned round to see whom he was speaking to; 
 but could not discover. His call did not seem to attract the 
 slightest attention from anybody. Then we all peered out 
 into the dark to discover the ship the sharp-eyed sailor had 
 seen. In this we were unsuccessful. Black water and 
 blacker night closed in all around us. Presently we felt a 
 slight tremor under our feet. 
 
 " What is that, sir ? " said I. 
 
 " Tht V** has turned one side, to avoid the vessel just 
 head."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 81 
 
 While he was speaking a faint light glimmered before us, 
 and a huge ship, with every sail set, grew out of the dark 
 ness. As we neared it, the lights from the steamer streamed 
 upon her, and lit up each rope and sail with a pale, sickly 
 gleam. It seemed a phantom ship just emerged from some 
 undiscovered sea. Even the face of the man on her deck 
 seemed in the strange light, the face of a ghost. We all got 
 up and stood by the railing, to see the sight. The vessel was 
 evidently ploughing her way through the sea, yet she seemed 
 to stand still, or rather, move slowly backward, as we 
 swept past her. Just as our boat came in line with the 
 ship, a thundering pulsating or beating sound broke upon 
 our ears. While we were passing the ship the noise was 
 terrific ; no sooner had she slipped past us out of sight 
 than the uproar died away, and nothing could be heard save 
 the sharp hiss of the sea beneath the bows, or the low rush 
 of the night wind. Curious to know the cause of the 
 noise, I ventured to ask another question. 
 
 " Can you tell me, sir, what caused the great noise we 
 heard as we passed the ship? " 
 
 "It was the sound of the steamer's paddles striking the 
 water." 
 
 " Are they still making as much noise ? " 
 
 " Doubtless." 
 
 " Why do we not hear it, then ? " 
 
 " The wind created by our motion through the air throws 
 the sound behind us, towards the rear of the boat. Persons 
 6
 
 82 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 on the lower deck at the stern hear the noise all the time. 
 That is one reason why I always prefer to sit before, in 
 stead of behind, the smoke-stack." 
 
 " But, sir, why did we hear the sound so plainly 
 while passing the ship? " 
 
 " The hull, and more especially the sails, of the ship 
 acted as a reflector, and returned or re-echoed the sound, so 
 that it was made audible to us. When the reflector was 
 removed, the wind rushed in and swept the sound away 
 again." 
 
 " Oh ! J[ understand you now. The ship was a sort of 
 sound-mirror." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Come, John, it is getting chilly, we ought to retire. 
 Shall we not escort you to your state-room, Miss Ward? " 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very kind. I suppose I ought to 
 go to bed early, as I have a strange and hard day before me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 You may think I was extravagant to have a state-room ; I 
 might have taken a berth, and saved the expense ; my pride 
 led mo to do as I did. Pride is a poor investment at most 
 times, but on this occasion my extravagance proved a good 
 thing. It gave me an opportunity to show a little kindness 
 to my new acquaintances. It happened in this wise : Soon 
 after I had entered my state-room I beard a gentle knock. 
 On opening the door, I found my lady-friend, with two of
 
 THE SOPRANO. 83 
 
 the little girls in their night-dresses. The great sa 
 loon of the steamer was nearly empty and but diml} 
 lighted. 
 
 "What is the matter?" said I, somewhat alarmed at 
 their appearance. 
 
 " Nothing very serious, as yet. Little Millie has been 
 taken sick. My husband has gone for the boat surgeon, 
 and as our state-room is small I have come to ask you to be 
 so kind as to take these little ones in with you for the 
 night." 
 
 "Take them! with all my heart. Is there anything 
 else I can do for you ? " 
 
 "No, thank you. To know that these are safe is such 
 a relief that I can hardly thank you enough." 
 
 "Never mind the thanks, madam. Come, children, come 
 in here. I've a nice warm room and a snug little bed for 
 you both." 
 
 This was but a trifling thing to do, and doubtless I should 
 have forgotten it the next day. My new friends never for 
 got it. The next day we reached our destination. As we 
 drew up to the wharf the father of the children came tc 
 me, and, giving me his card, thanked me both for himself 
 and wife for my kindness. I did not see where the kind 
 ness came in, and said if there was any they were wel 
 come. 
 
 "You must call and see us, Miss Ward, when you get 
 settled."
 
 84 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 11 Thank you, sir, I shall be pleased to do so." 
 Thinking his words a mere empty compliment, I replied 
 as emptily. I wish I had not.
 
 THE SOPRANO 85 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 "BE NOT AFRAID." Elijah. 
 
 ON my arrival at my aunt's I found myself introduced 
 to a new atmosphere. When nature made my aunt, Miss 
 Susan Scratchfield, there must have been an open vial of 
 vinegar standing near. Somehow it became mixed in her 
 substance, and never got washed out. I am certain of one 
 thing, whenever any of the sweet milk of human kindness 
 came near her, it was sure to curdle. She was a tall, spare 
 woman, past forty, and much given to attending " meetings." 
 As for music, she never could discover its use in this dying 
 world. " We are but sinful worms," she used to say ; " we 
 should not waste our time with such vanities as music, or 
 the like." 
 
 Her presence and surroundings were so different from my 
 own home, that, as I said, I found myself in a new and un 
 congenial atmosphere. She received me into her lonely house, 
 and treated me with all the respect due a sister's daughter, 
 and nothing more. The house itself was a simple two-story 
 affair, in a back street, not far from the outer limits of the 
 city. Not a convenient place for me, being far from the 
 central portion of the town where I should be obliged to go 
 for my instructions.
 
 86 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 Now let me tell you of -"my schools and school-masters.'' 
 Being almost without friends in the city I had to trust to 
 advertisements of music-teachers. I had no letters to any 
 one. Their importance never entered my head until 1 
 found how sorely I needed them. My first day in the city 
 was spent with my aunt in making myself acquainted with 
 my new home and its surroundings. Bright and early the 
 next day I sallied forth in search of instructors. Guessing 
 that my new life would be a costly one, I resolved to econo 
 mize in every direction. I would avoid the horse-cars, 
 abandon all amusement, and reduce the cost of my wardrobe 
 to the last cent. I found need enough for all my available 
 funds speedily. The first thing I did was to buy a paper, 
 and to search for music-teachers' cards as I walked along 
 down town. I found several, and taking one that seemed 
 least pretentious and the cheapest, I called upon him. He 
 was an Italian, by name Signor Trombole, a little, withered- 
 up man, of about sixty years of age, and possessed of but 
 a small stock of English. I did not like the man at first 
 sight, and merely called to ask his terms. On calling on 
 several others, both men and women, I found them all to 
 be very much alike. Finally I selected the Signor for my 
 first instructor. His term*" completely frightened me, 
 sixty dollars'for twenty-foui lessons. A great price. In 
 my simplicity, I came to the conclusion, that if the price 
 was so high the instruction must be very valuable. No 
 doubt I should learn the faster, and become a finished singer
 
 THE SOPRANO. 87 
 
 all the sooner. Sixty dollars ! and to be paid in advance. 
 Not without a pang, to see the remnant of my father's 
 property slip away so easily, I paid the bill, and took my 
 first lesson that morning. It was a simple affair, merely 
 an exercise in scales. When it was over, I went down 
 among the newspaper offices, and advertised for a situation 
 in some choir. On my way back I stopped at a music- 
 Btore, and hired a piano for use in my own room. Again I 
 was surprised at the high cost of everything. Thirty dol 
 lars a quarter for a second-hand piano, and to be paid in 
 advance. I did so, though I could not help thinking they 
 used me rather severely. After a weary walk I reached 
 my aunt's, tired, a little disappointed, but still hopeful. 
 At noon the piano arrived, and as soon as dinner was over I 
 sat down to practise my first lesson. This was a foolish 
 thing to do. One should never sing within sixty minutes 
 after a full meal ; however, I did not know this at the time. 
 Precious little did I know any way. I thought I knew a 
 good deal, being wise in my own conceit. Well, to make a 
 long story short, I took a whole quarter of Signor Trom- 
 bole, but at the end did not find myself so very much bet 
 ter off. I did not get ahead as fast as I had hoped or 
 expected. Then, too, I did not find it so very easy to get 
 a situation in a choir. It was not until I had nearly fin 
 ished my first quarter that I obtained a place in a chorus 
 choir, on very small pay Small as it was, only a hundred 
 dollars a year, I took it thankfully, thrre being no prospect
 
 88 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 of anything better. When I finished the quarter, the Sig- 
 nor wanted more pay. He was getting fashionable ; wealthy 
 girls would and did pay him a great deal more. He be 
 came quite the rage in the city, and though some one in the 
 papers pricked him with a pin, and he collapsed like the 
 empty gas-bag he was, yet I still desired to continue under 
 his instruction. Did he not come from the land of song? 
 Did not the fashionable world smile upon him ? Surely he 
 was a very great man ; I must keep him for a teacher if 
 possible. Would it be possible ? The expense became so 
 great, and my efforts to obtain a few scholars were so fruit 
 less, that I began to be in despair, and to doubt my ability to 
 continue with him. Oh, how I wished Frank was near, 
 or that I could go to him for aid and guidance ! How 
 ever, that was never to be, and I might as well fight it out 
 alone. 
 
 As for my medical education, as I called it, that seemed 
 something I never could obtain. I did not wish to become 
 a physician, or to compete with the young men of the med 
 ical school. I merely wished to obtain an accurate knowl 
 edge of the structure of my own throat. Yet this was de 
 nied me. I applied to the professors of the local medical 
 school, but, though they were kindly disposed, could do 
 nothing for me. Education was for men ; women did not 
 need it, and could go without. One thought I had better 
 read for myself. When I asked what I should read, he did 
 not know. It required so much technical knowledge to
 
 THE SOPRANO. 89 
 
 even read tlie books, that without the aid of a teacher I 
 could make but little progress. I had better give up the 
 idea, and do as the rest of the singers did. This I would 
 not do. If I intended to study music, I would go to the 
 bottom of things, and know all there was to be known. 
 Superficial knowledge would not satisfy me. Another of 
 the professors thought my idea a good one, but saw no way 
 to carry it out, unless I had a private tutor. The expense 
 settled that matter. As for studying the science of sound, 
 that was out of the question. I spoke to the Signer about 
 it, but he only shrugged his shoulders, and smiled at my 
 weakness. Sound was sound to him. To dream of inves 
 tigating its nature, and the laws that govern it, was mere 
 folly. All he personally knew about sound would not dis 
 turb a tuning-fork, much less make it sing. Taking all 
 things together, my progress seemed very, very slow. 
 
 A short time after this, the minister of the church where 
 I sang preached a sermon on trusting God in all our troub 
 les. His remarks seemed just suited to my case, and quite 
 cheered me. After the sermon we sang a chorus from Elijah. 
 It was new to me, but the music and words quite inspired me. 
 After singing it, I felt that I ought not to despair, but to fight 
 it bravely out, trusting that Heaven would somehow help 
 those who help themselves. As I passed out of church, 
 with the inspiring words and music still ringing in my ears, 
 " Be not afraid, thy help is near," I felt a touch upon my
 
 90 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 arm. Turning round, I discovered my steamboat acquaint 
 ance. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Ward." 
 
 " Good-morning, sir. This is a surprise, sir. I did not 
 expect to see you here." 
 
 "Nor I you. I am glad to have found you at last. 
 Why have you not called upon us? My wife has been 
 long wishing to see you." 
 
 Not quite knowing what to say, I stammered out some 
 thing about being very busy. 
 
 " Very busy, are you ? Glad to hear it. How do you 
 get on with your studies ? " 
 
 " Not very fast, as yet. It is much harder work than I 
 supposed." 
 
 ' c All study that is worth anything is hard. Have you 
 made much progress in acoustics? " 
 
 " No, sir, I have not taken the first step." 
 
 " Indeed ! Tell me more about it. Perhaps I can help 
 you." 
 
 " You could, indeed, but I do not wish to trouble you." 
 
 " Do not fear that. Come, promise you will take tea 
 with us to-morrow evening. Come early, at six. Mary 
 and the children will be delighted to see you." 
 
 1 Thank you, I shall be happy to do so." 
 Good. Now, don't forget, six o'clock." 
 
 At this I tried to smile ; it was a failure, and he saw 
 it.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 91 
 
 " I am afraid you have not prospered happily lately. 
 Come and see us, Miss Ward. We will brighten you up 
 in no time. Good-by until to-morrow." 
 
 Here was a pretty state of things. I had received an 
 invitation among strangers, and I did not even know their 
 names, or where they lived. When I received th gentle 
 man's card I had thrust it into my pocket without once 
 looking at it. I supposed his kindness was like that of 
 most travelling acquaintances, on the surface. When I 
 reached home I searched among my things, and at last 
 found the card : 
 
 "JOHN SHARP, M. D. 
 
 49 East-Twentieth Street.* 
 
 Good ! He is a doctor. Perhaps he can help me about 
 my studies. I'll call on them, and see what sort of peopl 
 they really are. 
 
 Five o'clock the next afternoon found me at the doctor's 
 door. The servant who ushered me in showed me a seat 
 in a small side-room, filled from floor to ceiling with books. 
 Books seemed to abound ; on the large table in the middle 
 of the room, piled up on the floor, and filling every shelf 
 to bursting. Two chairs and a desk completed the furni 
 ture. In one corner stood a music-rack, and beside it a 
 violin case. These last pleased me. Evidently the good 
 man of the house was a musician and a scholar. Having
 
 92 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 inspected things to my satisfaction, I sat down to wait. As 
 no one seemed to notice my arrival, I fell to looking at the 
 books. A small, neatly bound volume attracted my eye, 
 and I took it up : " The Voice in Singing ; translated from 
 the German of Emma Seiler." What's this ? The voice 
 in singing ? Is not this something I am interested in ? I 
 must read it. Opening it at random, I read these words : 
 
 " Everything spiritual, everything ideal, as soon as it is 
 to be made present to the perceptions of others, requires a 
 form which, in its material as well as in its structure, may 
 be more or less perfect, but it can never otherwise than sub 
 mit to those eternal laws to which all that lives, all that 
 comes within the sphere of our perceptions, is subject. To 
 discover and establish the natural law which lies at the basis 
 of all our forms of art is the office of science. To fashion 
 and control these forms and animate them with a soul is 
 the task of art. In singing the art consists in tones beau 
 tiful and sonorous, and fitted for the expression ^.f every 
 variation of feeling. To set forth the natural laws by 
 which these tones are produced is the business of physiology 
 and physics. 
 
 " Thus there is not only an aesthetical side to the art of 
 singing, but a physiological and a physical side also, with 
 out an exact knowledge, appreciation, observance, and study 
 of which, what is hurtful cannot be discerned and avoided, 
 and no true culture of art, and consequently no progress 
 in singing, is possible."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 93 
 
 Delighted to find so clear an exposition of the very ideas 
 of vocal music Frank had instilled into me, I prepared to 
 devour more of the book, when I was made aware of some 
 body's presence. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Ward." 
 
 Looking up, I discovered the kindly face of the doc 
 tor. 
 
 "Good-evening, sir. Excuse my inattention. I was 
 so absorbed in this book that I did not notice your en 
 trance." 
 
 "I do not wonder much. Madam Seiler pleased me 
 greatly when I first met the book. Have you never read 
 it?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Indeed. Take my copy home with you. It may give 
 you a few new ideas about singing. That is, in- a general 
 way. It is a bright book, though not quite correct in 
 every point." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Now, before we go further, let me 
 ask you one question. I may seem forward, but I would 
 like to know if you are a musician." 
 
 The only reply I got to this was the opening of the 
 violin case, and the taking out of the instrument. Bend 
 ing over the violin as if he loved it, he brought the strings 
 into tune and began to play. At first, the music stole 
 from the strings as if it dared but to breathe; growing bold 
 er, it swept higher and clearer, and soon broke out into
 
 94 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 loud, exultant strain. Before I knew what I was doing, I 
 found myself putting the words to the music and joining 
 the violin with heart and voice. ' ' Be not afraid, saith 
 God the Lord. Be not afraid, thy help is near."
 
 THE SOPEANO. 95 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "BLESSED ARE THE MEX WHO FEAR HEM." Elijah. 
 
 SUDDENLY, in the midst of our music, I felt my twohanch 
 seized, and a warm kiss imprinted on my lips. Looking 
 up, I found the face of the doctor's wife before me, radiant 
 with a cheerful welcome. 
 
 " I'm so glad you have come ! THe children will be af 
 delighted to see you as I am." 
 
 " Now, Mary," said the doctor, laying down his in 
 strument, "you have spoiled all our fun. Besides, I wanted 
 to hear Miss Ward sing. She has the remains of a fine voice." 
 
 "What are you saying, John? How can you be so 
 rude ! " 
 
 "I may be rude, but I am not unkind." 
 
 As for me, I said nothing. What could I say ? 
 
 " I say it in all friendliness; she has the remains of a 
 fine voice. Some one ought to tell her before it is com 
 pletely ruined." 
 
 "Don't, John! You are carrying your incorrigible 
 bluntness altogether too far." 
 
 " I hope not. Miss Ward will forgive me if I do. WilJ 
 you not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, if what you say is true. If I have unwifr
 
 96 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 tingly injured my voice, I shall thank you, or any one else, 
 who will tell me." 
 
 " I wonder if the doctor thinks what he is saying is the 
 'help' that is 'near.' " 
 
 " I do not know, I am sure," said I. "If what he says 
 of my voice is true, it is a help, though bitter to the 
 taste." 
 
 "It is not every pill that is sugar-coated." 
 
 "Never mind the pills now, John. Supper is ready. 
 Won't you walk down to tea with us. Miss Ward ? " S<v 
 saying, she drew my arm in hers, and led the way to the 
 dining-room. 
 
 As we passed through the entry she whispered to me, 
 "Do not be offended at my husband. He is a superior 
 musician, and a man of great scientific attainments. He is 
 a kind and a good man. Whatever he may say fc> you will 
 be said sincerely, kindly, and truthfully. Music is his 
 hobby, and if you can get him to help you about your 
 studies you will be very fortunate. So don't take to heart 
 his seeming rudeness." 
 
 At the table I met the children. They seemed delighted 
 to see me, and vied with their parents to make my visit a 
 pleasant one. Tea over, we adjourned to the parlor. As we 
 entered the room I discovered a magnificent grand piano in 
 the corner. Thereupon I congratulated myself. Now I am 
 among musical people and in a congenial atmosphere. 
 
 " After we have rested ourselves, we must have a little
 
 THE SOPRANO. 97 
 
 music. Shall we not, Miss Ward? " said the doctor, plac 
 ing a chair for me by the fire. 
 
 "I hope so, sir. I want to hear more of your vio 
 lin." 
 
 ' ' So you shall, Mary and I will play some piano and 
 violin duets, the children shall sing, and perhaps you 
 will favor us with a song." 
 
 " Me ! Oh, no, sir ; I have no songs to sing." 
 
 11 Miss Ward, I am sure you will sing something 
 for us," said Mrs. Sharp. "You must not mind what 
 the doctor said about your voice. We have never fairly 
 heard you sing as yet." 
 
 " But I brought no music with me." 
 
 "Never mind ; an exercise, or any simple thing, will please 
 the doctor. He likes simplicity in all things." 
 
 " Now, while we are resting, you must tell us what you 
 have been doing since we 1 left you at the steamboat-land- 
 ing." 
 
 Nothing loath, I related all my experience since that 
 time. They listened in profound silence. When I had 
 finished they had not a word to say. After a short, but very 
 awkward pause, Mrs. Sharp said, slowly, " Oh, I am so 
 sorry ! " 
 
 " Sorry for what ? " said I, becoming alarmed. 
 
 " Sorry that we lost you. We might have saved you a 
 world of trouble, and one serious mistake." 
 
 5Tes," said the doctor; "you have gone fearfully
 
 98 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 astray in your studies. Well, it can't be helped now Ai- 
 we can do is to begin again and start fair." 
 
 Surprised and perplexed, I remained utterly dumb be^ 
 fore them. 
 
 Mrs. Sharp perceived my embarrassment, and, drawing 
 her chair close to mine, said kindly: 
 
 " Have you no friends in the city ? " 
 
 " None, save my aunt. She herself is not interested in 
 music." 
 
 " Was there no one to tell you where to find a teacher, 
 and to guide your studies ? " 
 
 " No one. I believe I am utterly friendless.'*' 
 
 "That's not true," said the doctor, suddenly. "We'll 
 be your friends." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I wish you would, for really I need 
 friends sorely. I feel I am not getting on, and I have no 
 one to talk to about music, arid it costs so much, and I 
 cannct- - cannot Oh. dear, it's terrible hard work ! all 
 aaone vu "Sfiis Teat citv and and " 
 
 J 
 
 I felt the sears coming. I tried to restrain them, but 
 could not. The next thing I knew Mrs. Sharp's arm was 
 around me, and I felt her cheek close to mine. 
 
 " You poor dear! You have had a hard time, but we'll 
 help you. Don't be afraid ; all will come out right, and 
 you may live to be a fine singer yet." 
 
 "I hope so," said I, through my tears, " but the road is 
 so very, very long."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 99 
 
 All this while Dr. Sharp fidgeted about as if he did not 
 quite know what to do with himself. Suddenly he jumped 
 up and went out of the room. Directly we heard his vio 
 lin. It was the same brave air, "Be not afraid." 
 
 ' No, I'll not. You will both help me, won't you ? " 
 Yes, indeed. I will, at any rate, and I'll ask the 
 doctc. to assist. He grants my every wish; so I know 
 he will." 
 
 "Thank you both," said I; "and now tell me what it 
 is you are so sorry about. Wherein have I gone astray ? " 
 
 "I am sorry that your teachers have never instructed 
 you in the formation of your tones. You went astray in 
 beginning at the wrong end. . You have been taught to 
 read notes before you knew how to manage your own stom 
 ach." 
 
 " My stomach ! What do you mean, Mrs. Sharp ? " 
 
 " I mean what I say. Did you not know that to control 
 the breath in singing, the muscles of the upper part of the 
 stomach, or diaphragm, as the doctor calls it, are brought 
 into action ? We do not breathe by the action of the chest 
 alone, as many suppose, but by movements of muscles just 
 below it. See now ; while I sing a long note watch the 
 action of my hands as they rest on my waist. So saying, 
 she stood up before me, and straightway a low, soft note 
 came from her lips. I watched her closely. The walls of 
 her chest did not seem to move much, but as the note was 
 prolonged, her finger-tips sank inward, showing that the
 
 100 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 muscles contracted under them. It was wonderful. I 
 never heard such a pure, sweet note, and sustained to 
 such an extraordinary length. She ceased, but. did not 
 seem to be exhausted in the least. 
 
 " Now, you try. Choose an easy position, and see how 
 long you can keep up the tone." 
 
 I began to sing. She stopped me at once. 
 
 " You must not sit. Stand up. Do you not see for 
 yourself that a sitting posture must necessarily crowd the 
 stomach up into the soft lungs, and they cannot fully ex 
 pand?" 
 
 Standing up, I began again. It was no use, I could 
 not sustain the note one-half the time, and when I finished 
 I was utterly exhausted. 
 
 "I think, Miss Ward, you will now admit that whoever 
 has been your teacher knew but little about singing from a 
 physiological point of view." 
 
 "It is painfully apparent. There is no need of telling 
 me more; besides, I cannot fail to notice the difference 
 between your voice and mine. Yours is sweet and pure, 
 while mine seems harsh and miserable." 
 
 " Not half so sweet as yours, but more pure. False 
 teaching has nearly ruined your voice. I noticed that, 
 when I caught you singing with the doctor. He told you 
 so, bluntly enough." 
 
 These words made a deep impression on me, and for a 
 moment I was lost in thought.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 101 
 
 " 1 am glad that what I say has made you think. It 
 shows you are not above being told unpleasant truths." 
 
 Just here the doctor returned. 
 
 " Been trying to put her on the right road, wife ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, dear, as far I can. You must aid me about it. 
 Perhaps we can find a teacher for Miss Ward, who will 
 take her in hand, correct her faults, and purify her really 
 fine voice." 
 
 " Will it take a long time?" said I. 
 
 " That depends upon yourself. At present you do not 
 know how to breathe; you produce many bad over-tones, 
 and you sing in your throat." 
 
 " Sing in my throat ! Why, where shall I sing? " 
 
 " At your mouth. Just before your teeth." 
 
 " Really, sir, all this is new to me." 
 
 " I am not surprised. Men have but recently found the 
 true way to teach singing. Come, Mary, is it not bed 
 time for the children? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I was about to go with them, if Miss Ward 
 will excuse me." So saying, she led the children, who 
 had been playing on the floor all this while, away, leaving 
 me alone with the doctor. 
 
 " Now, Miss Ward, just let me hear you sing once. You 
 need not sing a song. I will play for you while you sing 
 the scale slowly, from the bottom of your voice to the top." 
 
 Thereupon he led me to the piano, and with fear and 
 trembling I began to sing. Suddenly, in the midst )f the
 
 102 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 exercise, the piayer stopped abruptly, rose from his seat, and 
 walked rapidly towards the door. Looking up, I discovered 
 a middle-aged, pleasant- faced gentleman just entering the 
 room. Shaking him warmly by the hand, he welcomed 
 him heartily, and then led him up to me, and introduced 
 him as Mr. Hookson. After the usual exchange of com 
 pliments, the doctor said : 
 
 " Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Ward, if I have a 
 few words with my friend? It is quite important." 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 The two men went over to the fireplace, and, standing 
 up before the cheerful blaze, with their backs to me, fel, to 
 talking earnestly together. As for me, I amused myself 
 with the music-books on the piano. What they had to say 
 did seem very important. It required a deal of discussion, 
 at any rate. I was beginning to think they never would 
 get through, when Mrs. Sharp returned. 
 
 " Why, doctor, how careless of you ! You have left Misa 
 Ward to her own devices." 
 
 " I know it, dear. We'll be through in^a second or two. 
 By the way, Mary, come here a moment; I've something to 
 tell you." 
 
 Then they all three put their heads together, and the 
 whispered conversation became still more earnest, and threat 
 ened to become prolonged to an alarming extent. Just as I 
 was beginning to feel uncomfortable at the delay, they all 
 three turned round and came towards me, looking very smil-
 
 THE SOPRANO. 103 
 
 ing and happy. Wondering what would happen next, I 
 Waited for some one to speak. 
 
 "You may think our actions very queer, Miss Ward; 
 but I hope you will excuse us. You will, when you come to 
 hear our plan." 
 
 " I shall excuse you before I hear anything." 
 
 " Now, John," said Mr*. Sharp, " you begin." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I'll begin by asking Miss Ward a question. 
 Bid you not sing in a small country choir at one time, in 
 a little village on the banks of the Sunpasquag ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I told you so. I knew it was the same voice," said 
 Mr. Hookson. 
 
 " Where did you ever hear me sing before, sir, and 
 when?" 
 
 " At Rockford, last summer. You sang that old hymn 
 beginning, ' Almighty Father, I am weak.' You sang 
 with great feeling, Miss Ward." 
 
 "Did I, sir? It must have been because I did feel 
 weak." 
 
 " The doctor tells me you wish to become a singer. Is 
 that so?" 
 
 " It is, sir." 
 
 " May I ask who your teacher is? " 
 
 ' Signor Trombcle." 
 
 * Oh, Lordy ! Excuse, Miss Ward, my exclamation ,
 
 1(54 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 but the Signer's such an arrant humbug that I can't speak 
 of him with patience." 
 
 "Now, Miss Ward," said the doctor, "we have a little 
 plan for you. Listen. We want to help you a grain. My 
 friend Hookson is going to instruct you in the science of 
 sound. I am going to do the heavy physiological, and 
 Mary, to-morrow, is to find you a new and better teacher." 
 
 Utterly amazed and stupefied at his speech, I said not a 
 word. 
 
 "Charles, here, will show you some pretty wonderful 
 things about sound. lie is an organ-builder by profes 
 sion." 
 
 " No more strange things than the doctor can show 
 you when he gets out his laryngoscope. You'll find that 
 the human throat is something fearfully and wonderfully 
 made. You will soon learn one lesson if you study any 
 part of the human frame." 
 
 "What is that, sir?" 
 
 " All things in nature are wonderfully well made, and 
 ahow a master-mind in their creation." 
 
 " I hope the study of nature, in whatever form, will teach 
 me to admire and love the Creator himself." 
 
 No one," said Mrs. Sharp, "can long study any nat 
 ural science without doing that"
 
 THE SOI RANG. 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "HOW LOVELY ARE THE MESSENGERS." St. Paul. 
 
 As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, I sat 
 jfo^rn by my aunt's front window to watch for Mrs. Sharp. 
 She had promised to call early and take me to see a new 
 music- teacher. My aunt, seeing me thus idle, took me to 
 task. 
 
 " Why do you not go to your lesson, or attend to your 
 practice ? If you really intend to study music, you had 
 be;tor keep on and have it done w.th. I hate idleness." 
 
 " I am only idle because I am ft reed to be. I am wait- 
 ii.g for a friend to call." 
 
 ' A friend ! I did not know you had any." 
 
 ; 'T have several very good ones." 
 
 " No gentleman friends, I hope." 
 
 " " A have one at least ; and a good friend he is." 
 
 " Indeed ! And who may he be? " 
 
 "His name is Dr. Sharp." 
 
 " Dr. Sharp. Now, M : ss Ward, this cannot go OD 
 You must give him up at once. I cannot allow my sister's 
 daughter to throw herself away on some poor doctor.'^ 
 
 " Throw myself away, aunt ! What do you mean? " 
 
 "Did you not say he was a particular f-iend? "
 
 106 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 I said he was a good friend, and so he is. He has 
 been very kind to me. 1 would do anything to please 
 him." 
 
 " It's all the same. Deary me, that I should live to see 
 such sad doings ! He is doubtless a designing villain a 
 wretch." 
 
 " You shall not say that, aunt. It is not " 
 
 Just here the door-bell rang. My aunt started up sud 
 denly, and, bidding me go to my room, went to open the 
 front door. Guessing who had arrived, I glanced out of 
 the window, and saw a carriage at the door, and Mrs. Dr. 
 Sharp just alighting therefrom ; so I remained where I was, 
 though I knew my aunt would frown. Soon she marched 
 majestically into the room, leading Mrs. Sharp after her. 
 The frown had given place to a look of mingled curiosity, 
 wonder, and pride. People did not often call in their own 
 carriages in our street. 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Ward," said our visitor, cordially 
 extending her hand. ''Are you all ready? I have come in 
 the carriage. We will drive over and see your new teacher 
 is soon -is you are ready." 
 
 Meanwhile my aunt had stood like one petrified. 
 
 " Mrs. Sharp, let me introduce you to my aunt, Miss 
 Scratchfield. Aunt, this is Mrs. Sharp, the wife of the 
 gen%man of whom I was speaking." 
 
 * My aunt bowed graciously, and smiled serenely, as if 
 she were proud and happy to greet the wife of a designing
 
 * 
 THE SOPRANO. 107 
 
 villain. Fearing she might become too obsequious, I has 
 tened upstairs for my things, and was soon ready. I can 
 assure you I was glad when we were fairly off. being in 
 constant terror lest my aunt would do something ridiculous. 
 After a short and pleasant ride, we stopped before a tall 
 brict building on a fashionable business street. Leaving 
 the carnage, we entered a side door, and, climbing up three 
 long flights of stairs, we stopped before a small door having 
 a modest sign, " Miss Sherwin." 
 
 " Sherwin," said I; "that's not an Italian nor a Ger 
 man name." 
 
 "Why, no, Miss Sherwin is an American. You must 
 not think that only foreigners can teach music." 
 
 " I have thought so." 
 
 " You will live to see your mistake. The time will 
 come when Americans will be considered a truly musical 
 people." 
 
 Just here the door opened, and I beheld a young lady, of 
 plain yet attractive appearance ; of medium size, with pu 
 ritan features, small lithe hands, and clear brown eyes, that 
 indicated refinement, intelligence, and good common sense. 
 
 I was at once introduced to her, and we passed into a 
 small, handsomely furnished room, when the subject in hand 
 was at once opened. 
 
 Miss Sherwin did not manifest any surprise at my story. 
 I soon learned that many of her scholars came to her after 
 having had their voices nearly ruined by vicious methods.
 
 
 
 10$ 1 IE JOPBANO. 
 
 [t was the a me :>ld stoi y, learning to read music beforb 
 tnowing how to \ roduce a. single pure note. 
 
 After a few preliminaries, Mrs. Sharp took her depart- 
 nre, leaving ine alone with my new music-teacher. No 
 sooner had she gone, than Miss Sherwin called me to the 
 piano, and bade me sing through the limits of my voice. 
 
 Whtn I had done so, she ssemed lost in thought. Pres 
 ently she said, quickly : 
 
 " Ar3 you afraid of work? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Are you at all sensitive?" 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 " Will you mind if I tell you some unpleasant truths ? " 
 
 " Not at all. I am not afraid of the truth at any time." 
 
 " Good. In the first place, your voice is a good one, 
 but very much injured, more than you know. Secondly, 
 it will reqi ire a great deal of hard work to reform it, and 
 will requiro months of time. You are not hurt at my 
 frankness?" 
 
 " Nov. in u ,he least." 
 
 " Then th? battle is half won. Now let me tell you a 
 8try. Lou,* time ago, when I was ji young girl, I was 
 once witit my father, making a call upon one of the great 
 est of singers, Madame Smtag. She ^las singing in opera 
 in this city at the time, and my father's position in the 
 press brought him in contact with her. All I can remem-
 
 THE SOPRANO. 109 
 
 her of the interview is one sentence. It was in reply to a 
 question put by my father. Said he : 
 
 " ' Can you tell me, madame, why it is there are so few 
 really great singers ? ' 
 
 " Madame Sontag replied : 
 
 " 'There are three reasons. In the first place, not every 
 one had the requisite strength and sweetness of voice. Sec 
 ondly, of those who had the voice, only a portion had the 
 strength and perseverance to go through with the necessary 
 study. Of those who possessed both, the majority are 
 so pleased with a certain partial acquirement of the art, 
 that they refuse to be taught more, thinking that they 
 know everything.' ' 
 
 This was a very good story, but it frightened me terri 
 bly. How would it be in my case ? 
 
 I will not weary you with the details of my first les 
 son. It consisted merely of instructions for the proper 
 control of the breath. The sixty minutes allotted me, 
 quickly passed. Then we came to the subject of pay : 
 one hundred dollars for twenty-four lessons. I do not 
 know what Miss Sherwin thought of me, but I simply 
 stared at her, and managed to say that I would call the 
 next day, took my things, and went out. 
 
 Reaching my room, I mechanically laid one side my hat 
 and shawl, sat down on the bed, and began to think. What 
 was the use of trying any longer ? I never could become a 
 singer. It would cost a fortune. Not only did I not have
 
 110 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 a fortune, but the little I had was totally inadequate to my 
 educational expenses. Music was not for poor girls. I 
 might as well call it a failure, give it up, and return to my 
 father. Heartsick and weary, I buried my face in the 
 pillow, and after a while cried myself to sleep. I do not 
 know how long I lay there, but when I opened my eyes I 
 found my aunt standing by the bedside, and gazing mourn 
 fully at me. 
 
 " What is the matter, aunt? Has anything happened? " 
 "Just what I was going to ask. What makes you cry, 
 child?" 
 
 " Nothing, that is, nothing in particular." 
 " Don't tell me that. People do not cry for nothing in 
 particular." 
 
 " It is only my music. I am going to give it up, and 
 
 return home." 
 
 " Just what I expected. I told you so; I knew you'd 
 get tired of it soon." 
 
 "I am not tired of it," said I, resentfully. " I shall 
 never tire of music, only I cannot reach it. It costs too 
 much. I must give it up, and return to home life." 
 
 " Now you are talking sense. This music-lesson busi 
 ness is the most foolish thing I ever heard of. What is 
 the good of music anyway? I thing it a sinful waste of 
 time and money." 
 
 " Indeed, it is not. Music is the best gift the good God 
 ever sent us. What would life be without it ? Empty,
 
 THE SOPRANO. Ill 
 
 humdrum, and miserable. It does more good than a thou 
 sand sermons. I would rather hear a good anthem than a 
 sermon, any day." 
 
 At this my aunt lifted her hands in holy horror. Shocked 
 at my worus, she prepared to leave the room, mentally shak 
 ing the dust from her shoes against me. At the door she 
 turned to have the last word. 
 
 " I am sure I am glad you have concluded to give up 
 music, settle down, and be proper." 
 
 " I do not intend to give it up. When I reach home, I 
 shall go into the mill, and when I have earned enough, 
 shall return to my studies." 
 
 With a pitying smile she opened the door and went out. 
 Presently I heard a noise as if some one was stirring in 
 the attic overhead. 
 
 " It can't be she is getting " 
 
 The next moment my door opened and aunt entered, 
 dragging my trunk after her. 
 
 "Shall I help you pack ?" 
 
 "Pack! Why, no, thank you. I do not intend going 
 home to-day. In fact, I think I shall stay, if you are will 
 ing to board me longer." 
 
 "Well, if ever I saw such a girl before ! You haven't 
 the same mind two minutes." 
 
 Without another word she departed, trunk and all. 
 
 Well, was there evei such a girl? Doubtful, very. Now, 
 what was I to do ? I had said I intended to stay, and stay
 
 112 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 I must, or never hear the last of it, from my sharp-tongued 
 aunt. A foolish pride, perhaps ; yet if I had gone home in 
 a fit of despair, forgetful of all the friends I had found, I 
 should have missed my only chance of success. Soon after, 
 my aunt's one servant called me to dinner. Washing away 
 the tear-stains, I went downstairs, resolved to let my aunt 
 use her tongue as she pleased, and not mind it. While 
 seated at the table, the door-hell rang, and a lady visitor was 
 announced as desiring to see me. On entering the parlor, I 
 found a nicely dressed lady, a stranger, and having with 
 her a little girl. 
 
 " Miss Ward, I suppose? " 
 
 ;{ Yes. Can I serve you in any way ? " 
 
 " Thank you. you can. Do you give lessons in piano- 
 playing?" 
 
 I was on the point of saying no, when it came to me that 
 perhaps my ill fortune had reached its lowest ebh, and if 
 it had touched bottom I must now rise ; so I replied frankly, 
 that I did not, having no scholars." 
 
 " Would you be willing to take one ? My little Hattie 
 wishes to learn, and I was recommended to call upon you. 
 She has never taken any lessons, and is a beginner. Will 
 you take her ? " 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 It was soon arranged that I should give the little girl 
 two lessons a week, at her own house, for fifteen dollars a
 
 THE SOPRANO. 113 
 
 quarter. This over, they went away, and I returned to my 
 
 aunt quite triumphant. 
 
 " I have got my first scholar, aunt. Aren't you glad? 
 
 If I can only get two or three more, perhaps I can go on 
 
 with my music." 
 
 " Humph ! One swallow does not make a summer." 
 "Perhaps not; but if we see the one swallow, we are apt 
 
 to expect the summer soon. It may come yet." 
 
 Just here the narrative was interrupted by the entrance 
 of a servant, who announced supper. 
 
 " Is Mr. Ward ready for tea? " said Julia. 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 "Tell him, please, we will join him directly." 
 
 Going to the dressing-table, we both prepared for tea. 
 I do not propose to describe this performance, but merely 
 to speak of a very curious box, which I discovered on Ju 
 lia's bureau. Thinking it some toilet affair, I opened it 
 
 "Goodness! Julia, what is this ?" , 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 " Why, this singular box, with the queer little mirrors 
 with silver handles." 
 
 " Oh ! you have found my laryngoscope, have you.? 
 That was a present from Dr. Sharp, when I' had com 
 pleted my studies. He used to try it on his patients." 
 
 " Is it a surgical instrument ? " 
 8
 
 114 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " Not exactly ; yet surgeons sometimes use it. I'll tell 
 you about it after supper. Come, let's go." 
 
 Returning to the parlor, we found Mr. Ward seated be 
 fore the fire, newspaper in hand. As soon as we appeared, 
 he laid it one side, and rose to meet us. 
 
 " Sit still, pa. Don't rise from your comfortable chair. 
 Jane and I will draw up too, and we will have a cosey sup 
 per before the fire. Take this easy-chair, Jane." So saying, 
 she rolled up a splendid great chair, into which I sank, while 
 she took another near by. That was all very nice, but how 
 we were to eat supper was something I did not quite un 
 derstand. The question was solved directly, for a servant 
 entered, bearing three cunning little tables, and placing one 
 beside each of us departed again. Curious to see what 
 would happen next, I watched the door, and soon beheld two 
 servants enter, bearing a small table, which they set down 
 behind us. Another brought in the things, and soon a 
 charming little supper was set on the table. This done, they 
 departed, and a single young girl remained to wait upon us, 
 placing on our little tables the things we each desired. Such 
 luxury was new to me. Surely Julia must be prospering 
 to indulge so lavishly. Meanwhile conversation slid along 
 easily upon indifferent matters. Julia chatted merrily, 
 and Mr. Ward was as agreeable as could be desired. After 
 we had supped sufficiently, the servants removed the tables, 
 and conversation became more personal and interesting. 
 
 " Julia has been telling you her story, has she not? "
 
 THE SOPRANO 115 
 
 " Yes, sir, she has. It interests me wonderfully, and I 
 want to hear more. For my part I do not see h*ow she 
 managed to pull through such a sea of difficulties." 
 
 11 It is because she is her mother's girl. She was a smart, 
 capable woman," said he, dreamily gazing at the fire. " You 
 will not often see the like of Julia's mother, except you 
 meet Julia herself." 
 
 " Don't say that, pa. I do not deserve any particular 
 credit for what I have done. Miss Sherwin, Dr. Sharp 
 and his wife, and Mr. Hookson, deserve all the credit. I 
 should not have done anything without them." 
 
 " How far had she got in her story, when you came to 
 tea?" 
 
 ' ' To the ten-cent dinners, pa, ' ' said Julia, speaking for me. 
 
 "Ten-cent dinners?" 
 
 " Yes, didn't she tell you about that? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, let me tell you. You know when she first took 
 lessons of Miss Sherwin, she had no money." 
 
 "Not quite so bad as that, pa." 
 
 " Well, pretty near. As I was saying, she hadn't any 
 money, and, to pay her way. she gave up boarding with her 
 aunt, though she still lodged there, and took her meals at a 
 restaurant, to save money. Why, she actually lived on 
 thirty cents a day, for whole days at a time. She took care 
 of her own room, and nearly made herself sick by over-work, 
 to get money to pay Miss Sherwin. And all the time I never
 
 116 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 knew it, though it went on for over nine months. All her 
 letters* to me were full of hope and good spirits, while she 
 nearly died with work, care, and anxiety. I believe she 
 would have died, if it had not been for Dr. Sharp. He 
 found it out, and made her take some rest, live better, and 
 even found her better pay, and and well, it's a fact, he 
 made her fortune for her, God bless him ! " 
 
 " Amen to that," said Julia. " God will bless him and 
 riis, I am sure. And Miss Sherwin, and Mr. Hookson too ; 
 if my prayers will avail anything, he will bless them 
 truly." 
 
 Soon after this, Mr. Ward pleaded the infirmities of his 
 years and retired for the night, leaving Julia and me sitting 
 luxuriously before the blazing hearth. 
 
 " Shall I tell you more, dear? " 
 
 " Oh, do, please ! I want to hear more about your les 
 sons, and how you climbed up from poverty to this. Tell 
 me, too, of your public life." 
 
 " And shall I not weary you? Some of it is very sad." 
 
 " Not at all. Go on, please."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 117 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " THK MARVELLOUS WORK BEHOLD AMAZED." Creation. 
 
 MY one scholar seemed to put a new face on affairs, 
 and I resolved to try once more. It was worth trying, at 
 any rate. Accordingly, I called upon Miss Sherwin, resolved 
 to frankly explain my circumstances, and see if it were not 
 possible to arrange some method by which I could obtain the 
 musical education I desired. I found her all ready to re 
 ceive me at the appointed hour. After the usual greetings, 
 she asked me if I wished to go on with my studies. 
 
 " Indeed I do, but I am afraid I cannot. It is beyond 
 my means. One hundred dollars a quarter is more than I 
 can command." 
 
 " How much can you pay ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. Now let me be very frank and tell you 
 all. If I could reduce my expenses, or get a few scholars, 
 I might be able to pay it. I am very anxious to pursue 
 my studies, and feel sure I am on the right road ; besides, 
 God has raised up for me so many friends, and they pro 
 pose to do so much for me, that I shall be very sorry to be 
 obliged to give it up. I have made many mistakes, and 
 have labored in vain for some time ; yet, if I can by any 
 possibility go on, I mean to. I am not afraid of work or
 
 118 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 loss of time. I have already 'learned to labor and to 
 wait.' " 
 
 " I can but admire your frankness. Let us look further 
 into this matter ; perhaps we can bring some ray of hope out 
 of it. You were speaking of expenses. May I ask what 
 they are? " 
 
 "My board, clothing, and piano. I have no others." 
 
 " I suppose you hire your piano? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What do you pay ?" 
 
 " Thirty dollars a quarter." 
 
 " Thirty dollars is a pretty large price, but I suppose 
 you will pay for it soon, and then that expense will cease." 
 
 " I did not understand it so. I only hire it." 
 
 " Oh ! that is not the way to do. You must make them 
 give you a receipted bill of it when it reaches the retail price. 
 Where did you hire it ? " 
 
 " At the Mozart rooms." 
 
 " That's cheerful. I know the people there. I may see 
 some of them to-day. You leave it all to me. I'll ar 
 range it so that in time you will own the piano, and so 
 stop that leak." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Sherwin; you are indeed kind." 
 
 "You are welcome, I am sure. Now for your other ex 
 penses. I cannot advise you in regard to your board and 
 clothing. That is something you alone must manage. I can 
 only tell you that many people find it cheaper to hire a 
 lodging-room, and take part, or the whole, of their meals at
 
 THE SOPRANO. 119 
 
 a restaurant, or some similar place. You can take the hint 
 for what it is worth." 
 
 " It is worth a great deal. I never thought of that be 
 fore. In fact, you must see that, coming as I did from a 
 quiet country home, I was deplorably ignorant of all these 
 things. The only wonder is, I did not make more mis 
 takes." 
 
 " Every one makes mistakes ; the truly wise man is not 
 ashamed, but profits by them. It is not for me to inquire 
 what your income is, but please tell me how many more 
 *cholars you require to make both ends meet." 
 
 " Three more," said I, after a moment's thought. 
 
 " Well, perhaps you can get them, if we make an effort. 
 At any rate, you had better try one quarter. I do not 
 advise this because I wish to obtain another scholar, but 
 because you seem to have a love of music, and display a brave 
 vid womanly spirit. If it will help you, I will not charge 
 ever seventy-five dollars, providing you take one or more 
 lessons a week, and at my rooms." 
 
 " Thank you ! Thank you ! I can and will. You are 
 judeed a friend , the best I ever met." 
 
 " I hardly think that. You have other and better 
 friends, the Sharp*, for instance. Now let us to work." 
 
 " Have I not absorbed all my time already? " , 
 
 "Never mind. We will call this merely a friendly 
 talk." 
 
 Seating herself at the piano, she bid me stand beside her,
 
 1'20 THE SOPKANO. 
 
 and my second lesson began. It was mainly practice in 
 governing the flow of the breath. After a few exercises in 
 trying to breathe easily and steadily, Miss Sherwin re 
 marked that my breathing seemed labored. 
 
 " Do you wear a tight dress, Miss Ward ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you not know that it is a positive bar to success as 
 a vocalist? " 
 
 " No; how can it be? My belt may be tight, but it is 
 too low to compress my lungs." 
 
 " That is the very reason it does compress them. If it 
 passed round the chest it would not do half the harm. The 
 walls of the chest are rigid and nearly immovable. It is 
 only when you compress the soft viscera at the waist that 
 a wrong is done. Being soft and pliable, they are easily 
 pushed out of place. Your tight belt is probably squeezing 
 them frightfully, and, as they cannot escape, they protrude 
 themselves upwards into the space occupied by the lungs. 
 The lungs, being soft and sponge-like, yield readily to 
 the pressure from below, and being cramped for room cannot 
 expand to their full size. The effect upon your singing 
 must be evident. Suppose, for experiment, you take off 
 your belt and loosen your dress." 
 
 I did so, and we returned to our exercises at the piano. 
 It was a perfect revelation. To tell the truth, I have never 
 worn a tight dress from that day to this. If Miss Sherwin 
 had never given me another lesson this one bit of informa-
 
 THE SOPRANO. 121 
 
 tion would have been very well worth the cost of a quarter's 
 lessons. 
 
 I am sorry L cannot give a detailed account of my lessons ; 
 but time forbids. All I can attempt is a sketch of the 
 general theory of Miss Sherwin's method. As I proceed, 
 you will gather its main features. 
 
 When the lesson was over, it was arranged that I should 
 take a lesson every day for the first quarter. If. when it 
 was over, I found I could not meet the expense, I was to 
 give it up and return home. After the lesson I walked 
 home, happy in my brightening prospects. At my aunt's 
 I found another lady waiting to arrange for one more pupil. 
 Delighted to find still further good fortune, I sat down in my 
 room, got out pen and paper, and made a careful exami 
 nation of my finances. After spending an hour over my 
 figures, I came to the sad conclusion that, with all my im 
 proved prospects, I could not even pay seventy-five dollars 
 a quarter. Disappointed and discouraged again, I put on 
 my things and went out to walk, thinking the fresh air 
 would brighten me up and drive away a headache that 
 I experienced. After walking about an hour I passed a restau 
 rant. Feeling hungry, I went in and sat down at a small 
 table. After studying the bill of fare for some time, I 
 called for a simple dinner, and in twenty minutes had made 
 Tip my mind what to do. 
 
 After lunch I walked on towards Dr. Sharp's, resolved 
 A call there and find out who had sent me the two scholars.
 
 122 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 As I passed along I met Signer Trombol6, and took the 
 opportunity to tell him that I did not intend to take the 
 one or two remaining lessons he owed me, nor any more, 
 and so finished up that matter. 
 
 When I reached Doctor Sharp's, I found the blinds on 
 the doctor's office- window closed. Not thinking anything 
 about it, I rang the bell. 
 
 "Is Dr. Sharp in?" 
 
 " Yes, miss, but he is busy with a patient." 
 
 " Then I will not interrupt him, but wait, if conven 
 ient." 
 
 " Certainly, miss. I think he will be at leisure in a 
 moment. Walk into the parlor, please, and take a seat." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 No sooner had the servant disappeared, than I heard the 
 doctor's voice in the hall. 
 
 "Who is that, Katie?" 
 
 " Miss Ward, sir." 
 
 " Just the person I wish to see. Send her in here, 
 please." 
 
 Directly I was called, and was soon at the door of the 
 office. 
 
 " Come right in, Miss Ward. Do not be afraid." 
 
 I was, to tell the truth, for the room was pitch-dark. 
 The blinds and curtains were drawn, and to me, just coming 
 from the light of day, it seemed perfectly dark. 
 
 " Take a seat, please."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 123 
 
 Putting out my hand, I felt for a chair, and sat down in it. 
 The doctor then shut the door, and there I sat, in the dismal 
 place. 
 
 ' ' You have arrived at a very opportune moment. I was 
 just using my laryngoscope upon this gentleman. He has 
 some trouble in the throat, and I am examining it. Shall 
 be at leisure directly ; then I will show you the instrument 
 upon myself." 
 
 By this time my eyes had so far become accustomed to 
 the darkness that I could make out the shadowy forms of 
 the doctor and his patient. The man was seated at one 
 end of the room, while the doctor was seated directly oppo 
 site, and facing him. Suddenly the man's fafce was illu 
 mined by an intense ray of white light. It struck him 
 first in the mouth. When he opened his lips it shone upon 
 his teeth, and they glittered like pearls. "Wondering what 
 they would do next, I watched them closely; but the 
 doctor's head came in the way, and cut off my view. All 
 was perfectly still in the room, save the spasmodic breath 
 ing of the man. He seemed to be troubled for breath, or 
 as if disturbed by something being thrust down his throat. 
 In a few minutes the examination was over, and, after a 
 brief consultation, the man went away. 
 
 As soon as he had gone, the doctor procured a match and 
 lighted a gas-jet. 
 
 "Lay your things one side. It is very warm here." 
 
 '' Thank you, sir ; but am I not detaining you ? I can-
 
 124 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 not think of receiving any instruction from you, if it in 
 any way interferes with your business. You are very 
 kind" 
 
 " Bless you, no. I do not intend to let anything inter 
 fere with business. I cannot afford it. The odd moments 
 I am going to give to you will be well spent ; so please 
 not speak of it again, nor of the kindness, as you call it. 
 It is a pleasure to help one who seems so desirous of help 
 ing herself. Besides, it is good fun to teach such a sensible 
 and appreciative scholar as you. This is all I have to say 
 on this point. If you are grateful, I am glad of it, but 
 please don't speak it." 
 
 " Then I shall think it." 
 
 " All right ; now to business." 
 
 "This," said he, taking up a small round glass mirror, 
 *bout the size of a five-cent piece, and having a long silver 
 handle bent at an obtuse angle, at a point near the mirror, 
 :< is a laryngoscope. A very simple affair, but capable of 
 showing to us one of the most wonderful things the Lord 
 ever made. In this little mirror you can actually see your 
 self sing. 
 
 " Here is another one. The only difference between them 
 is that the handle is bent at a slightly sharper angle, ena 
 bling us to get more varied views of the larynx. 
 
 " Now let us to work. I will sit down here behind this 
 argand burner, and do you turn down the other light, and 
 then draw your chair up, and sit directly in front of me.'
 
 THE SOPRANO. 125 
 
 Accordingly I darkened the room, and sat down facing 
 and quite near him, so near that I could look right in his 
 face, if it were not for the shaded lamp between us. Though 
 the lamp was lighted, and thin tongues of flames streamed 
 above the tin shade that surrounded the glass chimney, it 
 was quite dark, and I could hardly see him ; however, he 
 opened a slide, and let a brilliant ray of light stream from 
 a magnifying glass affixed to the shade, directly in his face. 
 Looking past the lamp, I could see an intense spot of white 
 light on his lips. 
 
 "What bright things ought to come from your mouth, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " If brightness does not come from it, at least my tongue 
 will be illuminated. See ! " 
 
 And he opened his mouth wide, letting the light pour into 
 it like a flood. I could see everything, tongue, teeth, ana 
 red glistening throat, reaching down out of sight. 
 
 " Queer place, is it not? " 
 
 I laughed outright. 
 
 "Why, you talk with your tongue, teeth, and lips. It 
 almost seems as if I could see what you said, even if I had 
 not heard you." 
 
 " Not entirely. Without the larynx you would hear no 
 words above a whisper. The larynx produces the tones 
 and the lips modify and break it up into what we caii 
 speech. See, now ; I will sing a single note, and you will 
 hear no words, and if you are observing, you will notie*
 
 126 . THE SOPRANO. 
 
 that the region of the mouth is not in action. 1 v't sing, 
 but not articulate." 
 
 Then he sang one pure, soft note. The wide-apart rows 
 of teeth glistened brightly, and the red tongue lay flat 
 oehind the lower teeth, but neither moved' at all. 
 
 " Why, doctor, the tones seems to come up out of the 
 throat, as if it was produced in some place further down, 
 out of sight." 
 
 " Precisely. It comes from the larynx. I will show it 
 you in a moment, when we come to use the laryngoscope ; 
 but before we do so, let me show you how the tone that is 
 produced by the larynx is modified by the lips, tongue, and 
 teeth. I will give you a tone, and then, without altering it, 
 repeat the words ' tongue,' ' teeth,' and ' lips.' ' 
 
 He at once opened his mouth, and I heard the steady 
 tone, far down his throat. Suddenly the lips came together, 
 and I heard the word "tongue," distinctly. Then they 
 opened, and I saw the white teeth nearly touch each other, 
 and the word " teeth " was spoken very plainly. Next the 
 tongue advanced to the edge of the teeth, and the lips shut 
 suddenly, " lips," plain enough. 
 
 " A capital recitative, sir. I understand you perfectly ; 
 but what strikes me as most wonderful is, that I seem to see 
 the words as well as hear them. If you were to make up 
 words with your mouth and utter no sound, I could, with 
 the aid of this light, and by paying careful attention, under 
 stand almost everything you intend to say "
 
 THE SOPRANO. 127 
 
 "Yes; that is something easily done. In fact, they have 
 a method of teaching the deaf and the dumb to converse, by 
 instructing them in the use of the organs of articulation. 
 They cannot utter or hear a single word, and yet they man 
 age to talk." 
 
 All this time he had held his laryngoscope in his hand, 
 and at this moment he brought it up and held the mirror over 
 the gas-burner for a few seconds, and then touched the back 
 of it to his face. 
 
 " Why do you do that, sir ? " 
 
 " I wish to raise it to the same temperature as my blood. 
 I touch it to my cheek, to see if it is warm enough. If I 
 did not warm it slightly it would condense the moisture in 
 my breath, and become coated with mist, and useless for a 
 reflector. Now, when I insert it into my mouth, follow the 
 mirror and observe what you see in it." 
 
 " I see a round, black opening ; it is like looking down a 
 long, black tube." 
 
 Taking the instrument from his mouth, he said : 
 
 " The dark tube you see is the trachea. The trachea is 
 the tube that conveys the air from the lungs up into the 
 larynx, and from thence it goes to the mouth. You will 
 also observe that the upper part of the tube ends abruptly 
 in what appears to be two loose curtains of white, fleshy 
 cartilage, one on each side. These cartilages and their sur 
 rounding parts make up the larynx. When I merely 
 breathe, it is wide open, and the vocal chords are drawn
 
 128 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 back nearly *ut of sight.* When I put the instrument in 
 my mouth again, you can take a good -look, and then I will 
 sing one low tone ; but dividing it into several notes, taking 
 breath each time." 
 
 Leaning forward, I gazed fcteadily at the little mirror lay 
 ing at the back of the doctor's brightly lighted throat. 
 Again I saw the reflected image of the funnel-shaped open 
 ing. Suddenly it was closed by two white doors, or curtains, 
 that seemed to slide out from the sides ar.d come together in 
 the middle. At once a low note came up the throat. 
 Looking still closer, I observed that the white folds, or cur 
 tains, did not quite touch, but a narrow slit remained open 
 the entire visible width of the tube. The fine edges of the 
 curtains seemed to be indistinct. On looking still closer, I 
 discovered that both edges were in a state of violent agita 
 tion, yihrating rapidly, so fast indeed, that I could not see 
 them very clearly, just as one cannot see the spokes of a 
 wheel revolving rapidly. This state of affairs only con 
 tinued for a few seconds, when they as suddenly drew apart 
 for an instant, and then closed again, vibrated as before, and 
 the tone was resumed. This took place several times alter 
 nately. It did not take me .long to see that when this 
 seeming curtain was drawn open, the doctor was inhaling 
 the air, or taking breath. Taking the instrument from hist 
 mouth, he said: 
 
 " Could you see the vocal chords ? Did you notice how
 
 THE SOPRANO. 129 
 
 they seemed to meet in the' middle, jet leaving a narrow 
 slit between them ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I saw the little white curtains close together. 
 Is that all that produces the tone? " 
 
 " Simply that, and nothing more. In shape, they are 
 like a thin fold, or curtain, or better, a membrane, like the 
 head of a drum. If you should cut a slit in the head of a 
 drum, you would have a very fair representation of the 
 larynx when it is producing a low note. Now when these 
 membranes or cartilages are drawn together, and air is 
 forced through them, they at once vibrate of their own 
 accord, and that sets the air in motion, and at last the waves 
 reach our ears, and we call them a tone sound. You 
 must see that the whole thing is simply a mechanical affair. 
 All we need to do is to place tae chords in position and 
 blow, and it sings. If the larynx of a person recently deaf? 
 were cut out, and placed so that a current of air could I 
 driven through it, it would sing, but not pronounce words, 
 as you can readily understand from what you have seen in 
 regard to the action of the teeth and lips." 
 
 Just jere the servant entered, and announced a visitor. 
 Taking my things, I prepared to go. The doctor turned up 
 the light, saying, " Call again soon, Miss Ward, and we 
 will study this thing more in detail." 
 
 As I went out I met Mrs. Sharp. She received me 
 pleasantly, and kindly reminded me that I might makr 
 myself at home in their house, as often as I wished. 
 9
 
 130 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Hookson was here this morning, and 
 left word that he Avould like to have you call at the factory 
 to-morrow afternoon. You must be sure and go." 
 
 "Shall I go alone?" 
 
 " Oh. yes ! Call at the counting-room without fear. 
 He will be delighted to see you." 
 
 " Mrs. Sharp, I have one cheerful bit of news for you : 
 I have two scholars. They both said they had been advised 
 to come to me. Who could have been so kind ? " 
 
 " Some friend, doubtless, whom, you must not ask me, 
 as I am not good at guessing." 
 
 " Then I shall guess for myself." 
 
 "Do." 
 
 The next morning I was at Miss Sherwin's at the 
 appointed hour. In this lesson I advanced so far as to 
 produce a single tone. I was utterly astonished to find the 
 great difficulty I had to encounter to do so simple a thing 
 as this, and to do it correctly. I had been told to sing with 
 out having the least idea how I was to go to work. The 
 command had been "sing;" and I did, in* the easiest way 
 possible. As the easiest way was not always the best, I 
 had acquired a habit of singing, at once false, impure, and 
 not according to scientific rules. Until I met Dr. Sharp I 
 had been totally ignorant of how my own voice was pro 
 duced, and, as you can easily understand, had gone to work 
 blindly and without method. Under Miss Sherwin I had to 
 begin again at the very bottom, and overthrow a host of bad
 
 THE SOPRANO. 131 
 
 habits, undo a world of labor, and conquer a deal of preju 
 dice and error. The entire first quarter was given up to 
 correcting mistakes. I used no music or exercises, nor did 
 I practise at home. Miss Sherwin would not allow me to 
 sing for practice out of her hearing. At first she objected 
 to my retaining my position in the church choir ; but as this 
 was indispensable, on account of finance, I kept it, taking 
 care to follow her instructions at all times, and to sing as 
 little as possible when away from her side. 
 
 It will be impossible for me to give you a detailed account 
 of all my investigations with the doctor's laryngoscope. I* 
 is a study requiring months of careful and thorough exam 
 ination, and involving very considerable reading. I do not, 
 even now, pretend to understand it all. Few physicians 
 have yet exhausted the subject. All I wish to show is that 
 a thorough study of the whole vocal region of the human 
 body is essential to the highest skill in vocal music. It is 
 true there are singers who have never seen a larynx, or even 
 know they have one. However, my own opinion is, that 
 only by the careful study of the vocal organs can the high 
 est and best be reached in the art of singing. You must 
 not imagine, when I speak of the doctor's laryngoscope, that 
 Miss Sherwin was not able to use one. She had a very fine 
 one, which she frequently used upon herself for the benefit 
 ?f her scholars. She even taught me to use it upon myself, 
 10 that, with the aid of another mirror, I could examine my 
 wn larynx at my leisure. It is not an easy thing to use
 
 132 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 upon one's self, the mouth being so sensitive. For all that, I 
 can, and do, use it occasionally. The reason I prefer to 
 have the doctor use his instrument is, that the male larynx 
 is much larger than the female, and therefore more easily 
 studied. In men the larynx is so large that a portion of its 
 surrounding muscles are plainly visible on the outside of the 
 throat. The visible part is commonly known as the 
 "Adam's Apple." 
 
 My second view of the doctor's larynx was even more 
 interesting than the first. It was in the evening, and hav 
 ing lighted his lamp, and placed himself in position before 
 it, he said : 
 
 "Notice carefully what I do. I am going to articulate, 
 that is, use the organs of articulation, the teeth, tongue, 
 lips, etc. ; but not use my larynx, nor even breathe." 
 
 Watching the bright spot of light on his face, I saw the 
 mouth open and close, and the teeth appear and disappear 
 successively. He was evidently making up words, but 
 giving forth no speech. Presently he stopped. 
 
 " Could you understand me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, nearly. You were trying to say that you 
 were talking, and yet silent." 
 
 " Yes. I made up the words, ' Now I am talking, but 
 silent.' What you saw was simply the action of the organs 
 of articulation. Now I am going to talk or articulate, but 
 not use my larynx, leaving it wide open, so as to allow a 
 current of air to flow from the lungs."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 1S3 
 
 Then he began to move his lips as before. I could hear 
 every word, though in a whisper. 
 
 "Why, doctor, that upsets your whole theory. You 
 said one could not talk without using the larynx, and yet I 
 heard every word." 
 
 " I am not surprised at what you say. You must under 
 stand that I did not talk, but whispered. Whispering is 
 allowing the breath to rush freely from the lungs, and using 
 the mouth, tongue, and lips, at the same time, and cutting 
 the stream of air up into words as we do in speech." 
 
 " Then the mouth, or articulating region, as you call it, 
 can talk, after all? " 
 
 "Oh, no! whispering is not talking nor singing. A 
 whisper is no more a tone than the wind whistling through 
 a crack is music. Let me explain more fully. The larynx, 
 when in action, produces toneo or sound. If the mouth is 
 shut, we call it a muted tone. If the mouth is wide open, 
 and the organs of articulation are not in action, we call it 
 vocalizing. If the larynx is in action, but not practically 
 more so than the articulation, we call it speech, or talking. 
 When the action of the larynx is the strongest, and- the 
 articulating apparatus is so governed as not to cover up, 
 injure, or interrupt the flow of the tone too much, we call it 
 singing. Vocalizing is acquired by practice, and to do so 
 purely requires skill. Mere talking does not require so 
 much skill. Singing is an art, and to sing words purely, 
 and yet distinctly, shows the highest reach of human skill.
 
 134 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 Do not confound this with the other meaning of singing that 
 
 is applied to things, as when we say a pipe or a bird sings. 
 
 " From what you have seen, it must be evident to you 
 
 chat mere whispering is not music. It is without definite 
 
 
 
 pitch. Talking has pitch. The voice goes up and down 
 the scale freely ; but the real tone from the larynx is so 
 covered up and broken into detached fragments, that it is 
 not fair to call it music. Some people allow their larynx 
 to have greater play when they talk, and we say they have 
 a musical voice. Let us now examine the larynx once 
 more." 
 
 Placing the heated instrument in his mouth, I looked 
 at it steadily, and again saw the quivering edges of the 
 vocal chords as a low tone ascended the doctor's brightly 
 lighted throat. Suddenly the pitch changed, and to my 
 astonishment the quivering larynx assumed another shape. 
 The narrow slit was finer and narrower. Again the pitch 
 changed, moving up one tone. At the same instant the 
 larynx changed. He then sang, or rather vocalized, through 
 the scale to the top of his voice. For every note there was 
 a change in the vocal chords. It is not my intention to 
 give you an account of all I saw in the laryngoscope. 
 What the various changes were that I observed, I cannot begin 
 to describe. When the examination was over, I asked the 
 doctor if i*, was simply those changes in the larynx that 
 produced the changes in pitch. 
 
 " Yes. Simple musical tones come from the larynx
 
 THE SOPRANt. 136 
 
 alone, whether they are high or low. In it are produced 
 all musical sounds. But now we come to the important 
 part of the subject. The larynx causes the sound, but 
 the cavity of the mouth, the throat, and even the chest, 
 govern its quality, making it louder, sweeter, rougher, or 
 purer, as we wish. They take up the tone, reinforce it, 
 and modify it in various ways. I cannot instruct you how 
 to so guide them that the tone you produce may become 
 sweet and pure. That is Miss Sherwin's duty ; but I can 
 and will show you the structure and functions of all the 
 organs used in talking, vocalizing, or singing." 
 
 " But, doctor, suppose my larynx was abnormal, or out 
 of health, what then? " 
 
 "In that case you can do nothing. No amount of 
 instruction will do the slightest good. You must have some 
 reasonable ground to go upon ; some foundation to build 
 upon. You can readily understand that one person's 
 larynx will produce a finer natural note than another. That 
 is a gift of nature, over which we have no control. Nature, 
 on the other* hand, is very bountiful. Almost every child, 
 without exception, who can talk, can be made to sing, pro 
 vided they are taken in hand by a competent instructor, 
 at a sufficiently early age." 
 
 " What will you do with the children who have no ear, 
 who cannot be made to understand the difference between 
 one tone or another, or between one tune and another?'' 
 
 " They make the unfortunate exceptions to my rule.
 
 136 THE SOPKANO. 
 
 They are 'sound blind,' just as some people are 'color 
 blind.' All we can do is to pity them, for they are shut out 
 from a world of happiness and comfort." 
 
 " Now, doctor, one more question. How is it these 
 changes in the larynx are accomplished . ' 
 
 "I do not know, nor does any one. The mind wills it 
 to assume a certain position, and the bundle of muscles 
 surrounding the vocal chords pull them into a certain posi 
 tion ; the lungs send up a stream of air, and they ' speak,' as 
 the organ-builders say, in the same way we will our hand 
 to rise, and it rises ; how, we know not. The only differ 
 ence is that we can see our hand, and it is endowed with 
 sensation, so that the eye and the nerves of sensation assist 
 the mind in giving its commands. On the other hand, the 
 ~ocal chords are nearly destitute of feeling ; and certainly 
 we cannot see them, except in a mirror." 
 
 " Then what is the use of knowing anything about them 
 at all ? " 
 
 " For the sake of knowing with certainty where to go to 
 work to improve the voice, in the regions of respiration and 
 articulation. The control of the larynx is only to be 
 acquired by practice ; but when you come to respiration, 
 articulation, and the government of the sounding-boards of 
 the chest and roof of the mouth, you are dealing with some 
 thing more under your control, part of the organs being 
 visible, and endowed with the highest sensation. It is for 
 this reason we desired to have you under Miss Sherwin'a
 
 THE SOPRANO. 137 
 
 instruction. She is thoroughly posted in the musical, scien 
 tific, and physiological sides of the subject. Her methods 
 are founded upon a comprehensive and sensible view of the 
 rationale of vocal music. She has followed Madam Seiler 
 partly, though on many points she has distanced her. You 
 will find, as you progress, that her aim will be, first, to 
 teach you to produce pure tones, and, above all, to articu 
 late distinctly, and afterwards to sing written music. Then, 
 when you come to examine the subject of sound, simply, 
 under Mr. Hookson, you will perceive how important that 
 side of the matter is. He will show you how the quality, 
 or timbre of a tone, produced by a reed, or the larynx, or 
 other sounding body, is governed by any box, tube, pipe, 01 
 other hollow body, when placed in connection with it." 
 
 " Please don't say any more, sir. I see I am upon the 
 threshold of a science. Will my feeble steps sustain me in 
 such a wonderful country as I am entering? Can I, a girl, 
 enter in where but few women have dared to walk ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Miss Ward. You are strong, clear-headed, and 
 plucky. What earthly reason is there why a woman can 
 not study the art of singing, the science of sound, or 
 anatomy? " 
 
 With these encouraging words the lesson closed. I wish 
 I had time to give you an account of my studies with the 
 doctor. It was vastly interesting. He led me into the 
 marvellous regions of physical science; showed me the 
 whole structure of the lungs, the throat, the sounding-board
 
 138 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 of the mouth, aud a wilderness of other matters, both inter 
 esting and entertaining. He even exhibited a part of a 
 dissected human larynx and throat, showed me the nasal 
 openings, and all the strange multitude of bones, muscles, 
 and nerves that make up this curious apparatus for making 
 tones, words, and music. He explained to me the use of 
 the epiglottis, the false vocal chords, and the microscopic 
 celia, that with ceaseless activity flood the whole surface of 
 the throat and mouth with moisture, and keep it in health 
 and flexibility. He loaned me several books, that I read 
 with avidity. In short, he almost made an M. D. of me. 
 Nor were my music and voice alone benefited. My studies 
 *aught me the rules of hygiene, and I learned to gain my 
 health, and keep it, for without robust health all my studies 
 would have been valueless. Without perfect health a singer 
 cannot hope to succeed.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "THEIK SOUND HAS GONE OUT INTO ALL LANDS." The Messiah. 
 
 AT the appointed hour I was before a huge, rambling, 
 wooden factory, having an immense sign painted upon it, 
 " Charles Hookson & Company, Church Organ Manu 
 factory." The front door was open ; so I entered, and 
 found myself in a small hall. Two doors on either side 
 opened into what seemed to be counting-rooms, while 
 another door, standing open, exhibited a large workshop, 
 filled with a variety of queer-looking machinery. Some 
 men were at work there, and as a small sign said, " No 
 admittance," I turned one side into the counting-room, and 
 inquired of a clerk if Mr. Hookson was in. 
 
 " He is, miss. He has just gone upstairs. You can gc 
 right up if you wish to see him." 
 
 As I turned to go, Mr. Hookson entered the office. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Miss Ward. Glad to see you. 1 am 
 busy just at present. Will you amuse yourself by looking 
 about the factory for a little while till I am at leisure ? 
 Walk upstairs, through the packing-room, into the setting-up 
 room. You may see something to interest you there." 
 
 Not wishing to detain him I made no reply, but followed 
 his directions. Climbing up a flight of dark, wooden stairs,
 
 140 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 I found myself in a large and very lofty room. Three 
 rows of windows extended across two sides, one over the 
 other, to the ceiling. On the remaining sides were two sets 
 of doors, one over the other, with short flights of steps 
 reaching to the upper set. Each door was numbered, and 
 appeared to open on to other floors or parts of the building. 
 Sundry tall ladders extended from the floor to the ceiling, 
 as if to enable the workmen to reach any point in the room 
 desired. Everything was very rough about the place, and 
 time-worn, as if the factory had been in use a long while. 
 In contrast to the ancient room itself were two splendid 
 new church, organs, glistening with freshly painted and 
 gilded pipes, and ornamented with carving and fancy wood 
 work. Besides these, were three other organs, evidently in 
 process of construction. Though the whole scene was a 
 novel one, yet I understood it at once, and with the great 
 est curiosity proceeded to examine the lofty instruments. 
 The case of the organ in the middle of the room only 
 extended across the front, so that all the machinery and 
 pipes were in full view. One row of large wooden pipes 
 extended across the back of the organ, and, as the mouths 
 of each were level with my shoulder, I could examine them 
 easily. I could see the thin lower lip with a narrow slit 
 in it, and the sharp edge of the upper lip just above it. I 
 wondered if that was copied after a human larynx, and 
 thought I would ask Mr. Hookson about it. Seeing a little 
 dust on the lip of a pipe I blew it away, to enable me to see
 
 THE SOPRANO. 141 
 
 better. "Why, how queer!" The puff of air from my 
 mouth echoed in the hollow pipe with a deep rumble. 
 This I said aloud as I stood there before the gaping mouth 
 of the pipe. Another surprise : from the pipe came a 
 dull, confused murmur, the sound of my voice reverber 
 ating in the pipe. Well, I have come into a place queei 
 and interesting. 
 
 " What do you find to entertain you? " 
 
 Looking up, I discovered Mr. Hookson. 
 
 " Everything, sir ; but especially the singular effect this 
 pipe has on my voice. If I stand near enough, a very deep 
 and hollow voice, that does not seem my own, comes from 
 the pipe." 
 
 u You have lighted upon the very subject to which I wish 
 to draw your attention, reinforcement. The column of 
 air confined by the wooden walls of the pipe is impressed by 
 the vibration of your voice, and at once begins to vibrate 
 too, out of pure sympathy. If you were to sing a tone, 
 ' A ' for instance, and then stand before a pipe tuned with 
 in a tone or two of A, you would hear something very 
 remarkable. The pipe would answer to your voice, and 
 sing too. I do not know that these diapasons would, as 
 they are so large ; but perhaps we could find one somewhere 
 in the organ." 
 
 Thinking I had got hold of a bright idea, I said : 
 
 " Is that not just like the vocal organs, and does not this 
 narrow slit in the pipe correspond to the larynx? "
 
 142 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " Not quite ; this is a flue-pipe, and constructed on a 
 different principle. But let us not wander away from the 
 subject. We will come to this matter by and by, now we 
 are looking into reverberation, or reinforcement. Here," 
 said he, taking out a small, two-pronged instrument, "is 
 my tuning-fork ; I will sound it, and then hold it before a 
 pipe of the same pitch, ' A,' and the pipe will at once sing 
 of its own accord." 
 
 Thereupon he struck the fork a smart rap against a board, 
 and held it before the lips of a pipe marked in pencil, "A." 
 No particular result followed. 
 
 " The pipe is so large that the fork cannot force it into 
 action. Come into the voicing-room, and we will experi 
 ment on a smaller -pipe." 
 
 Leading the way, he showed me into a small side room, 
 ha v mg chests of shallow drawers extending from floor to 
 ceiling, filling three sides of the room. On the remaining 
 side was a work-bench, and a queer machine, looking like a 
 piano in embryo. A set of keys in front, and on top, rows 
 of holes pierced through the wood-work. Just above it was 
 a rack for holding the pipes erect when placed over the 
 holes. Going to a drawer, he opened it and displayed a 
 number of brightly shining metal pipes. Selecting one 
 about a foot long, he held it in his hand, struck the tuning- 
 fork on the drawer, and held it, still vibrating, at the mouth 
 of the pipe. At once a soft, pure tone seemed to come from 
 the pipe.
 
 THE SOPEANO. 143 
 
 "How very singular ! Why, without the pipe I cannot 
 hear anything." 
 
 "No; it is only when the fork is reinforced by some 
 sounding body, that will take up its vibrations and swell 
 their force, that we can hear it, unless we put it close to our 
 ear. This rack on the voicing-table will reinforce the tone, 
 just as the column of air does in the pipe. Hear it, 
 now." 
 
 Setting the fork in vibration, and touching the handle to 
 the wood, its tone was at once audible, but very rough and 
 impure. 
 
 "You see this bit of board vibrates too, but not so 
 purely as the air in the pipe." 
 
 " But, sir, suppose you blow in the pipe, should we hear 
 the same sweet tone ? " 
 
 " Oh, no! It will be of the same pitch, but of different 
 quality. Listen." 
 
 Putting the foot of the pipe in his mouth, he blew into it, 
 and a loud, rich tone swelled out, filling the room with 
 musical vibrations. 
 
 " You hear the ' A ' as before ; but how different ! That 
 difference is what the French call timbre; it is in this case 
 caused by the greater power of the pipe than the fork. The 
 same difference exists in voices. As you know, every one's 
 voice has its own peculiar quality whereby we recognize it. 
 Let us examine still farther. 
 
 Going to half-a-dozen different drawers, he procured aa
 
 144 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 many pipes, and set them up, side by side, on the voicing- 
 table. They were of different sizes, though of about the 
 same length. 
 
 " These are all tuned to sound ' C,' and yet each is very 
 different from another." 
 
 Touching a liey, one of the pipes gave forth a soft, 
 mellow note ; another was louder, but as sweet. Another 
 was rougher and more decided. Still another poured forth 
 a pure, clear, and powerful note ; while one more, when 
 sounded, filled the room with a very rich ringing volume of 
 sound. 
 
 "No doubt if you were told the name of each of these, 
 and you were to hear them several times, you could give 
 the name of each if you merely heard its voice." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I think I could. Each has its own particular 
 character, not to be mistaken. But how do you get this 
 great difference ? ' ' 
 
 " By a slight difference in construction. One pipe has a 
 greater diameter, another has thinner lips, another has the 
 lips cut into sharp notches, and so on." 
 
 " Does that make the difference in human voices? " 
 
 " In a measure. The different construction of the mouth, 
 lips, tongue, teeth, and the difference in the size of the 
 larynx, make what we would call a difference in ' voicing.' ' 
 
 " But how does this help me ? You can alter your pipes, 
 and give it any voicing you please ; but I cannot alter my 
 larynx, nor my tongue."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 1^5 
 
 " You are partly in the right, and partly wrong. It is 
 true, nature made your vocal organs, and you must accept 
 them as they are ; yet she has given you a certain amount of 
 control over them, and you can so place them as to make a 
 much sweeter, or a much louder tone. What I am endeavor 
 ing to show you is, that in studying vocal music you 
 must begin at the right place, and study to improve, mainly, 
 those parts over which you have the most control. I con 
 sider the teacher should, in the first place, instruct in 
 ' voicing,' just as we ' voice ' our pipes before we place them 
 in the organ, and attempt to get any music from them. 
 
 "These pipes," said he, taking them up, and putting 
 them back in the drawers, and talking meanwhile, "are 
 flue-pipes. They produce a tone by , thin sheet of wind 
 being driven through the narrow slits, called the ' wind- 
 way,' and as it strikes the sharp, upper lip it flutters to and 
 fro, and the column of air above it in the pipe is thrown 
 into action, and vibrates through its length vertically. That 
 vibration strikes the ear, and we call it sound. Do you 
 understand me? " 
 
 " Not wholly, sir. I suppose I shall in time, however 
 I understand the ' voicing ' readily, but I do not see why it 
 is that the air in the pipe should vibrate at all." 
 
 ' ' That is something I cannot explain now. I have 
 several books for you to read that will tell you more about 
 it than I can. You must not expect to grasp the whole 
 10
 
 146 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 subject at once. All these pipes I have shown you are 
 flue-pipes. Now let me show you a reed-pipe." 
 
 Taking from another drawer a small pipe having a 
 stouter and longer point, or foot, and above it a very narrow 
 pipe, with a bell-shaped top, he said : 
 
 " This pipe, as you see, has no mouth. The only open 
 ing is at the top of the pipe. It is made in two parts. I 
 will pull them apart and you can examine the inside." 
 
 One part consisted of a simple conical tube, and the other 
 was made like a cover to fit over it. A small pipe extended 
 through this cover, then upward a few inches, and termi 
 nated in a bell-shaped opening. When the two parts were 
 together, a part of the pipe extended down into the conical 
 foot, and in this part was a narrow opening, completely 
 closed by a thin strip or tongue of brass, called the reed. 
 A bit of iron wire extended through the cover, and having 
 one end coiled up against the reed. 
 
 " When this pipe is in position in the organ," said Mr. 
 Hookson, "the wind from the bellows rushes into the foot 
 of the pipe, and, finding no means of escape, attempts to pasa 
 through the opening under the reed. The reed shuts down 
 at once and closes the opening; but, being elastic, it flies 
 back again. The wind, still pressing on it, closes it again ; 
 the operation is repeated, the reed vibrates rapidly, and a 
 sound is produced. Sound is simply vibration of the air, 
 and in this case the reed beating backward and forward sets 
 the air in motion. The bent piece of wire- regulates the
 
 THE SOPRANO. 147 
 
 free length of the reed, so that we can govern the numher 
 of vibrations it makes in a second, and so give it a definite 
 pitch. The longer it is, the slower it beats ; the shorter, 
 the faster." 
 
 " Why, is pitch regulated by a definite number of vibra 
 tions?" 
 
 " Yes. This pipe is tuned to ' G in alt,' and the reed 
 makes just seven hundred and twenty beats in a second. 
 If it beat a less number of times, the pitch would be lower ; 
 if more, higher." 
 
 " Tell me more, sir. I am greatly interested." 
 
 "I cannot now. We must stick to one point, and not 
 branch off. What I wish to show you is the analogy 
 between this reed-pipe and the human voice. This reed 
 acts in the same manner as a larynx, and the pipe over it 
 reinforces the tone, just as the mouth and throat do." 
 
 " I understand you, sir ; but here you have but one reed, 
 and I saw two vibrating bodies in the doctor's laryngoscope." 
 
 " You are right there, yet the principle is the same. a 
 reed and a pipe over it. What I want to show you is, how 
 the pipe over the reed alters the quality of the tone, 
 making it louder, rougher, clearer, or trumpet like." 
 
 From the drawer he then brought forth three reed-pipes, 
 having differently shaped tops. One was long and slender, 
 another like a stumpy funnel, and the third was small at 
 the bottom ; but spread out wider and wider to the top. 
 Placing them on the voicing-table, he caused them to speak.
 
 148 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 Each gave the same pitch, but very different in juality. 
 One was clear and bright, another was like a clarion, and 
 the other had the rich, resonant clang of a loud and power 
 ful trumpet. 
 
 "There, Miss Ward, do you understand my meaning 
 now?" 
 
 " I think I do, sir," I replied, after a moment's thought. 
 " What you wish to show is, that the reed, like the larynx, 
 can change mainly in point of pitch ; but that the cavity of 
 the mouth, the lips, teeth, etc., are made to govern the 
 quality of the tone, and thereby produce a voice, sweet, 
 pure, rich, loud, soft, harsh, rough, pleasing or displeasing, 
 just as you may wish." 
 
 " Exactly. That is, as a general rule, if the reed is a 
 good one, or the larynx is in health. There is some fun in 
 teaching you, Miss Ward. You must come again a week 
 from to-day, and I will show you more. I must go now, as 
 I am busy." 
 
 As we walked back we passed the new organ, and I 
 noticed under each of the huge wooden pipes a small 
 handle. 
 
 " What are those handles for, sir ? " 
 
 " To regulate the amount of wind each pipe is to receive. 
 
 A little too much, or not enough, wind, would injure the 
 
 timbre of the tone. You must bear that little point in 
 
 lind. Too much, or not enough, air from your lungs,
 
 THE SOPRANO. 149 
 
 when driven into the larynx, may undo all your efforts to 
 obtain purity of tone." 
 
 " Oh, dear, sir, don't tell me any more. I am almost 
 bewildered already. ' ' 
 
 u Never you fear. Patience and a clear head are equal 
 to any task." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-day, Miss Ward ; " and the door closed behind me 
 as I stepped into the street again. 
 
 One week after, I again appeared at the factory, and 
 took another lesson. I became greatly interested in the 
 whole matter of sound. Mr. Hookson was indeed a friend, 
 and posted me in all the marvellous laws that govern sound, 
 reinforcement, overtones, tuning, sympathy, and a bewilder 
 ing multitude of other things. He drew on the wall, with a 
 bit of chalk, curious diagrams, showing the difference 
 between noise and music. Some of the drawings of pure 
 tones were beautiful. I wish I had time to tell you more ; 
 but I have not. There is one book recently published, that, 
 when I first read it, entertained me more than any novel I 
 ever read, " Tyndall on Sound." You must read it. 
 
 From that time my studies went on slowly, but success 
 fully. One day I visited the doctor, and another spent an 
 hour in the shades of the great factory. In fact, I became 
 quite at home there, and found many friends among the 
 workmen. They seemed delighted to have some one who 
 showed an interest in their work. They loved to talk of
 
 150 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 their work, and of the great instruments they built. Many 
 a time have I watched some splendid organ rise from day 
 to day, till it was finished. I have sat by the hour holding 
 the keys, while the tuner was at work high up among the 
 forest of pipes, and, when it was done, have played for visit 
 ors who called to examine the instrument. These things I 
 did, to show, as well as I could, my appreciation and grati 
 tude for all Mr. Hookson's kindness. When I reached the 
 close of my first quarter, I found I could not pay my bills 
 by just three dollars. I at once sold some of my jewelry, 
 left me by my mother, and paid up every bill. I had a 
 terrible fight with poverty the first few months. I reduced 
 my expenses to the last cent, and, as my father told you, 
 went many a day on a ten-cent dinner. Scholars did not 
 come to me as fast as I had wished ; I obtained two more ; 
 but when the summer came they all went out of town. At 
 last I broke down. A low diet, want of sufficient clothing, 
 and a sense of discouragement pulled me down. My pride 
 would not let me tell of my situation, and only my failing 
 strength caused Mrs. Sharp to question me, and at last, 
 wring the truth from me. She at once offered to lend me 
 some money, saying that I might pay it back at some future 
 time. I stoutly refused it, declaring that I never had been 
 in debt, and never would be. She then called the doctor, 
 and he insisted on my taking some money to aid me through 
 the summer, till my scholars should return. He offered me 
 one hundred dollars, with the understanding that I was to
 
 THE SOPRANO. 151 
 
 return it whenever I was able, and without interest ; but I 
 resolutely refused, preferring anything to debt. The next 
 day he found out, from Miss Sherwin, about the piano I was 
 trying to pay for, and that very day I received a receipted 
 bill for it, with a note, saying that he had paid the balance 
 of the bill, something like eighty dollars. (The day after 
 my first appearance in public life I paid it back, and was 
 out of debt once more.) The relief, and my improved 
 finances, enabled me to live better, and I soon regained my 
 health and spirits. 
 
 In the fall my pupils returned. For the next two years 
 I labored hard and patiently. Gradually my prospects 
 brightened. I obtained more scholars, and a better situa 
 tion as chorister. My life passed very much as I have 
 described. Practice, study, and lessons filled up my days. 
 I will not attempt a description of my life, but will skip 
 over, to the third winter of my residence in the city, just 
 before I began my public career. 
 
 In all these long months I never once saw my father or 
 Frank. I often received letters from the former, but of 
 the latter I heard not a word.
 
 152 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " SLEEP* as, WAKE! A VOICE is CALLING." St. Paul. 
 
 I HAD now attained to a safe and desirable position. A 
 comfortable home, easy and pleasant work, and not too much 
 of it; good society, many kind friends, and an income 
 sufficient for all my wants, instruction included. I ought to 
 have been satisfied, but was not. I wanted more ; that I 
 might call my father to me, and surround his later years 
 with a few comforts ; besides, I wished to lay up something 
 for a rainy day. The sum that I did lay one side each 
 month seemed very small. I waited long and patiently for 
 an opportunity to improve my affairs ; but it came not, and 
 I had about made up my mind to settle down to the quiet 
 life of a music-teacher, and expect nothing more. Young 
 girls often think, when disappointed in an early ambition, 
 that life has nothing more for them. Life is long, and a 
 world of events can be crowded into it, if we wait, labor, and 
 despair not. 
 
 One dark, winter afternoon, as I passed along the snowy 
 streets on my way home from a lesson, I began turning 
 over in my mind how I should spend the long, dull evening 
 alone in my room. As I passed, I noticed a street- 
 poster :
 
 THE SOPRANO. 153 
 
 "SUNDAY EVENING NEXT, 
 
 MENDELSSOHN'S ST. 'PAUL,' 
 With full chorus, orchestra, and eminent solo talent, etc., etc." 
 
 " How I wish I could go ; I should so like to hear St. 
 Paul.' Wonder what it costs? One dollar and a half. 
 Must not think of it. No doubt it would do me good, and I 
 should enjoy it greatly ; far more than hundreds of girls 
 who will go, and yet care little or nothing for it. Heigh 
 ho ! Wish I was rich, and did not have to count every 
 dollar." 
 
 AS I turned into our street, I observed a carriage at the 
 door. As this was not an unusual thing I did not hurry, 
 thinking it some of my rich patrons in search of me. They 
 could afford to wait, better than I to hasten, after a long 
 day's work. At the door, I was surprised to find Dr. 
 Sharp. 
 
 " Miss Ward ! I am glad you have come. I have 
 been running half over the city to find you. I want you to 
 go with me and sing before the the some friends. 
 Jump right in, please ; we may be in time yet." 
 
 " Please, doctor, let me change my things. I am not fit 
 to be seen anywhere." 
 
 " Yes, you are ; come right along. You will not meet 
 any one, only some gentlemen." 
 
 He opened the carriage-door, and almost thrust me in. 
 
 " But, doctor, at least let me brush my hair."
 
 154 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 " Never mind your hair. Drive on," said he, to the 
 coachman, then jumped in beside me, and away we went. 
 
 " Now, doctor, what does this mean? " 
 
 " Don't ask me. Keep quiet, and rest yourself and 
 your voice. I met a friend of mine, and he expressed a 
 wish to have you sing for him this evening. It is a good 
 chance for you, and may lead to something great." 
 
 "But, doctor" 
 
 " Don't say a word, pray. Keep quiet, and do just as I 
 bid you. I'll explain everything by and by." 
 
 In a few moments the carriage stopped, and we got out. 
 Going up a narrow court, we stopped before a huge door, 
 and rang the bell. 
 . "What place is this, doctor? " 
 
 " Don't talk, please, in this cold night air. Save your 
 voice." 
 
 Biting my lips with vexation at my want of discretion, I 
 relapsed into silence, and suffered the doctor to lead me 
 through the door, when it opened into a large, dark, and 
 cheerless entry-way, or corridor. The man who opened the 
 door for us held in his hand a flaring candle, that served to 
 make the gloomy place barely visible. 
 
 " Has he come ? " said the doctor. 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the man. "He is upstairs at the 
 organ." 
 
 "Good ! We will go right up there." 
 
 So the man with the light led the way, and we passed
 
 THE SOPRANO. 155 
 
 through the corridor, up a short flight of steps, and came to 
 a narrow double door, that parted for us at the slightest 
 pressure, and closed in silence behind us. If I had not 
 been standing on a soft mat, I should have said we had 
 stepped into the open air. "We seemed to be under the open 
 sky.. Our feeble light failed utterly to illumine the high 
 place we were in. I could make out the lengthening rows of 
 seats, extending rank behind rank, far off into the dark, 
 and nothing more. Not much time was allowed to see 
 anything, for the doctor pushed hastily on, as if quite at 
 home. A few more steps, and we came to a broad platform, 
 completely filled with a labyrinth of chairs, and music- 
 racks. On either side a steep amphitheatre of seats extended 
 up, almost out of sight. Discovering a light, we threaded 
 our way among the chairs, till we came to a gentleman 
 seated on a broad, wooden seat, with a gas jet burning beside, 
 him, and before him the four banks, and cloud of stops, of 
 a large organ. 
 
 " Mr. Woodford, Miss Ward. As we have no time to 
 lose, we will not stop for ceremony. Mr. Woodford wishes 
 to hear you sing, Miss Ward. Will you oblige him? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir. What shall I sing? " 
 
 " Here is the ' Messiah ; ' try that." 
 
 " Let's see," said Mr. Woodford. " Turn to ' I know 
 that my Redeemer.' That will do as well as anything." 
 
 As I took the book the doctor whispered in my ear, 
 " Do your best ; everything depends upon it."
 
 156 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 I nodded silently, and prepared to sing. 
 
 "Please not stand so near; go down to the front of the 
 
 " Where is that? I cannot see." 
 
 "I'll show you," said the doctor, taking the candle from 
 our guide. Leading the way, he conducted me to the end 
 of the wilderness of chairs, and stopped before the edge of a 
 black space. Instantly the organ began to play ; it seemed 
 quite near, almost over my head. As he played the pre 
 lude, I glanced around to see where we could be. By the 
 aid of the flaring yellow light, I managed to make out the 
 dim and shadowy outline of a vast hall. How it would 
 look when lighted I could not imagine. Well, the doctor 
 held the light, and I sang the aria as well as I could. When 
 about half way through, memories of the last time I sang 
 the piece came to me. Thoughts of my mother, of Frank, 
 and of our little church at Rockford, crowded my mind, 
 and, perhaps, tinged the music. No sooner had the last 
 note died away, than a sudden clapping of hands broke out 
 of the dark before me. 
 
 "What does this mean, doctor? I thought we were 
 alone. You have been playing me some trick." 
 
 '* Granted. A harmless one, however. Here come your 
 small and select audience." 
 
 Just then the confused noise of talking came towards us, 
 and four gentlemen stepped into the small circle of candle 
 light, and I was at once introduced to them. They all
 
 THE SOPRANO. 157 
 
 seemed greatly delighted at something, and were congratu 
 lating themselves over some good fortune. They were very 
 kind to me, and praised my singing far too much. Among 
 them was one man who seemed the ruling spirit of the 
 party, though the most silent, evidently the conductor. 
 He hardly spoke to me, merely saying, "You did very 
 well, Miss Ward." A queer group we made, the five gen 
 tlemen with their hats on, and me in an old hat and water 
 proof. I did not think of it at the time, being too much 
 surprised for such thoughts. The gentlemen still went on 
 talking among themselves, save one, a Mr. Loring, who, in 
 a few words, informed me that he desired me to sing at a 
 public performance the next Sunday evening, in that hall. 
 
 "What shall I sing?" 
 
 "I'll show you directly. Let me get a book. Have 
 you never sung in oratorio ? " 
 
 " Never, sir, nor can I. To-day is Friday, and how can 
 we rehearse in so short a time ? " 
 
 " One rehearsal with orchestra will be enough. It 
 takes place this evening; soon, I think," aaid he, looking at 
 his watch. ' ' Can you wait ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Take a chair, please, and I'll have them light up." 
 
 Thereupon I sat down in one of the chairs, near the gen 
 tlemen, who were still talking among themselves. In. a 
 moment or so a faint light spread itself over the place. It 
 seemed like the gradual coming of daylight in the morning;
 
 158 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 by the time it became light enough to read, further increase 
 of light ceased. Glancing up at the ceiling, I discovered 
 that a thin thread of gas lights, extending part way round 
 the end of the hall, were burning brightly. Just beyond 
 the edge of the stage it ceased, leaving the remainder of the 
 hall unlighted, and partially in the shade. I was glad to 
 see this, as it was evident no audience was expected. The 
 rehearsal was to be private. By the time the place was 
 lighted, sundry gentlemen began to come in and take seats 
 on the stage. All of them brought instruments. Evidently 
 we were to have an orchestra. I was delighted to see this, 
 I can assure you. If there is any one thing I admire, it is 
 an orchestra. Music finds its highest expression from a 
 well-trained orchestra. Much as I was pleased at the pros 
 pect, I did not fancy sitting there among those men, and in 
 my old hat and faded waterproof. However, Mr. Loring 
 soon returned, kindly apologized for his neglect, and offer 
 ing me another seat near the edge of the stage, by the con 
 ductor's stand, said, that, as they were pressed for time, I 
 had better wait where I was, and the rehearsal would at 
 once begin. He also informed me that Dr. Sharp had been 
 suddenly called away, and that a carriage would be in wait 
 ing for me after the rehearsal. Meanwhile the orchestra 
 were noisily tuning up, and preparing for work. 
 
 .In a few moments the conductor appeared, and brought 
 with him a lady and three gentlemen. They were severally 
 introduced to me, and then took seats beside me, facing the 
 great, ^mptv, gloomy hall.
 
 THE SOPRANO. 159 
 
 "Friends in misery," I called them. It seemed misery 
 to me to be sitting there, preparing to take part in a con 
 cert in forty-eight hours, and not even knowing what we 
 were to sing. I had been mentally making a list of the 
 arias I was familiar with, and was on the point of asking the 
 conductor if I might select for myself, when he placed a 
 music-book, open at page twenty, No. four Recitative, 
 in my hands, with the request that I rise and prepare to sing. 
 He evidently supposed that I was well acquainted with the 
 business in hand ; whereas, I was not. 
 
 "Are you ready? " 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 At once a low. rich chord streamed from the orchestra 
 behind me, and I found myself reciting the music before I 
 \new it. I had never sung with an orchestra before, and 
 aras astonished at the ease with which I did so. It was 
 utterly different from the accompaniment of a piano or 
 organ. More true, sustaining, and, to me, more exhilarat 
 ing. Having sung my ten bars of music, I sat down, and 
 two of the gentlemen took up the next measure. Almost 
 the first word of the piece I noticed, was the name 
 " Stephen." What is this ? Can it be ' St. Paul ' ? " 
 
 Turning back to the initial page, I discovered we were 
 singing from the Oratorio of St. Paul. " Can it be possi 
 ble that I am expected to appear in St. Paul next Sunday ? 
 It must be so, or I am greatly deceived." 
 
 I will not weary you with an account of this, my first,
 
 160 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 orch3stral rehearsal. I very quickly sang through the part 
 allotted to me, and then Mr. Loring escorted me to the 
 door, and ushered me into a carriage. As he closed the 
 door, he said : 
 
 " There will he a chorus rehearsal to-morrow evening ; 
 but you need not attend unless you wish. We shall expect 
 you to be ready for the carriage we shall send you, on Sun 
 day evening, at six o'clock. We are greatly obliged to you, 
 Miss Ward, for your kindness in singing for our society. 
 Good-night." 
 
 Before I could reply, he was gone. On reaching home, 
 I offered to pay the hackman; but he said he had been 
 paid already. Going to my room I laid off my battered 
 hat and faded waterproof, and sat down to think. At last 
 mine hour had come ; I was to appear in oratorio. If I 
 succeeded, my hopes and aspirations were filled, and my 
 fortune made. If I failed well with God's help I 
 would not fail. It were not possible he would desert 
 me, after bringing me through all these weary months of 
 labor and waiting. Tired and thankful, I sought my couch, 
 and soon fell asleep and dreamed "orchestra " all night. 
 
 I was up bright and early the next morning. There was 
 a world of things to be done. A suitable dress to prepare, 
 music to rehearse with Miss Sherwin, and a hundred other 
 things to do, in view of the great event. While waiting for 
 breakfast, I took up the morning paper. The first thing I 
 saw was an advertisement, the very sight of which took every
 
 THE SOPRANO. 161 
 
 particle of color from my face. "What does this mean ? 
 Oh, I must see Dr. Sharp at once ! " Without waiting for 
 a mouthful to eat, I seized my things, rushed into the street, 
 hailed a horse-car, and started, in all haste, to find Dr. 
 Sharp. Reaching his door, I rang, nervously. 
 
 "Is the doctor in?" 
 
 " No, miss." 
 
 " Let me see Mrs. Sharp, then, if you please." 
 
 I stepped into the parlor, and sat down to wait for her. 
 
 Presently a voice in the entry called me : 
 
 " Come right up, Miss Ward. I am in the children's 
 room. I am all impatience to hear about your good 
 fortune." 
 
 "Good fortune," said I, taking a seat on a low stool; 
 " it looks like it very. Please tell me all about it. I 
 cannot, and do not, understand a thing. I am not quite 
 sure whether I am awake or dreaming." 
 
 " Can't understand what ? " 
 
 " Why, look at that," said I, handing her the paper. 
 
 " TO-MORROW, SUNDAY EVENING, AT CONCERI QALL, 
 MENDELSSOHN'S 'ST. PAUL.' 
 
 SOLOISTS : 
 
 Soprano Signora Couchi. 
 
 Alto Miss Longdale. 
 
 Tenor Mr. Williams. 
 
 Basses Messrs. Jones and White. 
 
 Full chorus, etc., etc." 
 11
 
 1G2 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 Having read the above advertisement, she deliberately 
 laughed at me. 
 
 "You poor child, I do not wonder you were frightened. 
 Did you think they were playing you a trick? " 
 
 " I did not know what to think." 
 
 " Then you have not heard the news?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, the Couchi took it into her little head to demand 
 more pay. She wanted two hundred and fifty dollars. 
 The directors would not give her more than the usual sum 
 of one hundred and fifty, and she refused to sing. John 
 heard of it, and agreed to furnish a soprano on short notice; 
 you know the rest. If you look in to-night's papers, you 
 will see ' Soprano, Miss Julia Ward.' ' 
 
 " Oh ! " said I, much relieved. 
 
 "And now, ' Miss Julia Ward, Soprano,' what will you 
 wear?" 
 
 " My black silk ; that is plain and simple." 
 
 " Black, dear, what are you thinking of ? " 
 
 "I hardly know. My head aches dreadfully, and I am 
 so tired." 
 
 4 'Had your breakfast?" 
 
 " Not a mouthful." 
 
 " Goodness ! What a girl you are ! I see I must take 
 you in hand, and take care of you for the next twenty-four 
 hours. May I?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, if you like."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 163 
 
 In an instant little Milly was flying downstairs for hot 
 coffee and buttered toast. Another little one was despatched 
 with a note for the dressmaker to appear at once, and bring 
 with her two assistants and two machines. 
 
 " What do you intend to do ? " 
 
 " Buy, cut, and make you a dress. You may appear 
 ' plain and simple ; ' but not in black." 
 
 "But, Mrs. Sharp, you must not; indeed, you must 
 not. I really cannot afford the expense of a new dress." 
 
 " How about the one hundred and fifty dollars? " 
 
 " Well, dear, go on ; do as you please." 
 
 11 1 propose to. I am going to treat you as if you were 
 my own girl, about to make her first appearance. The 
 doctor will be delighted to help too ; he is tremendously 
 proud of you, and so am I. So will everybody be, to-mor 
 row night. There's a kiss for you. Now be good, and do 
 as I tell you." 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 " Mother, mother," said Milly, entering. " Here's the 
 coffee. May I have some too ? " 
 
 " Yes, chicken." 
 
 " Goody ! it's so nice."
 
 1C! THE SOPRANO. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "OH, GREAT IS THE DEPTH OP THE RICHES OF WISDOM AND 
 KNOWLEDGE OF THE FATHER ! " St. Paul. 
 
 I WENT to my usual choir rehearsal that evening, as if 
 nothing had happened. Either the other members of the 
 choir had not seen the evening papers, or else the adver 
 tisement had not been changed ; they did not allude to the 
 subject, except to say that all intended to go to the oratorio. 
 I did not inform them that I was to sing, preferring they 
 should find it out for themselves; besides, who could tell 
 how I should succeed ? 
 
 Sunday came and passed without unusual incidents. My 
 companions in the organ-loft did not discover the change in 
 the evening's programme until just at close of church, when 
 some of the people stopped me in the entry-way, and began 
 to congratulate themselves and me. I shook them off, as 
 politely as possible, and ran home as fast as I dared, on a 
 quiet Sunday afternoon. Reaching my room, I packed up 
 a few things, and soon after, Dr. Sharp's carriage arrived to 
 take me to his house. We had supper as soon as I arrived, 
 so as to have its effects well out of the way by seven o'clock, 
 and then came dressing. 
 
 At a quarter before six I was ready, and waiting in the
 
 THE SOPRANO. 165 
 
 doctor's parlor. I remember everything distinctly. My 
 dress was a very simple affair, of pale green silk, cut high, 
 and with but little trimming. I wore no jewelry, save a 
 single brooch at my throat. I have the dress still packed 
 away in one of my trunks. I keep it as a memento of my 
 first success in life. 
 
 At last the hour came. The great hall, brilliantly 
 lighted, was packed to repletion. The orchestra spread out 
 behind me, and back of them rose, tier above tier, the splen 
 did choir, five hundred strong. Over all towered the mighty 
 organ. Before them all, poor insignificant me ! To tell the 
 truth, I was thoroughly frightened. Could I fill the vast 
 space around me ? Would my voice be equal to the occa 
 sion ? Could I keep my place in the book, with all these 
 novel and distracting surroundings. These, and many other 
 alarming questions, rushed through my mind. I think if 
 it had not been for the reassuring presence, in the very front 
 seat, just at my feet, of Dr. and Mrs. Sharp, Miss Sher- 
 win, Mr. Hookson, and little Milly, I should have made a 
 perfect failure, from sheer stage fright. The other soloists 
 beside me sat as unmoved as statues, and gazed serenely at 
 the three thousand pairs of eyes before us, in a way I could 
 not understand. To my great relief the conductor soon 
 appeared, mounted his platform just beside me, and made a 
 profound bow to the audience. At once the confused mur 
 mur that brooded over everything died away, and a strange 
 (and to me painful) hush spread over all. Glancing up at
 
 166 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 the conductor, I beheld his uplifted baton, and his face 
 glowing with the fire of genius and inspiration. The baton 
 moved, and at once the slow chords of a sublime choral rose 
 from the subdued, but thrilling brass. In a moment fled all 
 my fears. I knew nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing, 
 save the orchestra. Soon the violins behind me woke up, 
 and joined the brass in stately measures. Directly the key 
 changed to A minor, and the time quickened. Rising 
 higher and louder, the orchestra swept along, gathering 
 force as it went. Growing tumultuous and stormy, the 
 entire band came in, filling all the air about me with stormy 
 waves of sound. In full, sad, minor chords, the overture 
 finally closed, and everything was quiet. 
 
 At once I heard the choir rise, though I could not see 
 them. In fitful, abrupt chords, the orchestra began again. 
 Suddenly from the dense mass broke one splendid shout : 
 "Lord!" again the orchestra stormed. Another and 
 richer vocal chord : " Lord ! " once more the orchestra 
 pealed. With full power the choir began :" Lord ! Thou 
 alone art our God, and thine are the heavens, the earth, and 
 mighty waters." After a page or two the sopranos and 
 altos jpened a fugue: "The heathen furiously rage, 
 Lord ! against thee and thy Christ." That passed, a soft, 
 sweet choral began : " Now behold, lest our foes prevail, 
 Lord ! grant to thy servants all strength and joyfulness, 
 that they may preach thy word." The words and music 
 fairly inspired me. " Yes, Lord ! grant to thy servant
 
 THE SOPRANO. 167 
 
 all strength and joyfulness, and if I cannot preach, at least, 
 I will sing thy word." These thoughts came to me, and 
 all fears were gone. 
 
 If the performance of this chorus inspired me, the next 
 fairly thrilled me. Subdued, rich and prayerful, it seemed 
 just suited to my case. I never knew before what it was to 
 hear a multitude of voices sing piano, and was not only 
 delighted, but, as I said, thrilled, by the music and words. 
 I remember them distinctly : 
 
 *' To God on high be thanks and praise, 
 
 Who deigns our bonds to sever; 
 His care our drooping souls, upraise, 
 
 And harm shall reach us never; 
 On him we rest, with faith assured, 
 Of all that live, the mighty Lord, 
 Forever and forever." 
 
 A burst of applause greeted the choir at this. It fright 
 ened me at first, not knowing what to make of such a noise. 
 As it died away, the conductor looked over the top of his 
 music-rack, smiled, and nodded for me to rise. Two of the 
 gentlemen rose, and I stood up beside them. Well, I 
 repeated my short recitative, the gentlemen theirs, and we 
 sat down just as the choir broke out again in that fierce, 
 wild chorus : " Now this man ceases not." As I sat down, 
 I glanced at my friends before me, and saw a queer scene 
 Mr. Hookson and the doctor were shaking hands, Mrs. 
 Sharp and Miss Sherwin were talking excitedly behind
 
 168 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 their programmes, while little Milly peeped over the top of 
 her fan with eyes brimful of happiness. Towards the close 
 of the chorus, the conductor beckoned, with his disenf ao-ed 
 
 * ' O O 
 
 hand, for me to rise again. Taking the pitch from the 
 closing chord, I recited the next piece : "And all they 
 that sat in council." In the second measure, the organ 
 came to my aid. Now, how could I help going right, with 
 such inspiring surroundings, and such an accompaniment ? 
 The music simply sang itself, or rather, recited itself. My 
 part over, the tenor soloist, in the character of "Stephen," 
 began softly and easily, that famous sermon set to music : 
 "Men, brethren, and fathers." But they would not hear 
 him, and the chorus broke out in rebellion. Like a sudden 
 storm the music rose in wild chords to loudest forte : 
 "Take him away Take him away. He shall perish." 
 Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the tenor reasserted itself. 
 All this while, I had been standing, knowing I should be 
 wanted at once. 
 
 Immediately I heard the violins take up the soft, airy 
 prelude of my first aria. How could I fail ? Were not the 
 streaming violins all about me singing the music, and 
 almost the very words of my song ? Then the conductor, 
 he would help me through anything. His mere presence 
 was an inspiration, and an assurance of success. How I 
 counted the measure of that quiet, dreamy prelude ! I was 
 determined to begin fair. No fear, however, for the con 
 ductor extended his disengaged hand before me, so that I
 
 THE SOPRANO. 169 
 
 could see it plainly. At the proper place the pliant fingers 
 bade me sing: "Jerusalem! Thou that killest the 
 Prophets ; thou that stonest them which are sent unto thee. 
 How often would I have gathered unto me thy children, 
 and ye would not, Jerusalem ! " 
 
 When I sat down, the audience went wild. I never saw 
 people act so. They applauded as if mad. There was no 
 occasion for such an uproar. I did not deserve any partic 
 ular credit. If I sang well, it was because I could not help 
 it. The violins, and the conductor's left hand, deserve all 
 the praise. They sustained me, and it told me just what to 
 do for every measure. When I was to sing piano, the 
 fingers spread out loosely; to sing louder, they became 
 rigid and more animated in their motions. To cease, they 
 closed, and all the while gave me the exact time. Besides, 
 the applause was not in good taste ; so much of it interrupted 
 the thread of the story. The short recitative that followed 
 was almost unheard. The next chorus could be heard plain 
 enough. 
 
 It was like a savage tempest. " Stone him to death ! 
 Stone him to death ! He blasphemed God ! He shall 
 perish ! Stone him to death ! " 
 
 Then came that exquisite recitative and choral, known as 
 " The Death of St. Stephen. " . 
 
 After that, the charming chorus : " Happy and blest 
 are they who have endurei."
 
 170 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 I took it all to myself. Had I not endured toil, hunger, dis 
 appointment and sorrow, and now had I succeeded. I knew 
 it, I felt sure of it. " Happy and blest " was I, indeed. 
 
 Then followed another recitative, and a long bass solo. 
 The singer did not win so much applause as I. Why, I 
 ouild not understand, except that he did not speak plainly. 
 But I was not a fair judge, being too near him. 
 
 Next the alto beside me rose to sing. The aria was 
 new to me, but charmed me quite. It seemed to be written, 
 both words and music, for me : 
 
 " But the Lord is mindful of his own, 
 He remembers his children ; 
 Bow down before him, 
 For the Lord is near as." 
 
 I could not help singing it over softly to myself, and 
 when she finished, I turned to her and thanked her for her 
 music, and for her correct rendering of it. 
 
 " Did it please you ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. It was well done." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad! I do try so hard; but then," said 
 she, suddenly, " who could help singing such music fitted to 
 those words?" 
 
 That alto young lady and I have been fast friends since 
 that night. 
 
 Next came that marvellous piece of writing known as
 
 THE SOPRANO. . 171 
 
 "The Conversion of St. Paul," followed by the inspiring 
 chorus, " Rise up and shine." 
 
 In pleasing contrast came that sweet, religious choral. 
 " Sleepers, wake ! a voice is calling." I recognized at once 
 the same strain that opens the overture. I took the words 
 and music to myself: 
 
 * Sleepers, wake ! a voice is calling; 
 Arise, and take your lamps, 
 His kingdom is at hand, 
 Go forth to meet your Lord." 
 
 This was followed by a bass solo and a chorus : 
 
 " The Lord, he is good ; 
 He shall dry all your tears 
 And heal all your sorrows." 
 
 Then the tenor and I had a short duet. I sang the words 
 at the close with all my heart: "I thank God, who has 
 made me free through Christ." Truly, I had every reason 
 to thank him, and I did, before them all, though but a few 
 understood me. 
 
 This over, the full chorus broke out in loud, exulting 
 strains. I could not keep quiet, but stood up and joine 1 
 them with heart and voice : " Oh ! great is the depth ol 
 the riches of wisdom, and knowledge of the Father." 
 
 This ended the first part, and I retreated with the rest ti
 
 172 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 the anteroom. In a moment they all came in, Miss Sher- 
 win, the doctor, and all. The gentlemen shook both my 
 hands at once, the ladies kissed me ; so did Milly, and so 
 did everybody. 
 
 " Just what we all expected, a great success." 
 
 " You deserve every congratulation." 
 
 " You have done me very great credit," said my teacher. 
 
 " You meant what you said in that last line, did you 
 not? " whispered Mrs. Sharp, in my ear. 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I did, indeed."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " HE, WATCHING OVER ISRAEL, SLUMBERS NOT NOR SLEEPS." Elijah. 
 
 FROM that day the Lord prospered me. Within two 
 months I found myself in possession of five hundred dollars, 
 clear cash, being my earnings as a public singer. I sent 
 for my father, and he has travelled and lived with me ever 
 since. 
 
 " Now, Julia," said I, " tell me, please, whatever be 
 came of your first friend, the organist? Did you ne y ver 
 meet him again in all your travels ? " 
 
 " Never. I have watched and looked for him these 
 years ; but he came not. I never once heard a word from 
 him, excepting a rumor that he went to the war in some 
 eastern regiment. Many a time have I looked for him, but 
 in vain. I thought I did not love him ; but I am afraid I 
 did." 
 
 "Why afraid, Julia? 'Perfect love casteth out 
 fear.' " 
 
 " Afraid that I have done wrong. I flung him one side, 
 because I thought he stood in my way. In these long
 
 174 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 years of toil and waiting, how he could have helped me 
 with his knowledge and sympathy ! I have thought that 
 perhaps my trials were a punishment for my harshness to 
 him." 
 
 " Do not think that. It is morbid and unnatural." 
 
 "I try not to, knowing, as I do now, that everything 
 that is, is for the best, if we but knew it." 
 
 "Yes, dear, that is very true. 'He, watching over 
 Israel, slumbers not nor sleeps.' ' 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that, Jane. I like the sen 
 timent, and like to hear you use the quotation. It brings to 
 mind, not only the words, but the music. I have quite a 
 store of quotations from the oratorios, that serve me in 
 need. The mere sound of the music brings up the senti 
 ment, and often a crowd of recollections and associations 
 that cluster round each strain. I never sing ' I know that 
 my Redeemer liveth,' without having my mother's face rise 
 before me. When I sing it in public, I always lose all 
 thought of self, and see once more our little church in 
 Rockford, and hear again Frank's organ. I have often 
 wondered, if somewhere in the audience I might not find 
 his face. Perhaps he would hear my voice, and recognize 
 the very tone and expression I then used, and perhaps he 
 would come to me and I should be happy." 
 
 " Do you still love him. dear? " 
 
 " I hardly know. Perhaps he has changed greatly. It 
 is a long time since we met. It may be he is dead."
 
 THE SOPRANO. 175 
 
 This she said, slowly and dreamily, gazing with wistful 
 eyes at the fire. For a few moments we were silent. Feel 
 ing restless and warm, I got up and wandered aimlessly 
 about the room, staring mechanically at the books and 
 pictures. Soon I came to the piano. On the rack was a 
 music-book. Opening it at random, I began to play. 
 J ulia recognized the music at once, and at the proper place 
 began to sing softly to herself, as she sat by the fire : 
 " He, watching over Israel, slumbers not nor sleeps." When 
 it reached the alto, I, too, joined in, and we went on singing 
 our parts, and giving the piano the bass and tenor. Though 
 she had her back to me, yet she sang on without mistake. 
 The music must have been very familiar to her. Suddenly 
 she stood upright, and, taking the tenor part, poured forth 
 the full power of her magnificent voice : " Should'st thou, 
 walking in grief, languish, he will quicken thee." 
 
 ' ' Jane, is it not glorious ? How could we fail to 
 believe those words, when fitted to such music? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, still playing on, ''all really great music 
 is sacred to me, and, when fitted to sacred words, it makes 
 for me a second Bible." 
 
 Soon I reached the last page of the chorus, and, standing 
 near me, she joined her voice with mine : "He slumbers 
 not nor sleeps." 
 
 " That is very true. Is it not ? " 
 
 "Yes, Julia, your story proves that. How could you
 
 176 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 have gone through all you did, if He had slumbered for 
 getting you?" 
 
 "If my story makes you helieve it, I'm glad I told it 
 you. Now, dear, when am I to have your story ? " 
 
 " Not this evening. See, it is almost ten. Livingston 
 will come for me soon." 
 
 " Livingston ! Who is he ? " 
 
 " My Frank." 
 
 "Have you a Frank?'" 
 
 " Yes. His name is Frank Livingston Grinnell. I am 
 engaged to him." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me before ? Truly, I am glad to 
 hear you are happy in that direction. I have wealth, 
 education, society, and a career. Yet I am not happy, not 
 having love too. We are so selfish, you know. We want 
 all the good gifts." 
 
 " Perhaps you will have them all in time. You may find 
 your Frank yet. If you should, and I think you will, I 
 shall want to see you, for if you were to sing, you would 
 astonish the world with the brilliancy of your music. Let 
 me see, what would you sing in that event? Oh, I 
 know : : Rejoice greatly ! ' 
 
 " No, dear ; not that. If so great a happiness were to 
 come to me, I should wish all the world to share my joy; 
 I should break forth into singing." 
 
 And she did, filling the room with that noble strain from
 
 THE SOPRANO. 177 
 
 the Hymn of Praise : " All that hath life and breath 
 sing to the Lord." 
 
 After a pause, she said, " Really, Jane, I wish you 
 could give me a part of your life history, as I have given 
 you mine." 
 
 " I do not think it would interest you much. It is not 
 half so entertaining as the story of Livingston's life experi 
 ence. He, like you, was passionately fond of music, but 
 could not make business and music agree, and therefore 
 continually fell into trouble. He was in a very deep slough 
 of despond, when I first met him ; but he did not stay there 
 long after that.'' 
 
 " And you were the dear good girl who helped him out, 
 were you not?" 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " It is just like you, Jane." 
 
 " Now, Julia, before I go, let me ask you one question. 
 What is the good of your story ? I could not go through 
 all that you did, nor would friends rise up to help me in 
 such a marvellous way. Is it not an impossible sort of a 
 theory of musical education you have advanced ? You 
 might compass it ; but can the common run of girls imi 
 tate you?" 
 
 "I could not say, not knowing the girls personally. 
 
 Borne could, others could not. I do know, however, that 
 
 perseverance, labor, patience, and a brave heart, if rightly 
 
 applied, are equal to anything. As for friends, those who 
 
 12
 
 178 THE SOPRANO. 
 
 are worthy of them always find them. I fancy it is almost 
 always our own fault if we do not prosper in life." 
 
 " What do you do with the lame or the lazy, like me? " 
 
 " If I were very wicked, I should say that ' the Lord is 
 ever mindful of them.' " 
 
 " I am surprised at your levity." 
 
 Just then she went to the bell, and gave it a pull, saying, 
 "Well, forgive me, dear. Now I am going to order a little 
 supper, and we will receive your friend with all the honors. 
 When he comes, let us, for once, forget that we are anything 
 but girls." 
 
 In a few minutes an elegant lunch appeared, and Living 
 ston arrived. He was soon introduced, and made to feel 
 quite at home. 
 
 The supper was splendid, and we had a royal good time. 
 My irrepressible nature burst all bounds, and I was very, 
 Tery jolly. 
 
 Livingston beamed upon us, like the fatherly young man 
 that he is, and Julia fairly shone, just like the brilliant 
 creature she is. 
 
 At eleven, the party broke up, and we took our departure. 
 At the door, Julia bade us good-night. 
 
 " Remember, Jane, the next time I come this way, you 
 are to tell me your story." 
 
 "Yes, dear, mine or some one else's. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 As wo passed down the hotel stairs we heard a piano, and
 
 THE SOPRANO. 179 
 
 some one singing. Pausing a moment to listen, we both 
 recognized the strain: "He, watching over Israel, slum 
 bers not nor sleeps." 
 
 So it was that God gave to us two girls different gifts, 
 music and love. 
 
 Which received the best gift? 
 
 God knows. 
 
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