I faltered, and looked down; but my friend answered for me. Sing now,' said my father peremptorily.

I felt as if I could not utter a note, if I were to be killed for it the next moment; but the gentleman saw my embarrassment, and kindly whispered some words of praise and encouragement in my ear. I began the air I had last been singing; but, alas! at the fourth or fifth bar, my voice and memory failed; I trembled, stopped, and burst into a passion of tears.

Pooh,' said my father contemptuously, 'the child can't sing. She has no more voice than my cat.'

The driving wind and rain beat pitilessly that night against my chamber-window, as I lay shivering upon my little bed, and sobbed myself to sleep.

II.

I know not how it happened, but my father shortly after this discovered that I could sing. I imagine that he must have listened at the doors, and returned to the house some time or other in the middle of the day to do so; for I soon, alas! had a terrible proof of his confidence in my powers.

It might have been perhaps three weeks after Mr Grimaldi's visit, when the following events took place :

I had a

It was winter-time. My father was out as usual. scanty fire burning in the grate, which the old woman who waited on the lodgers from time to time replenished. I never was permitted to have a candle, so I used to sit singing, or strumming on the old clavecin by the faint firelight, till I felt tired or sorrowful enough to go up stairs to bed. This night I happened to be very weary, so I raked the ashes out somewhat earlier than usual, crept up softly to my room, and soon fell into a profound and dreamless sleep.

I might have been there some three or four hours, when I was roused by a heavy hand laid upon my shoulder, and a bright light before my eyes.

Alice,' said a stern loud voice; Alice, get up directly!'

I was so terrified and confused, that I scarcely understood a word; I did not even know where I was, and I began to cry.

Do

'Stop that noise, child,' said my father in a deep smothered voice that I used to dread; 'get up and dress directly. you hear? Be quick!' And giving me a parting shake, with a half-uttered threat, he laid the candle down, and left the

room.

Breathless, weeping, and frightened, I obeyed his directions. The night was very cold, and seemed to pierce through me on leaving my warm bed. I strove to wash the traces of tears from my cheeks, and glanced at the window. All without was intensely black, and a thick mist was drizzling against the panes. I heard my father's step upon the stairs.

Are you ready?' asked the imperious voice.

I was ready; so I went down stairs, and there I found myTMTM father and another person. The stranger was a large man with a red, cross face, and a coarse voice; and I felt afraid of him.

Is this the child?' said he. 'She's very small.'

'So much the better, sir,' said my father; the greater wonder.' 'What may be her age now?' asked the stranger.

'Six or seven, I suppose,' replied my father with an odd smile; 'but we'll call it five, Mr Smith, or four if you like best. No one will be likely to search the register.'

And then they both laughed; but I was ready to cry again, for I felt so apprehensive. I believe my fears were chiefly that I was going to be sold and carried away, so mere a child was I then!

Well, Hoffmann, let's hear her first,' said the stranger when he had done laughing.

Sing a song, Alice,' said my father; and mind, if you behave now as you did the other day, I'll turn you out of doors into the street!'

The alarm which this threat occasioned me had the effect of giving me a sort of desperate courage. I sang, I know not what; but the stranger nodded his head and rubbed his hands, and my father, instead of scolding me, began talking earnestly with him in an under-tone for some minutes.

Then it is settled, Smith,' said my father triumphantly; ' and. when shall we begin?'

'No time like the present,' said Mr Smith: 'let her begin to-night.'

"To-night!' exclaimed my father; but it's past eleven!'

'No matter they never go till three or four in the morning.' 'Put on your bonnet, child,' said my father; ' we are going out.' O how wet, and cold, and slippery it was out in the dark streets! Not a shop was open-scarcely a creature stirring, save now and then a solitary watchman. I remember that dreadful night as well as if it were yesterday: the standing pools of water in the pavement—the long dark streets-the pale flickering oil-lampsthe misty rain that clung to my hair, and wet my clothes nearly through-the cold raw wind, and the coaches that once or twice rattled past us on the way. It was a long, long distance that we went-down so many streets and turnings that my limbs ached, and I thought we never should arrive. Then we crossed a long bridge over a broad bright river, with the rain misting down upon the water, and stopped at last before the door of a large shop, with all its shutters closed, and a lamp hanging outside. Mr Smith knocked heavily upon the door, and a sleepy-looking man opened it and admitted us. The moment we were inside, I heard a great noise of people talking and laughing, a jingling of glasses, and a sound like beating upon wood.

'Alice,' said my father, stooping down and putting his lips close to my ear, 'you are going to sing presently. Do your best,

and you shall have a doll; break down, and'more, but his voice and look were enough.

He said no In another moment I found myself in a room full of company, and brilliantly lighted. At first, the noise, the heated atmosphere, the glare, the clouds of tobacco-smoke, and the terror I experienced, deprived me of all powers of observation; but when some moments had elapsed, I began to look round and examine the features of my audience. My father had taken a seat near the end of the table, and I was placed beside him. Mr Smith was a long way off at the head of the table, and his appearance was welcomed with a great thumping and the rattle of glasses. All the company consisted of men, and most of them looked merry and good-natured.

Then Mr Smith stood up, and said something about my father, and a great deal about me, and I was called upon to sing. I distinctly recollect an old gentleman lifting me up, and placing me standing on a chair, that I might be seen and heard. In doing so, he found how cold and wet I was, and gave me something to taste out of his glass. Whatever it was, it did me good at the time; the faces around me looked smiling and pleasant, and I sang as well as I could. Then there was such a shouting and jingling and clapping, that I was almost_frightened at first, and thought the gentlemen were angry; but I found, instead, that they wanted another song. Then I sang again, and, having another sip from my friend's tumbler, felt very merry and warm indeed, and became quite happy. I do not know how many times I could have sung that night, but at last my father said I should not go on any longer, and I was carried into another room, and laid upon a sofa, with a covering of heavy coats to keep me warm, where I soon fell sound asleep. Almost all the gentlemen had given me money when I was taken away, and many had kissed and me, said: Good-night, little one;' and my heart was lighter and my pocket heavier than I had ever known either before.

seems

The next morning, very early, my father took me home, and at night we went again. He was now kinder to me in his manner, though I was not permitted to keep the money I nightly received in the way of presents; and I never had the doll. I cannot tell how long I continued to sing at the tavern. The first night burnt into my memory, with its hopes and fears, griefs and pleasures; but of the succeeding evenings my recollection is very imperfect. They seem all blended confusedly together; but I imagine, from the seasons of the year, that I must have been in the regular habit of going there for at least six months, when an event occurred that changed the whole course of my life.

It was summer-time. I was at home in the middle of the day, when Mr Grimaldi, whom I had never seen since the first time he came, entered the room abruptly, and sat down beside me. 'Little Alice,' said he, and his kind face was pale and troubled, 'you must put your bonnet on and come out with me,'

I timidly said that I dared not, for I had to go out with my father at night.

'Ah, yes I know-poor child, poor child,' he muttered; 'what a life-what degradation!-But, indeed, you must come, Alice,' he continued; I am going to take you to my house, and we have no time to lose.' I longed to go with him; but I was afraid my father would be angry.

'No, Alice,' he replied very gravely, and kissing my forehead, 'your father will not be angry, my child.'

So I went. There was a chaise at the door into which he lifted me, and then drove rapidly away. As we turned the corner of the street, I saw a crowd coming along, surrounding four watchmen, who were carrying what seemed to me to be a sleeping man upon a narrow board; but Mr Grimaldi laid his hand suddenly over my eyes, and I felt the hand tremble. When he removed it we were in another street, and the crowd had disappeared. I asked him why he did so; but he made no reply. We then went along through many streets and roads, out into the country, among green fields, and lanes, and cottages, to a pretty house, where a lady came out and welcomed us. She seemed surprised at seeing me, but her husband whispered in her ear, and then she kissed me too, and took me into the garden, and seemed very kind, but very sorry for me; and that I could not understand. I was very happy indeed, and delighted with everything I saw; but every moment I dreaded to hear my father's angry voice inquiring for me, and this fear damped all my enjoyment.

But I never heard that voice in praise or blame again. My father was not angry with me for going away with Mr Grimaldi into the green fields, for he was dead, and that was his body I had seen borne along the streets, on its way home from the theatre, where he had expired.

III.

Although my father had never shewn me affection, I was as much grieved at hearing of my loss as any child can be that does not understand the meaning of that strange word-death. But Mr and Mrs Grimaldi were such kind and gentle friends, that I fear I soon forgot him. At first, too, I am ashamed to say, I regretted the nightly excitement of the tavern--the cakes, the presents, the applause.

Mrs Grimaldi was the first to discover how utterly ignorant I was; and I often heard her speaking with her husband on the subject. One day when he came home after a morning rehearsal at Drury Lane, he called me to him, and taking me upon his knee, said: Little Alice, you are going to school.'

'Away from here?' I cried in terror, for I was perfectly happy now, and never wished to leave my adopted home."

'Yes, Alice,' said he kindly; 'a long way from here. Don't cry, my darling; people must learn to read and write; and I have been speaking about you at the theatre among your poor father's old friends, and they have all offered to pay for your going to a beautiful school, where music is taught, and where you will learn to make good use of that pretty voice of yours, little Alice. Don't cry, Alice'-for I was sobbing as if my heart would break. "You will be very happy, Alice, for there are many learners in this school, all of whom will be players and singers by and by; and so will you; and it is in a beautiful country called Germany.'

'But can't I come and see you every Sunday, Mr Grimaldi?' said I, clasping my arms about his neck, and weeping still. My friend laughed, and told me that it was impossible, for Germany was a great way off across the sea; and then he told me about the vineyards and castles, and the river Rhine; and soon made me forget my grief at the prospect of departure.

However, when the time came that I must go, I was almost distracted with sorrow. I was taken in a coach from Finchley, where Mr Grimaldi lived, back to London, and through some dirty streets to a dark gloomy wharf, where was a trading-vessel, with its busy sailors, bales of goods, and thronging porters crowding all the deck. My kind friend put me on board, kissed me a great many times, and with tears in his eyes bade me farewell.

I was very unhappy; and when we set sail, very ill. I remember lying in my berth, and crying for grief and sickness through many days and nights. At length the motion of the ship grew less uneasy, and one morning, when I awoke, the vessel was quite still. We had arrived at Rotterdam.

There was a great noise on board, for the vessel was unlading; and when I ventured up on deck, the captain told me rather gruffly that I had better keep down in the cabin till he could take me on shore. Once a gentleman, with an account-book in his hand and a pen behind his ear, came down and asked me what I was doing there, and if I were not going to my friends on shore. And I cried, and said I did not know. So he looked at the direction on my box.

'Schwartzenfelden!' he exclaimed; 'why, that is a long way from here, little traveller. Who is to take care of you across the country? But I could only say I did not know; so he shrugged his shoulders, and walked away again.

By and by the captain came down for me, and we went across a plank on a large quay, where there were a great many people, and more bales of goods, and sailors, and warehouses, and cranes, and high houses, and a city with steeples, and a river, and ships, and a confusion of voices all speaking a strange tongue, so that was quite frightened, and clung to the captain's hand. Then he took me to a tavern, where we dined, with a number of other people, at a long table; and he told me it was a table d'hôte; but I did not know what that meant, unless it had something to do