to Dublin with only tu'pence in his
pocket; and I don't see why he should not be able to economize his parts
of speech like his pence, and travel through the French dictionary with
only one word of it!" Bob's "oui" was uttered, it is true, with every
possible variety of tone and expression. It was assent, conviction,
surprise, astonishment, doubt, and satisfaction, just as he uttered
it. So long debarred from all intercourse with strangers, it is not
improbable that my mother was perfectly satisfied with one who gave her
the lion's share of the conversation. She certainly seemed to ask for
no higher efforts at agreeability than the attention he bestowed, and
he often confessed that he could have sat for a twelvemonth listening to
her, and fancying to himself all the sweet things that he hoped she was
saying to him. Doubtless not ignorant of her success, she was determined
to achieve a complete victory, for after upwards of an hour speaking in
this manner, she asked him if he liked music. Should she sing for him?
The "oui" was of course ready, and without further preface she arose
and walked over to the pianoforte. The fascination which was but begun
before was now completed, for, however weak his appreciation of her
conversational ability, he could, like nearly all his countrymen, feel
the most intense delight in music. It was fortunate, too, that the
tastes of that day did not rise beyond those light "chansonettes," those
simple melodies which are so easy to execute that they are within the
appreciation of the least-educated ears.

Had the incident occurred in our own day, the chances are that some
passionate scene from Verdi, or some energetic outburst of despised love
or betrayed affection from Donizetti or Meyerbeer, had been the choice,
and poor Bob had gone away with a lamentable opinion of musical science,
and regret for the days when "singing was preferred to screeching."
Happily the ballad was more in vogue then than the bravura, and instead
of holding his ears with his hands, Bob felt them tremble with ecstasy
as he listened. Enjoying thoroughly a praise so heartily accorded, my
mother sung on, song after song: now some bold "romance" of chivalry,
now some graceful little air of pastoral simplicity. No matter what the
theme, the charm of the singer was over him, and he listened in perfect
rapture! There is no saying to what pitch of enthusiasm he might have
soared, had he felt the fascination of the words as h