I could pitch any notes, and I was clear but I was always ornamenting, and what I want is to be an accurate singer.

My music-master was a German--not an Austrian--oh, no!--I'm sure he was not.

At least, I don't think so, for I liked him.

He was harsh with me, but sometimes he did stretch his fingers on my head, and turn it round, and say words that I pretended not to think of, though they sent me home burning.

I began to compose, and this gentleman tore up the whole sheet in a rage, when I showed it him; but he gave me a dinner, and left off charging me ten shillings--only seven, and then five--and he gave me more time than he gave others.