Surely, now, if I say to you such delicate words as these, which Spenser gave to that “noble and virtuous gentleman, most worthy of all titles, both of learning and chivalry, Master Philip Sidney,” you cannot but listen complacently. * * * * * When about twelve or thirteen years of age, I was placed at the fashionable establishment of Madame Lalande, to perfect my French pronunciation. Being a shy child, I drew away from the different cliques of the school, during my play hours, and gave myself up to sad recollections of home and my darling little brothers and sisters. The girls laughed at me, and called me “a mope,” which served only to increase my shyness. The Madame was exceedingly kind to me; but I only saw her in the evening, when we all assembled in the large drawing-rooms to dance, promenade, and converse sociably together under her superintendence. A few evenings after my arrival, while I was studiously endeavoring to make my _petite_ figure still smaller, by hiding behind a harp-case which stood in a corner of the back drawing-room, to my exquisite terror, I saw the Madame approach me, holding by the hand a beautiful child, apparently about my own age. “Mademoiselle Duval,” she said, “you must join in the dancing. You and my niece, Lolah, are about the same size; you will make good partners for each other. Lola, _ma chère_, I depend upon you to entertain our new pupil.” The little girl approached me kindly, and taking my trembling hand, said, “Will you not dance with me?”