My music was honestly come by, from both sides of the house. When the family moved north to New England and settled in Birmingham, Connecticut,--it is called Derby now--my father and mother played in the little town choir, he a flute and she the organ. They were both thoroughly musical people, and always kept up with musical affairs, making a great many sacrifices all their lives to hear good singers whenever any sort of opportunity offered. As for my maternal grandmother--she was a woman with a man's brain. A widow at twenty-three, with no money and three children, she chose, of all ways to support them, the business of cotton weaving; going about Connecticut and Massachusetts, setting up looms--cotton gins they were called--and being very successful. She was a good musician also, and, in later years, after she had married my grandfather and was comfortably off, people begged her to give lessons; so she taught _thorough-base_, in that day and generation! Pause for a moment to consider what that meant, in a time when the activity of women was very limited and unrecognised. Is it any wonder that the granddaughter of a woman who could master and teach the science of _thorough-base_ at such a period should be born with music in her blood? [Illustration: =Lydia Atwood= Maternal Grandmother of Clara Louise Kellogg] My other grandmother, my father's mother, was musical, too. She had a sweet voice, and was the soprano of the church choir. Everyone knew I was naturally musical from my constant attempts to sing, and from my deep attention when anyone performed on any instrument, even when I was so little that I could not reach the key-board of the piano on tip-toe. That particular piano, I remember, was very old-fashioned--one of the square box-shaped sort--and stood extremely high. One day my grandmother said to my mother: "I do believe, Jane, if we lifted that baby up to the piano, she could play!" Mother said: "Oh, pshaw!" But they did lift me up, and I did play. I played not only with my right hand but also with my left hand; and I made harmonies. Probably they were not in any way elaborate chords, but they _were_ chords, and they harmonised. I have known some grown-up musicians whose chords didn't! I was three then, and a persistent baby, already detesting failure. I never liked to try to do anything, even at that age, in which I might be unsuccessful, and so learned to do what I wanted to do as soon as possible. My mother was gifted in many ways. She used to paint charmingly; and has told me that when she was a young girl and could not get paint brushes, she made her own of hairs pulled from their old horse's tail.