allowed by even the most unappreciative of the girls. There was a joyous lilt and a true melody about them that put them high in the rank of composition, and the accompaniments played with Fräulein's delicate touch were harmonious and suitable. The words, unfortunately, were childish in the extreme, and more fit for youngsters of five than girls of eleven to fourteen. Even the members of the Lower Third turned up supercilious noses. They were further marred by Fräulein's accent, and when she unctuously rendered
"Hush, my baby, sweetest, best,
Little mousie's gone to rest",
as
"Hosh, my baby, sveetest, best,
Leetle moozie's gone to rest",
a ripple of mirth passed round the class.
Having gone through one or two as specimens, Fräulein selected the lullaby and set the girls to work at it. I am afraid that, instead of doing their best, they only sang in mockery. Fiona Campbell made a pretence cradle of her arm, and rocked it for Mary Parsons' benefit; and Gipsy put an amount of sham sentiment into her execution calculated to convulse the others. At the end of the lesson the class trooped away in a state of frank rebellion.
"Really, this is too much!" protested Dilys Fenton. "We can't be expected to sing her silly songs."
"It's just baby nonsense!" exclaimed Norah Bell.
"The music's pretty," said Joyce Adamson.
"Oh, yes, the music—but look at the words!" scoffed Gipsy, turning over the pages of the new copies. "Did
