h languages, by the way, when brought to the
test, a girl can ever talk, or at any rate so as to be understood.
What is the good of it all, I say, when you want to turn your hand to
making a little money? I felt quite angry the other day when, our cook
being ill, we had a woman in to take her place. Fifteen shillings a
week she made! She, who had had little or nothing spent on her
education, could yet make more shillings in a week than I could pence!
I began to wish I had been brought up as a scullery maid.

I can paint rather well, but what are the advantages of art compared
to those of cookery? Many and many a shop I went into, carrying
specimens of my talent, and asking the owners if they would employ me
to decorate their tambourines, bellows, &c. But no, they all had their
own especial artists, and were quite suited. It is such a dreadfully
humiliating business. At the first place I could have slain the man
for his impertinence in declining, and I left the shop with a haughty
mien and my head in the air. But I grew accustomed to it in time, and
even used to try a little persuasion, which, however, proved of no
avail. One man offered to exhibit my wares (I felt quite like a
peddler going his rounds), and through him I sold two tambourines.
Then who so proud as I? though my profits only came to a few
shillings. However small, the first taste of success is always
exhilarating, though indeed my confidence did not last long, for this
was my first and last experience of money-making in the painting line.

I used to search the sale and exchange columns of the papers, and
found once that someone wanted music transposed. I wrote directly
offering my services, and charging a shilling per piece or song. For a
wonder I was successful, for the person answered, asking for a
specimen of my skill, which she was pleased to say would do very well.

How her letters used to amuse me! She must have been a rather
incapable singing mistress I think. Her letters though properly spelt
were written in an uneducated hand, and she addressed me as if I were
a servant. She used to give me very little time in which to transpose
her songs, and insisted on their being finished when she wanted them.
Sometimes I was quite tired out, for copying music is not a thing to
be done in a hurry.

Somehow, our negotiations did not last long. Whether I grew careless,
or she found others to do the work cheaper, I do not know, but she
suddenly withdrew her c