on her knees; he exhausted his best stock of
"gomblimends," and she never seemed disposed to receive them with
anything but laughter. And, as a matter of course, he only grew more
infatuated with the lovely creature who was so provokingly good-humoured
and so laughingly cruel.

Benjamin Baroski was one of the chief ornaments of the musical
profession in London; he charged a guinea for a lesson of three-quarters
of an hour abroad, and he had, furthermore, a school at his own
residence, where pupils assembled in considerable numbers, and of that
curious mixed kind which those may see who frequent these places of
instruction. There were very innocent young ladies with their mammas,
who would hurry them off trembling to the farther corner of the room
when certain doubtful professional characters made their appearance.
There was Miss Grigg, who sang at the "Foundling," and Mr. Johnson,
who sang at the "Eagle Tavern," and Madame Fioravanti (a very doubtful
character), who sang nowhere, but was always coming out at the Italian
Opera. There was Lumley Limpiter (Lord Tweedledale's son), one of the
most accomplished tenors in town, and who, we have heard, sings with
the professionals at a hundred concerts; and with him, too, was Captain
Guzzard, of the Guards, with his tremendous bass voice, which all the
world declared to be as fine as Porto's, and who shared the applause of
Baroski's school with Mr. Bulger, the dentist of Sackville Street, who
neglected his ivory and gold plates for his voice, as every unfortunate
individual will do who is bitten by the music mania. Then among
the ladies there were a half-score of dubious pale governesses and
professionals with turned frocks and lank damp bandeaux of hair under
shabby little bonnets; luckless creatures these, who were parting with
their poor little store of half-guineas to be enabled to say they were
pupils of Signor Baroski, and so get pupils of their own among the
British youths, or employment in the choruses of the theatres.

The prima donna of the little company was Amelia Larkins, Baroski's own
articled pupil, on whose future reputation the eminent master staked his
own, whose profits he was to share, and whom he had farmed, to this end,
from her father, a most respectable sheriff's officer's assistant, and
now, by his daughter's exertions, a considerable capitalist. Amelia is
blonde and blue-eyed, her complexion is as bright as snow, her ringlets
of the colour of straw,