ls have I
known in Europe embarking upon the expensive and dreadfully laborious
preparation for an operatic career, without possessing a single one of
the qualifications necessary to success, without even an adequate, to
say nothing of an unusual, voice! Their singing of "Because I love you!"
has been the admiration of their local circle, even less musical than
themselves, and this little success has been enough to start them on a
career, doomed to certain failure. If they had only tried for church
positions in a large city in America, had competed in the open market of
their own country, they would have been saved a heartbreak and much good
money besides.

I won a $1000 position almost at once, over the heads of many older and
more experienced competitors, on the merits of my voice alone. The
salary was my financial salvation, but, besides this, my general
musicianship was much improved by the practice in sight-reading and
_ensemble_ singing. I grew used to facing an audience, and found a
chance to put into use what I learned in my singing lessons. Blessed be
the quartet choir of America, say I; an invaluable institution for the
musical sons and daughters of our country.

The church in which I sang had many wealthy members, and the
dress-parade on Sundays used to be quite a sight. Our place, as choir,
was directly facing the congregation, in a little gallery, so that our
hats and dresses were subjected to very searching scrutiny. The
furnishing of suitable garments for such an exalted position became
quite a problem. The soprano was a well-known singer, who, in addition
to a good salary, had many concert and oratorio engagements; and her
furs and ostrich feathers were my despair. I would sit up half the night
to cover a last-year's straw hat with velvet. I made an endless
succession of smart blouses which, as we were hidden below the waist by
the railing, I wore with the same "utility" black broadcloth skirt. I
constructed the most original collars and jabots for them out of odds
and ends.

I remember one was made of a packet of silver spangles sewn in rows
overlapping each other like fish scales. One of my engagement presents
had been a silver mesh bag, and when I wore it at my belt, and the
collar round my neck, the choir used to call me "Mrs. Lohengrin." As we
took off our outdoor wraps to sing, my smartness in the gallery was
assured, but the cleverest manager can't contrive at home a substitute
for furs, and t