with me; for knowing that failure is inevitable, rather than
fight against destiny I give up _de bonne grace_. Originally, I was
said to have a talent for the piano, as well as Miriam. Sister and Miss
Isabella said I would make a better musician than she, having more
patience and perseverance. However, I took hardly six months' lessons
to her ever so many years; heard how well she played, got disgusted
with myself, and gave up the piano at fourteen, with spasmodic fits of
playing every year or so. At sixteen, Harry gave me a guitar. Here was
a new field where I would have no competitors. I knew no one who played
on it; so I set to work, and taught myself to manage it, mother only
teaching me how to tune it. But Miriam took a fancy to it, and I taught
her all I knew; but as she gained, I lost my relish, and if she had not
soon abandoned it, I would know nothing of it now. She does not know
half that I do about it; they tell me I play much better than she; yet
they let her play on it in company before me, and I cannot pretend to
play after. Why is it? It is _not_ vanity, or I would play, confident
of excelling her. It is not jealousy, for I love to see her show her
talents. It is not selfishness; I love her too much to be selfish to
her. What is it then? "Simply lack of self-esteem" I would say if
there was no phrenologist near to correct me, and point out that
well-developed hump at the extreme southern and heavenward portion of
my Morgan head. Self-esteem or not, Mr. Phrenologist, the result is,
that Miriam is by far the best performer in Baton Rouge, and I would
rank forty-third even in the delectable village of Jackson.

And yet I must have some ear for music. To "know as many songs as
Sarah" is a family proverb; not very difficult songs, or very beautiful
ones, to be sure, besides being very indifferently sung; but the tunes
_will_ run in my head, and it must take _some_ ear to catch them.
People say to me, "Of course you play?" to which I invariably respond,
"Oh, no, but Miriam plays beautifully!" "You sing, I believe?" "Not
at all--except for father" (that is what I used to say)--"and the
children. But _Miriam_ sings." "You are fond of dancing?" "Very; but I
cannot dance as well as Miriam." "Of course, you are fond of society?"
"No, indeed! Miriam is, and she goes to all the parties and returns
all the visits for me." The consequence is, that if the person who
questions is a stranger, he goes off satisfied that "th