Never had Lucy, who was not a shy girl,--she was too innocent to be bashful,--felt nervous hitherto in singing before a stranger; but now she hesitated and faltered, and went through a whole series of little natural affectations before she complied with the request.

She chose a song composed somewhat after the old English school, which at that time was reviving into fashion.

The song, though conveying a sort of conceit, was not, perhaps, altogether without tenderness; it was a favourite with Lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran thus:-- LUCY'S SONG.
Why sleep, ye gentle flowers, ah, why, When tender eve is falling, And starlight drinks the happy sigh Of winds to fairies calling?
Calling with low and plaining note, Most like a ringdove chiding, Or flute faint-heard from distant boat O'er smoothest waters gliding.
Lo, round you steals the wooing breeze; Lo, on you falls the dew! O sweets, awake, for scarcely these Can charm while wanting you! Wake ye not yet, while fast below The silver time is fleeing?
O heart of mine, those flowers but show Thine own contented being.
The twilight but preserves the bloom, The sun can but decay The warmth that brings the rich perfume But steals the life away.
O heart, enjoy thy present calm, Rest peaceful in the shade, And dread the sun that gives the balm To bid the blossom fade.
When Lucy ended, the stranger's praise was less loud than either the doctor's or his lady's; but how far more sweet it was! And for the first time in her life Lucy made the discovery that eyes can praise as well as lips.

For our part, we have often thought that that discovery is an epoch in life.
It was now that Mrs.Slopperton declared her thorough conviction that the stranger himself could sing.

He had that about him, she said, which made her sure of it.
"Indeed, dear madam," said he, with his usual undefinable, half-frank, half-latent smile, "my voice is but so-so, and any memory so indifferent that even in the easiest passages I soon come to a stand.