Make so bold, sir, but what's your charge ?" "I charge nothing.

Five minutes' talk with an honest man will pay me." "Hum: if you'd a let me pay you, sir, well and good; but I maunt take up your time for nought; that's not fair." However, Claude prevailed, and in ten minutes he had all the sailors on the quay round him; and one after another came forward blushing and grinning to be "taken off." Soon the children gathered round, and when Valencia and Major Campbell came on the pier, they found Claude in the midst of a ring of little dark-haired angels; while a dozen honest fellows grinned when their own visages appeared, and chaffed each other about the sweethearts who were to keep them while they were out at sea.
And in the midst little Claude laughed and joked, and told good stories, and gave himself up, the simple, the sunny-hearted fellow, to the pleasure of pleasing, till he earned from one and all the character of "the pleasantest-spokenest gentleman that was ever into the town." "Here's her ladyship! make room for her ladyship!" But Claude held up a warning hand.

He had just arranged a masterpiece,--half-a-dozen of the prettiest children, sitting beneath a broken boat, on spars, sails, blocks, lobster-pots, and what not, arranged in picturesque confusion; while the black-bearded sea-kings round were promising them rock and bulls-eyes, if they would only sit still like "gude maids." But at Valencia's coming the children all looked round, and jumped up and curtsied, and then were afraid to sit down again.
"You have spoilt my group, Miss St.Just, and you must mend it!" Valencia caught the humour, regrouped them all forthwith; and then placed herself in front of them by Claude's side.
"Now, be good children! Look straight at me, and listen!" And lifting up her finger, she began to sing the first song of which she could think, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers." She had no need to bid the children look at her and listen; for not only they, but every face upon the pier was fixed upon her; breathless, spell-bound, at once by her magnificent beauty and her magnificent voice, as up rose, leaping into the clear summer air, and rolling away over the still blue sea, that glorious melody which has now become the national anthem to the nobler half of the New World.

Honour to woman, and honour to old England, that from Felicia Hemans came the song which will last, perhaps, when modern Europe shall have shared the fate of ancient Rome and Greece! Valencia's singing was the reflex of her own character; and therefore, perhaps, all the more fitted to the song, the place, and the audience.
It was no modest cooing voice, tender, suggestive, trembling with suppressed emotion, such as, even though narrow in compass, and dull in quality, will touch the deepest fibres of the heart, and, as delicate scents will sometimes do, wake up long-forgotten dreams, which seem memories of some antenatal life.
It was clear, rich, massive, of extraordinary compass, and yet full of all the graceful ease, the audacious frolic, of perfect physical health, and strength, and beauty; had there been a trace of effort in it, it might have been accused of "bravura:" but there was no need of effort where nature had bestowed already an all but perfect organ, and all that was left for science was to teach not power, but control.

Above all, it was a voice which you trusted; after the first three notes you felt that that perfect ear, that perfect throat, could never, even by the thousandth part of a note, fall short of melody; and you gave your soul up to it, and cast yourself upon it, to bear you up and away, like a fairy steed, whither it would, down into the abysses of sadness, and up to the highest heaven of joy; as did those wild and rough, and yet tenderhearted and imaginative men that day, while every face spoke new delight, and hung upon those glorious notes,-- "As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of sparkling, and foaming, and murmuring wine"-- and not one of them, had he had the gift of words, but might have said with the poet:-- "I have no life, Constantia, now but thee, While, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with melody.
Now is thy voice tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in a trance upborne, Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.
Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight." At last it ceased: and all men drew their breaths once more; while a low murmur of admiration ran through the crowd, too well-bred to applaud openly, as they longed to do.
"Did you ever hear the like of that, Gentleman Jan ?" "Or see?
I used to say no one could hold a candle to our Grace but she-- she looked like a born queen all the time!" "Well, she belongs to us, too, so we've a right to be proud of her.