breakfast, and get through a hundred and fifty pages of music a day. When I was seven my mother died, and I can yet remember how one morning my father suddenly came into the room, and stood at the door with a surprised look, as he listened to me singing my favourite little bits out of such operas as "Lucrezia Borgia," "Martha," and "Norma."
"I watched his fingers."
"One day my father and I were at a large store where I used to practise on the piano, and a Scotchman, who was giving concerts in Montreal, came in. I was eight years old at the time, and he persuaded my father to let me sing at a concert. I did, and I had to give three concerts, and every night the stage used to be strewn with flowers. Flowers! Why, do you know I once had a great floral trophy given to me that took three men to bring on to the stage? It was all composed or roses, and was a gift from the ladies of Philadelphia.
The madman's gift.
"When I was nine, I entered the convent of The Sacred Heart, at Sault-au-Recollet. I was organist there, and remained there several years, and after leaving we went to live at Albany. Ah! does that name strike you? Yes, you are quite correct. After studying in Paris under Duprez, and afterwards with Lamperti, at Milan, I made my début there in 1870 as Amina in "Sonnambula," under the name of Albani, out of remembrance of the city, the people of which helped me so much, and where I think my future career was decided upon. You see, I just changed the last letter to i, and that gave me my operatic name. I
