"Now don't go, Percy we want your voice in a song. Emmy, sing that pretty one to your harp, that we wish papa so much to hear; Percy and I will join when wanted."
"Caroline, I have not the genius to sing at sight."
"Oh, you have often! and the words will inspire you. Come, Herbert, we want you, too; Edward's singing voice, has deserted him, or I should enlist him also. Emmeline, what are you waiting for?"
"I can not sing it, dear Caroline; do not ask me," answered Emmeline, with a confusion and timidity, which, at home, were perfectly incomprehensible.
"Why, my little Emmy, I am quite curious to hear this new song; do not disappoint me!" said her father encouragingly.
"But after Caroline I can not sing worth hearing," still pleaded Emmeline.
"My dear child, I never heard you make such a foolish excuse before; your mother and myself never find any difference in the pleasure that listening to your music bestows, however one performer may be more naturally gifted than the other."
"I declare I must sing it if it be only for the mystery of Tiny's refusing," said Percy, laughing. "Come, Bertie—a MS. too—what a trial for one's nerves!"
The words, however, seemed sufficiently satisfactory for them readily to join in it. Emmeline still hesitated, almost painfully; but then gathering courage, she sat down to her harp, and, without any notes before her, played a few bars of one of those sweet, thrilling Irish melodies so suited to her instrument, and then commenced her song, the sweetness of her voice, and clearness of articulation atoning well for her deficiency in the power and brilliancy which characterized her sister. The words were exceedingly simple, but sung with deep feeling, and heart-appealing as they were, from the subject, we hope our readers will judge them as leniently as Emmeline's hearers.
EMMELINE'S SONG.