A negative shake of the head from all. To me: "Chalk's scarce in these diggings." To the boys: "What, nobody got a piece of chalk? That's unlucky; a piece of charcoal out of the stove will do as well."
"No 'ar won't," roared out a boy with a very ragged coat. "They be both the same colour."
"True, Jenkins, for you; go out and get a lump of snow. Its darnation strange if I can't fix it somehow."
"Now," thought I, "what is this clever fellow going to do?"
The boys winked at each other, and a murmur of suppressed laughter ran through the old church. Jenkins ran out, and soon returned with a lump of snow.
Mr. Browne took a small piece, and squeezing it tight, stuck it upon the board. "Now, boys, that is Do, and that is Re, and that is Do again, and that is Mi, this Do, and that Fa; and that, boys, is a part of what we call a scale." Then turning to a tall, thin, shabby-looking man, very much out at the elbows, whom I had not seen before, he said--"Mr. Smith, how is your base viol? Hav'nt you got it tuned up yet?"
Well, squire, I guess it's complete."
"Hold on; let me see," and taking a tuning-fork from his pocket, and giving it a sharp thump upon the stove, he cried out in a still louder key--"Now, that's A; jist tune up to A."
After Mr. Smith had succeeded in tuning his instrument, the teacher proceeded with his lucid explanations:--"Now, boys, start fair; give a grand chord. What sort of a noise do you call that? (giving a luckless boy a thump over the head with his fiddle-stick). You bray through your nose like a jackass. I tell you to quit; I don't want discord." The boy slunk out of the class, and stood blubbering behind the door.
"Tune up again, young shavers! Sing the notes as I have made them on the board,--Do, re-do, mi, do-fa. Now, when I count four commence. One--two--three--four. Sing! Hold on!--hold on! Don't you see that all the notes are running off, and you can't sing running notes yet."