My uncle begged me not to act so fantastically.
28th—“Here’s a shamisen, Morning Glory!” Mother Schuyler cried from the hall.
I darted out of my room.
“Well!” I exclaimed.
Shamisen?
It is a three-stringed guitar of Japan.
Mr. Schuyler, Jr., had sent it from Yokohama, as she explained.
She wished me to tinkle a little gamboling music in the parlour before dinner.
It is a hard implement to handle. It has no notation. Attainment is through unending blind practice.
I was compelled to learn by mother, many a year ago, but I soon gave it up for an English spelling-book.