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"Multiplication is vexation,
Division is as bad;
The rule of three puzzles me,
And fractions make me mad."

As a pleasant contrast I delight to recall our singing classes. A few months after my arrival at the Institution Mr. Anthony Reiff became our teacher; and he remained there for more than forty years as a faithful, efficient and earnest instructor. We loved him dearly, and to him many of his former pupils looked back and called him the master of their youth.

One beautiful, crisp November morning in 1837 we laid the corner stone of the new Institution building. The mayor, common council, and many prominent citizens came to attend the exercises, as they always did on special occasions. Mr. Reiff composed a march to some words I had written, part of which I now recall, --

"This day may every bosom feel
A thrill of pleasure and delight;
Its scenes will in our memories dwell,
When Time shall wing his rapid flight.

"May the great Being who surveys
The countless acts by mortals done,
Behold with an approving eye
The structure which is now begun,"

Before 1840 my friends had nearly spoiled me with their praises. At least I began to feel my own importance as a poet a little too much; and so the superintendent, Mr. Jones, thought something ought to be done to curb such rising vanity. One morning after breakfast I was summoned to the office; and, thinking he would ask me for a poem, or perhaps give me a word of commendation, as he sometimes did, I obeyed at once, -- but instead of more praise and a new commission to write verses I found a plain talk awaiting me.

It was an impressive occasion, and I remember what Mr. Jones said almost word for word:

"Fanny, I am sorry you have allowed yourself to be carried away by what others have said about your verses. True, you have written a number of poems of real merit; but how far do they fall short of the standard that you might attain. Shun a flatterer, Fanny, as you would a viper; for no true friend would deceive you with words of flattery. Remember that whatever talent you possess belongs wholly to God; and that you ought to give Him the credit for all that you do."

Mr. Jones was a fine teacher of the young; and he knew just what was best in my particular case. After giving me a little more advice, he said,

"Now, we will reconstruct the fabric, -- but on a different plan. You have real poetic talent; yet it is crude and undeveloped; and if your talent ever amounts to much, you must polish and smooth your verses so that they may be of more value. Store your mind with useful knowledge; and the time may come, sooner or later, when you will yet attain the goal toward which you have already made some progress."

Then the dear man said to me, "Fanny, have I wounded your feelings?" Something within me bore witness that Mr. Jones spoke the truth; and so I answered,

"No, sir. On the contrary, you have talked to me like a father, and I thank you very much for it."

In years afterward I gradually came to realize that his advice was worth more than the price of rubies; and if I am justified in drawing any analogy from my own experience, I would say that a little kindly advice is better than a great deal of scolding. For a single word, if spoken in a friendly spirit, may be sufficient to turn one from a dangerous error. In the same way, a single syllable, if spoken from a hard heart, may be just enough to drive another from the true path. This principle has been the foundation of my work among the missions of New York. I find that the confidence of the sinner is all that one needs for the beginning of the work of grace. A man can be won if he knows that somebody trusts him; and I firmly believe that faith and love go hand in hand through the dark places of this world, seeking the lost, and we not infrequently find them where we least expect them to be.

CHAPTER VI
INSPIRATION FOR WORK

NOT many weeks after the interview with Dr. Jones, he called me to the office one day and said,

"You are not to write a line of poetry for three months."

This decision came as a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky; and I was overwhelmed with astonishment, but for six weeks he resolutely enforced his command to the very letter, and at the end of this period I fell into a state of listlessness. My teachers soon noticed that my lessons were unlearned, the result of which was a third summons before the superintendent. Dr. Jones said,

"Fanny, what is the trouble with your lessons? The teachers report that you do not recite as well as you did during the last term. Are you ill?" Before he had fairly finished questioning me, my reply was ready because I had been expecting just such an inter-view, and so I had made up my mind what to say. I replied,

"I find it impossible to keep my mind on my lessons, for poetry occupies my thoughts in spite of all efforts to think of other things. I cannot help it."

"Well," said the superintendent, "write as much as you like, but pay a little more attention to the morning lectures."