181 < 22 > MICHELLE’S STORY The week at school was mostly uneventful save Michelle’s enthusiasm and constant ploys for attention. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. It is easy enough to sing these little chansons in an original way—it requires a very different sort of ability to succeed on the stage. You might be able to use the picture some day.
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