Who taught me, when a happy schoolboy—in the house of my beloved and venerated master, the Rev. Alfred Whitehead, M.A., and his dear wife—to sing at sight, who first fostered my passion for music; to that genial and highly accomplished man, who has vanished from my view for years, but not from my memory, where he resides ever, as a kind of Apollo Belvedere of those far-off days—that New World to which the Columbus Man, may never return.