advance the age; have heard every thing great and fine in music, and have induced my pupils also to hear it. I have opposed with determination all the prejudices and false tendencies of the times, and never have allowed impatient parents to give advice about my lessons. I have insisted upon a good and well-tuned instrument for my pupils, and have endeavored to merit the love and confidence both of my pupils and of their parents. In fact, I have devoted myself thoroughly to my calling, and have been wholly a teacher, always fixing my eye on the true, the beautiful, and the artistic; and in this way have been of service to my pupils.

Friend. But how do you find parents who sympathize with your ideas and with your lofty views?

Dominie. I have found that almost all the parents of my pupils have entered into my views, if not immediately, at least after they had been present at a few lessons. In the case of those few who would not enter into them, I have abandoned the lessons; but, nevertheless, I have found that my time has been fully occupied. My friend, do you not think that views like these will assist in the training of young and inexperienced teachers, who are striving for improvement? and do you not think they will be useful even to those who already possess general mental culture, and who are animated by an ardent love for their calling? I especially avoid giving here any exclusive method, a servile following of which would be entirely contrary to my intentions, and, in fact, contrary to my method.

But as for the rest! Alas, all those who do not understand me, or who choose to misunderstand me, those are the worst!—especially the ill-natured people, the classical people who bray about music, stride straight to the notes, and have no patience till they come to Beethoven; who foolishly prate and fume about my unclassical management, but at bottom only wish to conceal their own unskilfulness, their want of culture and of disinterestedness, or to excuse their habitual drudgery. Lazy people without talent I cannot undertake to inspirit, to teach, and to cultivate.

This chapter will, almost by itself, point out to unprejudiced minds my method of giving more advanced instruction, and will show in what spirit I have educated my own daughters, even to the highest point of musical culture, without using the slightest severity. It will, indeed, cause great vexation to the ill-minded and even to the polite world, who attribute the musical position of my daughters in the artistic world to a tyranny used by me, to immoderate and unheard-of "practising," and to tortures of every kind; and who do not hesitate to invent and industriously to circulate the most absurd reports about it, instead of inquiring into what I have already published about teaching, and comparing it with the management which, with their own children, has led only to senseless thrumming.

CHAPTER II.

AN EVENING ENTERTAINMENT AT HERR ZACH'S.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Herr Zach, formerly a flute-player, not very wealthy.
His Wife, of the family of Tz. (rather sharp-tempered).
Stock, her son, 17 years old (is studying the piano thoroughly).
Mr. Buffalo, music-master of the family.
Dominie, piano-teacher (rather gruff).
Cecilia, his daughter, 13 years old (shy).

Zach (to Dominie). I regret that I was unable to attend the concert yesterday. I was formerly musical myself and played on the flute. Your daughter, I believe, plays pretty well.

Dominie. Well, yes! perhaps something more than pretty well. We are in earnest about music.

Madame, of the Tz. family (envious because Cecilia received applause for her public performance yesterday, and because Mr. Buffalo had been unable to bring out Stock,—all in one breath). When did your daughter begin to play? Just how old is she now? Does she like playing? They say you are very strict, and tie your daughters to the piano-stool. How many hours a day do you make her practise? Don't you make her exert herself too much? Has she talent? Isn't she sickly?

Dominie. Don't you think she looks in good health, madam,—tall and strong for her years?

Madame, of the Tz. family. But perhaps she might look more cheerful, if she was not obliged to play on the piano so much.

Dominie (bowing). I can't exactly say.

Zach (suddenly interrupting, and holding Dominie by the button-hole). They say you torment and ill-treat your daughters dreadfully; that the eldest was obliged to practise day and night. Well, you shall hear my Stock play this evening, who, some time, by the grace of God, is to take the place of Thalberg in the world. Now give me your opinion freely (of course, I was only to praise): we should like very much to hear what you think about his playing, though perhaps Mr. Buffalo may not agree with you.

(Mr. Buffalo is looking through the music-case and picking out all the Etudes, by listening to which Dominie is to earn his supper.)

Dominie (resigned and foreseeing that he shall be bored). I have heard a great deal of the industry of your son, Stock. What are you studying now, Mr. Stock?

Stock (in proud self-consciousness, rather Sophomoric). I play six hours a day, two hours scales with both hands together, and four hours Etudes. I have already gone through the first book of Clementi and four books of Cramer. Now I am in the Gradus ad Parnassum: I have already studied the right fingering for it.

Dominie. Indeed, you are very much in earnest: that speaks well for you, and for Mr. Buffalo. But what pieces are you studying with the Etudes? Hummel, Mendelssohn, Chopin, or Schumann?

Stock (contemptuously). Mr. Buffalo can't bear Chopin and Schumann. Mr. Buffalo lately played through Schumann's "Kinderscenen," that people are making such a talk about. My mamma, who is also musical, and used to sing when papa played the flute, said, "What ridiculous little things are those? Are they waltzes for children? and then the babyish names for them! He may play such stuff to his wife, but not to us."

Dominie. Well, these "Kinderscenen" are curious little bits for grown-up men's hands. Your mother is right, they are too short: there certainly ought to be more of them. But they are not waltzes!

Stock. Indeed, I am not allowed to play waltzes at all. My teacher is very thorough: first, I shall have to dig through all the Gradus ad Parnassum; and then he is going to undertake a concerto of Beethoven's with me, and will write the proper fingering over it. I shall play that in public; and then, as he and my aunt say, "I shall be the death of you all."

Mr. Buffalo (who has overheard him, steps up). Now, Herr Dominie, how do you like my method? Perhaps you have a different one? Nevertheless, that shan't prevent our being good friends. Certainly, if any thing is to be accomplished in these times, it is necessary to keep at work,—that is my doctrine.