style.  This style, coldly correct, tame, dull, flat, and passionless, requires but little in the singer.  The bass of this school is a saltatory creature; he is, for the most part, either striding through thirds, or jumping over fifths and octaves, much as he did a hundred years ago.  During this period, the art of singing has made immense advances elsewhere; the execution of Farinelli, in 1734, thought so wonderful, would not suffice for even a third-rate singer now; and the powers of B. Ferri, described by Rousseau, are scarcely more than would be expected of every singer of the Queen’s Theatre.  Rossini’s music, replete with difficulties of execution, has compelled even the unwieldy bass to overcome his reluctance to rapid motion, and he is now obliged to condescend to runs, arpeggios, and other similar feats of agility.  In an opera buffa at a Neapolitan theatre, called Il Fondo, we once heard Tamburini execute the well-known song “Ma non fia sempre odiata” in his falsetto, with a taste and expression scarcely surpassed by Rubini’s performance of the air.  On another occasion, at the same theatre, the prima donna was taken suddenly ill in the midst of a terzetto, in which Tamburini had the bass, and, while supporting her on the stage, this accomplished musician actually took the soprano in his falsetto, and performed the part of the indisposed lady in a manner which drew down universal applause.  The English school, “still tardy,” and “limping after” the Italian, is yet far behind.  It has, undoubtedly, made some advances, but it is still the child, following indeed, but,

     “Haud passibus aequis.”

With us, the pupil commonly begins where he should end; songs are placed before him almost as soon as he has mastered the elements of music.  At a time, when his whole study and endeavour should be to form and cultivate the voice, and by long, patient, and persevering exercise, to develop and command its powers, and to acquire flexibility and certainty of execution, his efforts are expended in learning—­as it is called—­songs.  This process may be carried on ad infinitum; but none of the objects of the pupil’s study can be ever sung, in the real acceptation of the term, on this method of instruction.  The well-known anecdote of the early youth of one of the greatest singers the world has ever known, who, after the drudgery of a daily practice of exercises alone for seven years, was bidden by his master to go his way, the first singer in Europe, is an example of the advantages of the opposite system.  The compass of an ordinary tenor is about two octaves, from C below the line, to C in alt.  Within this compass, the tenor makes use of two voices; the chest or natural voice—­which ranges over the whole of the lower octave and the lower half of the higher octave—­and the head-voice or falsetto, which is commonly used throughout the whole of the remainder of the upper octave, the higher notes of which can be reached only in the falsetto.  In