(Shepard listened with attention, and a light seemed to dawn upon
     him.)

     (Dominie and Shepard go in to tea.)

MRS. S. Well, gentlemen, have you come to any conclusion?  Is not Lizzie a good pupil?  She is obliged to practise two hours every day, however tired she may be.  Do you think we should continue in the same course, Herr Dominie?

SHEPARD.  Herr Dominie has called my attention to some points which will be of use to me.

DOMINIE.  Only a few trifles.

JOHN S. After tea will not Miss Emma play to us?

EMMA.  The piano is very much out of tune, some of the keys stick, the action is too light, and the instrument generally is not calculated for the successful execution of any thing.

JOHN S. I beg your pardon:  it was considered by everybody a very fine instrument when we bought it, sixteen years ago.  We had a great bargain in it at the time, for we purchased it of a neighbor who had improved it very much by use.  Mr. Shepard will confirm what I say, Miss.

     (Emma bows her head thoughtfully, and looks at Shepard
     suspiciously.)

JOHN S. My violin has very much improved during the last twenty years.  On my honor, if Lizzie were a boy, she should learn to play on the violin, to keep it in the family.  Ha, ha, ha!

DOMINIE.  That would be curious!

     (Dominie wishes to take leave with his daughter.)

MRS. S. (condescendingly).  I hope you will come to see us again soon.  The next time Lizzie will play you Rosellen’s “Tremolo;” and Miss Emma must play us a piece too.

DOMINIE.  You are extremely kind! (Takes leave.)

CHAPTER VIII.

SINGING AND SINGING-TEACHERS.

(A Letter to a Young Lady Singer.)

MY DEAR MISS ——­,—­You are endowed with an admirable gift for singing, and your agreeable though not naturally powerful voice has vivacity and youthful charm, as well as a fine tone:  you also possess much talent in execution; yet you nevertheless share the lot of almost all your sisters in art, who, whether in Vienna, Paris, or Italy, find only teachers who are rapidly helping to annihilate the opera throughout Europe, and are ruling out of court the simple, noble, refined, and true art of singing.  This modern, unnatural style of art, which merely aspires to superficial effects, and consists only in mannerisms, and which must ruin the voice in a short time, before it reaches its highest perfection, has already laid claim to you.  It is scarcely possible to rescue your talent, unless, convinced that you have been falsely guided, you stop entirely for a time, and allow your voice to rest during several months, and then, by correct artistic studies, and with a voice never forced or strong, often indeed weak, you improve your method of attack