2.  But, in case children should sometimes begin in their sixth year, you must remember what is said, in the first chapter of this work, with regard to the prevalent false method of teaching beginners.  You, however, are supposed to have had better and more sensible teachers.  Let me nevertheless quote for your amusement the remark which I have heard so frequently in the course of my long life as a piano-teacher:  “In the beginning, a poor, rattling piano, that is forty years old, and that is tuned regularly once a year, and a cheap teacher, will do well enough.  As soon as the children learn to play really well, then we will have a better piano and a better teacher.”  Yes; but that time never comes, and the parents soon conclude that even the most gifted children have no talent, and take no pleasure in music; and so they stop learning, only to regret it when they are older.  But the parents console themselves, and after a while the old piano is never tuned at all.  But, as I have told you, I do not refer here to your teachers, for whom I have a personal regard, and who teach on excellent pianos.

3.  Don’t be angry with me for my suggestion, ladies:  you do not make enough use of the minutes.  While our learned education absorbs so much time, while our friends require so many hours, while, alas! balls and dinners consume whole days, we must be sparing of the remaining minutes.

“Now I must rush to the piano!  I must go to dinner in ten minutes:  two scales, two finger exercises, two difficult passages out of the piece I have to learn, and one exercise to invent on the dominant and sub-dominant, are soon done; and then the dinner will taste all the better.”

“My dear Agnes, we might talk for ever about this dreadful snow, it won’t melt the sooner for it:  how do you like this passage that I am going to play to you?  It is from a charming Nocturne, by Chopin, and is so difficult that I shall have to play it over fifty times, or else I shall always stumble at this place, and I never shall know the Nocturne to play to any one.  Don’t you think it is beautiful?—­so spiritual and original!  I can tell you it will be something to boast of, when I have accomplished that.  You like it better the oftener I play it?  So do I.”

“We have an invitation out.  Mother has a great deal to arrange, and directions to give.  We shall have to go in ten minutes.  I must rush to the piano, though I am in rather an inconvenient toilette:  I may as well accustom myself to play in it.  I shall have to spend three hours this evening without any music.  Well, to make up for it, I will occupy myself for the next ten minutes with an exercise for this obstinate fourth finger, though it is pretty dry.  That weak finger has been a hindrance to many a fine passage and scale.  That is better!  Now I can put on my tight gloves.  Suppose I should put on the left glove on the way.”

Well, my young ladies, how many hours do you think all those minutes would make in a year?  But I hear you say, “What is the use of worrying to pick up all those stray minutes, like lost pins?  We have a whole hour to practise every day, when nothing prevents.”  Exactly, when nothing prevents.