CHAPTER VIL

The Profession of Music.

S it any weakness, pray, to be wrought upon by exquisite music, to feel its wondrous harmonies searching the subtlest windings of your soul, the delicate fibers of life where no memory can penetrate, as it binds together your whole being, past and present, in one unspeakable vibration.-Adam Bede.

Music resembles poetry; in each

Are numerous graces which no method teach,

And which a master-hand alone can reach.-Pope.

Come, sing to me of heaven,

Sing to me ere I die;

Sing songs of holy ecstasy,

To waft my soul on high.-Old Hymn.

NEGLECTED MUSIC.

It is a well known fact, and one, too, upon which much unfavorable comment has been made, that almost as soon as a maiden becomes a wife and enters upon the duties of a new existence, she ceases to practice the accomplishment with which she was wont to amuse herself and entertain her friends, previous to her marriage. One of the common excuses which a young wife has at her command, when her husband asks her to play, is

this: "I am all out of practice," or, "You know I have not opened the piano for months." This, too, before other duties have interfered to occupy her time. It would seem as if, having married and settled herself in life, she had no further incentive to exert herself, and after a year or two she finds that she has forgotten her music, can no longer execute with ease, and does not attempt the now arduous task of practicing an hour or two every day, in order to learn a new piece. Her husband is very fond of music, but soon finds that he is dependent upon the good nature of visitors who do play. These are usually young ladies who are quite willing to entertain him and show off their own accomplishments. I need not follow the suggestion any further, but human nature is sometimes very weak, and the serpent too often enters Eden disguised as an attractive siren. The following story ends happily, and may cause some serious thinking, followed by a reform in the right direction, before it is too late. It is an incident from real life, related by a well-known music teacher of New York city, and it contains a moral worthy of recognition by wives:

TWICE IN LOVE.

Two years ago a card was brought into my music-room bearing the name of a well-known and fashionable married lady. When she was ushered in I was surprised to see so young looking a woman, though, to be sure, she is not yet forty, and a fair complexion and clear blue eyes made her look younger. She seemed a little embarrassed, but asked me to try her voice. I did so, and found it uncultivated, but it was singularly fresh and

sweet; in quality a light soprano. I told her so, and her face flushed eagerly as she asked:

"Professor, could you teach me to sing?"

"Yes," I replied, "if you choose to apply yourself earnestly."

"I will; and if you can manage it so that I need not be seen, and that no one knows of it, I will take a lesson every day."

We made the best arrangement we could, and the lady never failed to appear promptly at the hour. She was so anxious and so persevering that she made the most extraordinary progress, and when spring came her voice had so strengthened and developed as to be almost beyond recognition.

During the summer I heard nothing of her beyond mention in the society papers of her being at Saratoga. In the fall she called upon me, and taking both my hands in hers, shook them earnestly as she said:

"Professor, I have come to thank you for making me the happiest woman alive!"

She then told me that her husband, to whom she was deeply attached, was passionately fond of vocal music, and had always regretted that she could not sing to him.

She had never cultivated her voice before marriage, and afterwards the coming of children and the claims of society had prevented her attempting it. But an unlucky day came when Mr. R— made the acquaintance of a lovely little widow, with a charming voice, who was always ready and willing to sing sweet songs to him, and he gradually fell into the habit of spending many of his evenings with her.

At heart devoted to his wife, he was unconscious of his gradual neglect of her, and would have been astonished had she resented his open enjoyment of these tetea-tetes. About the widow I am not prepared to speak. Mrs. R, like a sensible woman, did not resent it, but undermined the enemy, as you will see. Her music lessons she kept a profound secret from her family. In the summer they went, as usual, to Saratoga, and took possession of one of the pretty cottages at the United States Hotel.

The morning after their arrival the local newspapers contained a notice that the leading soprano of the Episcopal church was ill with a throat affection, and the congregation was asked to make due allowance for the disabled choir. The next morning (Sunday), Mr. R— with two of the children, wended his way to the church of his belief, Mrs. R having excused herself from accompanying them.

After the opening service the clergyman announced that a lady from New York had kindly volunteered to sing in place of the sick soprano, and, in consequence, the musical programme would be the same as usual. A few moments later a clear, sweet voice rang through the church, touching the hearts of the people perhaps even more through the exquisite expression and feeling which the music had rendered than the qualities of the voice itself. Mr. R was fascinated, delighted, and inwardly made comparisons between it and the bewitching widow, not flattering to the latter. After the services were over he eagerly sought the clergyman to enquire the name of

the charming soprano, whose face he had not been able to see from his seat.

"Come with me and I will introduce you," said the clergyman, who knew Mr. R- by reputation. They entered the choir together, and the good man began, "Miss Brown, permit me to introduce" when he was interrupted by Mr. Rejaculating, "Great heavens, it is my wife!" and place and company notwithstanding, he gave her a hearty embrace in his delight and surprise. To cut the story short, he fell in love with her all over again, the singing siren was forgotten, and I don't believe you can find a happier couple in this great city. Mr. R gave his wife a magnificent set of diamonds, which she wears with a great deal of pride. All of which really happened.

Music is one of the few accomplishments which can be turned to account as a means of support. A good player upon the piano-one who understands the whole theory of music-can always find a few pupils if she is happy in her method of imparting instruction. There are, to be sure, a great many music teachers, but there are also many pupils, and every year new ones are added to the list, as children grow old enough to begin with their lessons. Fifty cents a lesson is considered a low price for a good teacher; seventy cents to two dollars being the rates employed by ordinary teachers, while professors of the higher order of music receive from three to five dollars a lesson. Music teachers make a commission upon every piece of music they supply to their pupils. This is only fair, as it costs the pupil no more than if purchased from the dealer, who furnishes it to her teacher at