TH E E T U D EA . J. JOHNSON.The mother of one of my pupils tells the story of finding her little girl seated at the piano playing an exercise while a small visitor walked the floor appar­ently in great agony of mind, uttering ejaculations of distress, wringing her hands, and even pulling fran­tically at her hair. It seems they were “ playing music-teacher,” and the child was only reproducing from life from her own experience. My little pupil was so amazed at what was to her such unusual conduct in a music-teacher that her attention wandered sadly from the task in hand, and she received in consequence several sharp raps over the knuckles with a lead- pencil. She confided to her mother that she hoped she would never have to change teachers!Another mother gave me an account of the diffi­culties she had in attempting to teach her little boy herself. The lessons were painful occasions to both teacher and pupil, and after one unusually stormy scene the child' burst into tears and asked passion­ately: “ How much would it cost to get another teacher?”I once had some amusing experiences in teaching a young relative of mine who expressed herself with more freedom than my other pupils. On one occa­sion I was trying to impress upon her the importance of some point I was explaining, and I added that I should be mortified to have her go to another teacher without being clearly informed in the matter.“ Another teacher!” she exclaimed, with scorn. “ If I ever get out of your clutches, you don’t suppose I shall ever go to anyone else!”THE OLD CLOCK.EMMA STANTON DYMOND.W e were three teachers talking together, and one asked: “ Can you manage to get your little pupils to practice without looking at the clock ? Mine don’t and won’t. Their mothers say they can’t get them to sit five minutes at the piano without jumping up to see what time it is, and whether they have practiced long enough. Of course, this wastes a good deal of time, and I only ask for half an hour from the very little ones.”We looked at each other, we other teachers, and re­flected. Then the younger said: “ W hy I never think of telling my pupils how long they must practice. I write down in a little note-book for each one the work for the next lesson, and mark each exercise so many times with hands separately, so many times with hands together, all in the same slow tempo; so many times for each piece of work. They don’t need to look at the clock.”“ Well,” said the first, “ how do you know how much to give them? So many cannot give more than a limited time to practice.”“ I go over everything alone by myself first, and find just how long it takes. I think sometimes pupils must get tired, so I say to them: ‘Stop practicing for awhile and then go back to your work.’ I never time them, and their mothers say they have no trouble once they settle down.”KNOW THE MEANING OF MUSICAL TERMS.ROBERT BRAINE.I w a s once seated in the studio of an eminent teacher of the piano. In the course of a pupil’s lesson there occurred the word “ strepitoso.”“ What does strepitoso mean?” asked the teacher.“ I don’t know,” said the pupil; “ really, Professor,I don’t have time to bother about those jaw-breaking words in the music. If I did, I would get no practicing done at all.”T h e teacher stopped and gave the pupil a short lecture, w hich I th in k all the teachers w ho read T h e E t u d e can use to a d v an ta ge.“ My dear child,” said he, “ what would you think if you should get a prescription of medicine filled at the drug-store, and yet were unable# to read the directions on the bottle, so that you would not know when to take the medicine and how much. You would never dare to take the medicine without knowing at what times and in what doses it ought to1 be taken.“ It is the same with a musical composition. The composer writes directions through the music, explain­ing how he wants it played, where loud, where soft, where fast, where slow, where swells should be intro­duced, where it should be retarded, etc. Now, how can you play the composition intelligently if you cannot read these directions? These are written in Italian because Italian is the language of music, just as Latin is the language of law and medicine, since it is neces­sary to use one certain language so that musicians of all nations will be able to understand it. A few min­utes’ work a day will suffice to learn the Italian words of expression in a pupil’s lesson for a week. As the months go on the pupil will soon learn to know all the words without consulting a dictionary.”A BLUNDER OF AMBITIOUS STUDENTS.J. S. V AN CLEVE.M a n y years ago, when I was teacher of the piano in the State Institute for the Blind, of Wisconsin, I had an experience with a pupil the recounting of which may serve to protect from a hurtful blunder some ambitious student who reads T h e E t u d e. I had a young man under my charge, who had but one more year in the school. He was anxious to be well prepared to face the world, and to make a good figure as a pianist, but he was rather of the opinion that he knew just about as well how to get himself ready as I did. He received all my instructions cooly, and heeded them just enough to steer clear of a reprimand. He had taken it into his head that one piece perfectly at his finger-tips would establish his reputation, and he pitched upon Chopin’s “ Yalse in A-flat Major,” opus 34, No. 1.Now this was what happened: M y dear, semi- recalcitrant pupil hammered away at the A-flat waltz day in and day out. Y ou could hear it all over the building; whenever he could snatch an odd moment from some one else’s time he pounded away at the poor, long-suffering piece. Of course, we all grew heartily sick of it.I did my very utmost to inject into him all the ideas as to the style of the piece which he could re­ceive, but to rather little purpose. I insisted upon other pieces, and studies, but they were but indiffer­ently learned. And what was the final result? Why, he learned that luckless waltz, but played it like an electric machine. He had “ volts” in him instead of ideas. The notes were all there, relentlessly, diabolic­ally, hopelessly there, but very little else. The living, palpitating poetry was frozen out of it by excessive and one-sided practice. The lovely music should bend and dimple and curve and smile and sparkle like a lake under the caressing fingers of a summer breeze, but he had frozen the tones. They made a surface solid, even, regular, and smooth, but dead.Now the moral is: Musicianship is to be obtained not by bigoted study of a small surface, but by a general and intelligent study of many contrasted phases of art.“ THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS.”ALICE JOSEPHINE JOHNSON.Y e a r s ago I was visiting some friends who lived in an apartment in which we had the benefit of the piano in the suite above. The young pianist worked assidu­ously on a composition, entitled: “ The Battle of Manassas,” and at any hour of the day or night, not to mention the early morning, the roll of the drums or the shrill notes of the fife playing “ Down in Dixie” could be plainly heard.There was nothing to do but bear it as best we might, but we came to fairly envy the man of the house, who could at least escape the distressing strains during business-hours. On his return at night his first question would be: “ How goes the battle? Is it still raging?” As, indeed, it generally was.During my visit I was taken ill. I will not go so far as to ascribe my illness to those dreadful imi­tations of the fife and drum, but the horrors of that endless “ Battle,” as I lay tossing on my bed, are some­thing never to be forgotten. When I returned to my home I hoped I had heard my last of the “ Battle.”Long after a young mother applied to me to take her little girl as a piano pupil. She inquired anxiously if I gave good music. Gratified that she should realize the importance of the subject, I assured her that I gave only the best class of music.“ Well,” she continued, “ I want Minnie to have the scales, the majons and minons. You give minons, I hope, for her cousin Lottie plays them, and I want Minnie to have the same; and when she is far enough advanced I want her to take ‘The Battle of Man­a s s a s / ”SCOLDING IN DEMAND.F. L. S.I h a t e recently had another experience which shoAvs that pupils who must be scolded are not un­common, and, what is more singular, that they even seem to take a certain pride in their attitude toward the teacher.In a small town I met a young lady, organist of the local church, who was said to have considerable ability. She spoke to me of her study in the city and of her teacher, whom I knew.“ Oh, but he was cross,” she said, with a toss of her head. “ He never had a good word for me all the time I was taking lessons from him.”“ Why, how was that?” I asked.“ Oh, it was the only way to make me work; he knew that if he was easy with me I wouldn’t practice.”This was said with an air of satisfaction, as if it were rather distinguished than otherwise not to be one of the dull, plodding crowd who are willing to study and improve under kind and courteous treat­ment.I have been asked by would-be pupils if I were “ strict.” They evidently meant— not exact or careful in instruction, but severe in the manner of imparting it. Teachers are not a little to blame in encouraging this perversity on the part of pupils. No one can yield to ill-temper without suffering in his inner life, and I am selfish enough to consider my own peace of mind as of more importance than the progress of an occasional unruly pupil. As I said before, I should greatly like to hear the opinion of others.MUSICAL DEFINITION.MAUDE BARROWS.A t our “ harmony class,” we student-teachers were wont to tell of little happenings.One of the girls told of how she thought she had fully explained to a little pupil the different kinds of notes according to value. She then asked her to explain the difference between a half note and a quarter.The child looked thoughtful for a minute and said: “ Why, a half note is a clean note and a quarter note is a dirty note.”These things are laughable, but not discouraging, for the “ idea” is generally there.
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