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 æquis."

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