of tune. This seems to arise from the fact that they suddenly feel
self-conscious--they have more time to think when writing than when
singing or playing, and are inclined to compose one bar at a time
instead of phrase by phrase. They will produce a tune of seven
bars--they will end on a weak beat--they will come to a full stop in the
middle of an eight-bar tune on the tonic chord, root at the top--the
last half of the tune will have nothing to do with the first half. We
could write a page of their possible mistakes!

The cure for these lapses is to insist on the tunes being sung before
being written. The old unconscious habit will then assert itself, and
the little tunes will fall into shape.

It is a useful lesson to get a class to criticize all original tunes
when played by the young composer. For one thing, the criticism of our
contemporaries often carries more weight than that of our elders; and
for another, the practice arouses the critical faculty, and teaches the
children to listen keenly, for they have not the written tune in front
of them.

After a little practice quite good criticisms will be given by children.
They will notice such points as a weak scheme of keys--undue repetition
of the chief melody--a clumsy modulation--a trite ending--an
over-laboured sequence--a tendency to borrow ideas from others, and so
on.

This training will be of the greatest possible value to them later on in
the concert-room. As a writer in _The Times_ once put it:

'The vague impressions which are all that many people carry away from