After the playing, we went to supper: the oysters were good, but the
wine left a little sharp taste. My timid daughter did not like oysters;
but she ate a little salad, and at table listened instead of talking.

A few innocent anecdotes were related at table about horses and balls
and dogs and Stock's future. On taking leave, Madame said
condescendingly to Cecilia, "If you keep on, my dear, one of these days
you will play very nicely."




CHAPTER III.

MANY STUDENTS OF THE PIANO AND FEW PLAYERS.


_(A Letter addressed to the Father of a Piano Pupil)._

It is a pity that you have no sons, for a father takes great delight in
his sons; but I agree with you, when you say that, if you had one, you
would rather he should break stones than pound the piano. You say you
have many friends who rejoice in that paternal felicity, and whose sons,
great and small, bright and dull, have been learning the piano for three
years or more, and still can do nothing. You are doubtless right; and,
further, they never will learn any thing. You ask, Of what use is it to
man or boy to be able to stammer through this or that waltz, or
polonaise or mazurka, with stiff arms, weak fingers, a stupid face, and
lounging figure? What gain is it to art? You say, Is not time worth