that lies in the nature of the case. Even a child will soon perceive
whether the teacher has a sole eye to its interest, or has other and
personal aims in view. The former bears good fruits, the latter very
doubtful ones. I will say nothing about the stand-point of those
egotistical teachers whose first aim is to bring themselves into
prominence, and who at the same time are perhaps travelling public
performers and composers. They are, it may be, chiefly occupied with
double and triple fugues (the more inverted the more learned), and they
consider this knowledge the only correct musical foundation. At the same
time, they often possess a touch like that of your brother, Mr. Strict,
mentioned in my third chapter, and are utterly devoid of true taste and
feeling. While pursuing their fruitless piano lessons, which are quite
foreign to their customary train of thought, they regard their
occupation only as a milch cow; and they obtain the money of sanguine
parents, and sacrifice the time of their pupils. You may try such
agreeable personages for yourself: I could wish you no greater
punishment.

And now I will speak of the violin and the flute. I have never availed
myself of those expedients; it is a method which I have never learned. I
will describe for your amusement a few interesting incidents, which I
had an opportunity to witness in a not inconsiderable city, while on a
journey with my daughters. The teacher with the flute was a gentle,
quiet, mild musician; he was on very good terms with his pupil, and
indulged in no disputes; every thing went on peaceably, without passion,
and "in time." They both twittered tenderly and amicably, and were
playing, in celebration of the birthday of an old aunt who was rather
hard of hearing, a sonata by Kuhlau, which was quite within the power of
both. The old aunt, who, of course, could hear but little of the soft,
flute tones, and the light, thin, modest, square piano, kept asking me: