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 gold, and yet we are offered lead?
And the poor teachers torment themselves and the boys, abuse art and the piano; and at the end of the evening, in despair, torment their own wives, after they have all day long been scolding, cuffing, and lamenting, without success or consolation.

You speak the truth.