increased in compass and volume. A coarse harsh one may be softened and elevated by art and refinement, but to have no power of producing spontaneous melody, in short, no voice, puts it beyond the power of any teacher in the world to produce what is not there. We may cultivate, train, exercise and discipline any singer's "wood notes wild ;" but, gentle reader, if the notes are not there, we can no more change them than we can go to the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street and demand current coin in change for a blank piece of tissue paper.

If you have no voice, depend on it singing for you is, and ever will be, a blank. You must make up your mind to listen instead of charmto admire instead of being applauded. masters of the art will not accept pupils who have not already achieved considerable progress. They know how wearing and fagging the preliminary efforts are, in training the voice. Thus pupils are obliged to gain the "premier pas" in singing, by too often inferior methods, and worse than inferior teachers. They thus acquire wrong notions, bad habits, false style, and seldom achieve any results from singing, save to make their hearers devoutly wish them hundreds of miles away. How many teachers of singing exist, who themselves have either discordant voices, or who in fact can hardly sing at all! To teach singing really well, the teacher must be able to convey the idea of how a piece should be sung by his or her own voice. Imitation is one of the great achievements of singing. A great original singer does not exist, one in a thousand. The young canary is placed near the two-yearold bird to acquire those gushes of melody and prolonged trills which enchant the fancier; and one great human method to learn to sing well is constantly to hear the best singing.

Well, let us admit the student has become satisfied that there is the indispensable condition existing of a voice. It must then be found out that there is another requisite, too often, alas! totally ignored altogether in vocal practice-I mean, an ear. Alas! alas! for tortured nerves, for irascible brains, for susceptibilities of all kinds, daily and hourly in the routine of vocal tuition, tortured by this oblivion of young ladies, as to the necessity of having a musical ear, that delicate gift of nature, rarely indeed gained by art when denied by her. That such a possession as an harmonious ear is rare, will be acknowledged by all who have heard much of young ladies' singing. Many are gifted indeed with tolerable vocal organs, who might sing charmingly but for this fatal want of ear, which totally incapacitates them from knowing when they sing out of tune or in tune-to whom the distinctions of flat singing and sharp singing are quite incomprehensible, and who every time they volunteer to entertain friends who have sensitive nerves, administer along with the song or ballad, a description of torture akin to the rack and thumb-screw of olden times.

There is also to my mind a third condition equally indispensable in creating a really good and interesting vocalist; although the want of

People may do a great deal by self-culture in singing; indeed this art requires more selfteaching by energy and application than almost any other I know; but to admit that it can be acquired entirely by self-effort, would be simply affirming an untruth. The method of eliciting the voice; of training it to be firm and well sustained; of correcting the error of singing out of tune, which, even when ears are good and voices pleasing, will occur among nine out of every ten pupils, as every singing-teacher knows; the management of the breath-all these things tax knowledge and experience to be acquired only by the efforts and experiments of years. To unite the registers of the voice is one effect of the art, to which, at the risk of being considered deprecatory, I must affirm the efforts of the teacher are too seldom directed. It is of little use here to describe the mechanism of the human voice. Not one of you for whose use and reflection these observations are compiled, will sing one bit the better for understanding that the "lungs are highly elastic spongy masses which occupy each side of the chest, and follow its movements." Nor would it enable the amateur lady to sing the "Power of Love" like Miss Louisa Pyne, if she knew and understood that "the portions which compose the larynx are cartilaginous, and four in number, viz., the thyroid, the crycoid, and the two arythenoids."

With all due deference to the charming public singer above named, it may fairly be doubted if she knows anything at all technical or surgical of the construction of her own throat, yet who questions her capability to enchant her hearers? But there are certain conditions, without understanding which, no one can sing-at least, in the way they ought. If the student be curious indeed about the anatomical condition of the vocal organs, any elementary work on singing will satisfy them; but they will toil in the dark, if they think to proceed entirely without the suggestions and advice which long practice only can give. When the voice has been exercised for a certain time in sustaining the notes of the diatonic and chromatic scale, when a certain facility and power have therein been attained,

then if the registers of the voice are not naturally united and blended, such a result must be diligently pursued and sought, to give the ease and freedom without which singing is painful equally to the singer and the hearer.

We will suppose the voice in training to be a female soprano, or mezzo-soprano,-the latter the commonest order of female voices, and the most interesting in quality and useful in compass. It must be trained very cautiously in regard to the practice of sustained notes. Ten minutes at a time is quite sufficient. It thus increases imperceptibly in strength and fulness. If the student after this preliminary practice tries to run a scale of an octave and a half quickly, there will mostly occur in the middle part of the voice from F first space treble to C third space, an impediment or obstruction, which makes the voice rough and unequal in tone. To remedy this defect, which very generally exists, should be equally the care of the master and pupil. Nor can it be done at once; it will require patience and perseverance, showing no results of improvement, perhaps, for a long time. The student must bear in mind that from C below the stave, or Do, to For Fa (first space), forms one register; from G or Sol (second line), to C or Do (third space), the chest voice; and from D or Re (fourth line), to Sol and La above, the head or acute voice. A great error is often committed by teachers forcing their pupils to sing high shrill notes of the head register, which are not really belonging to the student's voice. One more fatal cannot be committed; it has indeed ruined innumerable voices. Extent of compass can only be acquired in cultivating the medium notes of the voice. The pupil for the first three months should never attempt a note higher than For Fa, fifth line on the treble stave; many should sing only the E or Mi, on the fourth space.

To join the registers when they are very disunited, let the pupil practise by octaves, beginning on the Do below the line, singing the note short and repeatedly, and then without taking breath change it to the Do above (third space), repeating this several times till the notes are equal in strength and purity; this course should be pursued with all the notes up to Fa (first space), with their octaves, by which means the head voice and medium, or chest voice, become in time united. Practising intervals serve to unite the voice and form the mouth, and should be practised in ten-minute periods several times in the day. It is the modern method to practise exercises on the vowel A, which must be broadly and fully pronounced as the letter R. This sound is mostly metamorphosed in aw-i-000; anything, in short, but the vowel wanted.

To render the emission of the voice perfect, and articulation of words distinct, it is above all things requisite that singers should open their mouths, not certainly in grimace or violent contortions, but so as to render words plain and sounds unmuffled. But to most young ladies this is a grievous obligation. To enforce this necessary condition is one of the greatest diffi

culties teachers of singing have to encounter; yet the rebellious pupil would freely criticise any public singer who should presume to vocalize with closed teeth and half-opened lips. No wonder we so rarely hear the words of a song; who could read with their mouths shut? Singing under such circumstances is a still greater impossibility. Let them consider, that however ridiculous it may seem, to their apprehensive sensitiveness, to sing with an open mouth, it is infinitely more so to attempt a song with one closed.

The porta mento, or carriage of the voice from one note to another, is an essential consideration, particularly for ballad singing-a branch of vocal music better fitted for amateurs and private performers than Italian bravuras, which, however charming when executed by skilled cantatrices, are execrable only when executed in a different meaning-that is, murdered by draw. ing-room singers, who are frequently in total ignorance of the Italian language or Italian science. Ballad singing is an order of vocal effort, which generally pleases the most unscientific hearer, and which can yet fully display the voice, taste, and judgment of the singer. Music which reaches the heart invariably pleases better than that which merely satisfies the critical judgment, but it is precisely in ballad singing that private singers are so deficient. There is generally a mere mechanical delivery of charming music and charming words; there is no soul thrown into the composition-no apprecia tion, in short, of the talent which composed the melody, or conceived the poem. Is mind and intelligence so rare, then, among our amateur young lady singers? Indeed it is to be feared so. They remind one of female Cymons, on whom only some awakening intelligence can act. A case comes to the writer's mind of the truth of this illustration. A young lady, fair, youthful, and lively enough, learned to sing; but no effort of her teacher could imbue her with the taste and intelligence requisite to feel a song. She sang every thing in the most lifeless manner possible, and with the same cold indifference. Whether it was the impassioned adieu of Dermot to his Kathleen, or the tender address of Yarico to her lover-that exquisite song of Himmel's, little known in England-it was all sung in the same tum-ti-tum style, from which nothing could rouse her. In a few months, just as her teacher despaired of making any improvement in the pupil, a wondrous change seemed to come over the latter's vocal spirit. The most plaintive ballads were chosen, and sung with a grace and tenderness of feeling no less wondrous than pleasing and surprising. The pupil was congratulated and praised; and privately, the teacher sought the reason of this sudden progress. He soon found it out. The young student had reached the crisis of woman's moral life; in a word, to use that commonest of all common phrases, she had fallen in love. An ardent romantic attachment it was, and the deep feeling of her heart embued all she undertook, even as the purple light of stained glass shadows

There are few countries of Southern Europe so little visited as Portugal, and of which so much might be said in praise. Tourists either do not like to deviate from the beaten track, or they are ignorant of the beauties of which Lusitania can justly boast; or they are actually forgetful that such a country exists. Be this as it may, certain it is that few English travellers visit this land of the olive and the vine.

It was my good fortune, some few years ago, to spend many months in Spain and Portugal; and amongst the many scenes there witnessed, new to me, none interested me more than a visit to the wine districts of Alto-Douro, which I made in company with three friends during the time of the vintage.

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We were staying in Oporto, in September, 185, and hearing of several persons who were going to the "wine country," and being often asked if we also did not intend going up the Douro"? we at length decided to engage a large wine-boat, and start off to see port wine in its earliest as in its latest stage.

Many friends warned us of the danger we ran of getting an attack of ague, and being troubled with returns of the malady for some years after; but this we hoped to escape-and we did so entirely. One friend gravely said, "You must not drink a drop of water when you are up the Douro, or you are sure to have the ague !" Another advised us to drink freely of the fermented juice of the grape, and to abstain from much fruit. All that we can say is, that we did drink more than our average quantity of port-wine; we took no more water than we required; we ate a most unusual quantity of fruit -but fruit which was fully ripe, be it understood-and we escaped the threatened ague.

We engaged a large flat-bottomed boat, used for the conveyance of either passengers or winepipes; and upon it a rude wooden house was placed, in which we lived entirely for ten days; and most thoroughly did we enjoy our trip. Our house was made of boards roughly fastened together, and consisted of two rooms; in one of which my sister and myself slept; in the other, my father and brother! Wooden shutters, seldom shut, did very well instead of windows! And the mattresses in the day-time were corded together tightly and stowed away. My father contrived a table, which could be fixed when required for meals, and when not wanted was hoisted up to the roof, and there suspended, to give us more space in which to move about. In so delicious a climate, we had no cause to fear "draughts" and sudden "chills," as in dear, damp, old England.

For the cooking we absolutely required, a fire-place was contrived between our end of the boat and that occupied by the crew; we had eight men; the "arrais" (or captain) was a

most civil fellow, and his sailors never gave us the slightest annoyance, being a quiet, orderly set of men. They were a very hard-working set: indeed, we often said, "When do they sleep?" for at all hours of the night, they were on the alert to take advantage of the wind being favourable, to get a few miles further. When we were unable to use the sail, our progress was very slow, as the boat was either impelled by long poles, with which the men pushed it along, or, where the shore allowed them to walk, they tracked the boat up with ropes.

When ascending a fall," or "rapid" (with which the Douro abounds), oxen had to be used to get us up; and these quiet, patient creatures are invaluable in places where horses, I should imagine, would be almost useless, the ground being so rough and broken. Some of these "falls" are exceedingly abrupt, and the boat, on one or two occasions, seemed fast approaching a perpendicular position.

The scenery of the Douro is singularly picturesque, and the river winds amidst high and richly-wooded banks, and in so perfect a climate is seen to the greatest advantage. Had we braved the dangers of the ocean merely to visit the Douro, we should have considered ourselves well repaid. The heat, in the middle of the day, was often excessive; but the evenings were cool and refreshing, and this has often struck me as being the one charming difference between hot weather in Portugal and England, where the nights are so oppressively hot that they fail to refresh the sleepers after the heat and fatigue of the day.

In the "Alto," or Upper Douro, where the vines are most cultivated, the hill-sides present a peculiar appearance from the river. The vines are planted on terraces, and grow very near the ground; so that, at a distance, they have a good deal the appearance of gooseberrybushes. We took care to have our trip when the moon was at the full; and such night as well as day scenes can never be forgotten. The climate so genial, the atmosphere so pure, the river so placid, the banks so romantic and varied, and the whole so novel, with the sounds of the village church-bells, and the girls singing their "aves," cold indeed would be any heart that was unmoved by such loveliness. Then the dolce far niente mode of life had charms, for a short time.

Near the river Tamega, which flows into the Douro, we were much amused by the primitive appearance of some poor little children, who skipped from rock to rock, with the agility, and something the appearance too, of young monkeys; as our boat passed them they were soliciting alms, as does every poor Portuguese, if ever an opportunity occurs. Some coins of small value thrown from the boat seemed to de

light these poor little children. They were as free from clothing as the monkeys they so resembled, and their skins of the darkest shade of brown.

Beggars certainly may be said to be a peculiar feature in Portugal. In every town are sad objects to be seen, who for years take their daily post in one particular street. The more revolting they can look the more they seem secure of getting relief. On my return to England, I one day casually mentioned one very disagreeable Oporto beggar to a friend, who had resided there many years before my visit, when she suddenly exclaimed "I remember the man quite well, he was in the Ceda Feta!" mentioning the exact street where I had seen him. This man was, or I suspect pretended to be, of weak intellect, but he was shrewd enough to know those parties who never gave him any thing. I was one, and of them he did not take the trouble to beg, but would make grimaces, and laugh at them, when they had passed him. When a lady is choosing some required purchase in a shop, it is no unusual thing to have the attention most unpleasantly distracted by the stump of an arm being suddenly thrust into notice. Some of the shopmen keep a small whip on the counter, with which they frighten away the juvenile beggars, but they seldom strike them; indeed to draw blood is, in Portugal, a serious offence, and may cause much personal trouble to the offender, as the inside of a Portuguese prison is a place to try the nerves of any one to whom extreme filthiness is unpleasant. I was once struck with the national habit of begging in visiting a madhouse, for even there the poor creatures crowded round the visitors, imploring a trifle " por l'amor de Dois" -for the love of God. But were I to dwell more on Portuguese beggars I should shock any fair reader, so I will return rather to the lovely Rio Douro. The further we ascended the river the more grandly beautiful the country became. Huge masses of granite are piled, in apparently wild confusion, on the luxuriantly-wooded banks. We passed, on the second evening, the ruins of the old monastery of Alpendurada, where, as is generally the case, we were struck with the well-chosen situation of the convent. The old monks had oft a keen eye for satisfying creature comforts.

The quiet of our third day was broken by having to ascend some considerable falls, as well as some rapids; these are long reaches of the river, where the water rushes swiftly along, but in what are properly termed "falls," the river does fall abruptly down, in some cases some feet at a time; and down goes the boat headlong, and for a few seconds seems at the mercy of the boiling, dashing torrent all around it; but, guided by the skilful steersman, still water is generally reached in perfect safety. Sad accidents, however, do sometimes occur, even with a practised hand, and, in rare cases, result in a sad loss of life; but happily the catastrophe generally affects the wine-casks only.

In ascending a fall the boat is not only drag

ged up by oxen, but other ropes are fastened. before entering the falls, to holes in the rocks, as an additional security in case those attached to the oxen should break. The falls are more dangerous in autumn than at other seasons, from the water being so low. We saw some Indian corn growing in what, in winter, was the bed of the river.

The first regular vineyard we passed was at a place called Cadão. At one fall, which was very steep, if such a word may apply to a watery ascent we had two yoke of oxen, and, in consequence of the boy not guiding them properly, and thereby causing the boat to swerve, and rather endangering our party, our "arrais” did really "dance with rage." The Portuguese boatmen are particularly noisy when any danger threatens, and not only call on the holy name of Jesus, but cry loudly to every saint in the calendar, in a manner which speaks for their earnestness, whatever amount of faith they may have in the saints whose saving powers they so noisily invoke. The loud shouts for aid to St. José, St. Antonio, and a legion of the same fraternity, rather tend to alarm an unaccustomed ear; but I believe, at the actual moment, when real danger has to be met, all are then silent. Such, at least, I found to be the case when, on one occasion, we landed at Oporto, in a stormy sea, when the bar of Oporto could not with safety be crossed, and we were landed outside it, at a place called "the huts." On nearing the shore we saw an unbroken line of white foam all along the coast, through which we were told our landing was to be effected. At length the pilot stood on a seat at the end of the boat, and his men, eight in number, all rested on their oars. They were waiting till the coming of a peculiar wave enabled the attempt of getting through the surf to be made. Suddenly the pilot shouts, "Agora, mios figlios" (now, my children), when every man bends to his oar, all shouting, "Oh, St. José," "Oh, St. Miguel," and so forth. Every nerve is strained to the utmost to get into calm water before another wave breaks, which would swamp the boat; and singular is the change to calm water close to the shore, from the roaring foaming surf through which we had just dashed. In our passage up the Douro, if any other boat happened to bump against ours, as in a rapid" did sometimes happen, our men set up an unearthly howl, expressive of their displeasure. Our ascent of the Douro terminated at a place called Pinhâo, and there we turned our attention to seeing all we could of the works of the vintage.

The grapes from which port wine is made are very small, and so close together, it would be hardly possible to insert a pin's head amongst them without crushing some, and they are excessively sweet. Both men and women are employed in the vineyards, and they carry the grapes in baskets on their shoulders to the large stone tanks in which they are trodden, called "lagars." A large lagar will contain grapes for twenty pipes of wine. We were told that a man will frequently carry a hundred pounds weight