"A powerful means of exciting the mind to a vivid conception of the subject is to imagine the personage as standing before one, and let the phantom sing and act, criticising closely both efforts; then, when satisfied with the results, to imitate them exactly. By faithfully reproducing the impressions suggested by this creature of fancy, the artist will obtain more striking effects than at once rendering a piece." "Another way is to recall some analogous situation in a work of art: for example, if we have to study the scene of Desdemona in the second act of Rossini's 'Otello,' 'L'error d'un infelice,' one of the fine paintings of the Magdalene at the feet of Christ might occur to the mind. Grief and repentance could not assume a more pathetic form." He was always careful to secure the proper use of the registers on the part of the pupil, for, as he would point out, more female voices have been ruined by carrying the chest register too high (that is to say, beyond the E or F above middle C) than by anything else. He had a wonderful insight into the capabilities of those whom he taught. Indeed, I remember his saying once that throughout his career he had very rarely failed in reading from the eyes of an intending pupil the prophecy as to his or her future success in the profession of music. He disliked, he said, to be associated with failures, and the moment he found that he had made a mistake in his estimate of a pupil's capacities, he at once disillusioned him and declined to continue his training. His mannerisms while playing accompaniments were quite characteristic of the man. He would strike the chords with the greatest vivacity, and almost leap into the air from his piano-stool in his excitement at any wrong trick of vocalisation; or again, he would make a dash for the metronome, snatch it up and set it to time, and for the space of perhaps ten minutes compel one to go on counting mentally, or beating time with the hand in unison with the rhythmic movements of the guiding instrument, until the time difficulty had been mastered. When he had succeeded in preparing the voice for use like a beautifully toned instrument, his teaching spread over the whole extension of every style of music,--opera, oratorio, and song. To his charm of courtly manners was added a never-failing wit and love of fun: of this he gave constant proof. For instance, an old pupil recounts how one day Manuel Garcia was seized with a fit of coughing. "Ah, maestro, I'm afraid it's the spring," he commiserated, and was met with the half-laughing, half-pathetic retort, "No, no; it is too many springs." A further illustration of his keen sense of humour, even in extreme old age, is found in a letter which, as a nonagenarian, he wrote to a friend some seventy years his junior.