But look! scarcely has the door closed when it is again opened. A pale young man, accompanied by some sober-looking, elderly gentlemen, bows in an awkward and yet assuming manner, and, with a smile of conscious self-satisfaction, presents different letters of recommendation, among which such names as Meyerbeer, Auber, Spontini, shine out. It is a singer from one of the provinces; enchanted with the praises of his table-companions, he is about to devote himself to the stage. His rich father and richer uncle have come with him to Paris; Cousin Meyerbeer sends him to Garcia, as he has already sent him from Pontius Auber to Pilate Spontini. With what indifference Garcia throws aside these great letters, but how carefully he begins to test the young man's abilities! The aspiring devotee to art has brought with him his favorite air, his show-piece; Verdi is his idol among composers! The recitation begins; Garcia accompanies him. The voice is weak and yet sharp, already half-cracked; the flow of it unnatural and cramped; the most terrible effort is apparent at every note; false respiration too, and indistinct pronunciation. The master grows more and more impatient; his feet begin to jerk as if seized with sudden cramps; he plays faster and faster; with feverish haste, his slender hands run over the keys, his face changing with every sound; his eyes flash more and more restlessly; his teeth are pressed against his lips; suddenly, he springs from his seat, with the half-smothered exclamation, "Assez, Monsieur, assez, je vous prie!" He sinks exhausted into a chair; an awful pause ensues. At last the master quietly and decidedly explains to the singer the grounds upon which he is obliged to refuse his request, in spite of all the recommendations of Meyerbeer and Spontini. His candor and calmness towards the offended amateur are worthy of admiration. He concludes by kindly advising the astonished aspirant, if he has not implicit faith in his words, to seek another teacher, and dismisses the deluded worshipper of Verdi with the most refined courtesy. How frequently does he reject lady pupils who, with great assumption and half-ruined voices, come to him that his hand may scatter a few flowers over their remains! How impatient he is of all musical narrowness, want of talent, and laziness! His severity in such cases has given him a bad reputation, his violence has forced tears from many eyes; but his justice remains unimpeachable. He will not for a moment feign for a scholar an interest he does not feel, or that has been forfeited by any of the defects I have mentioned; he is unsparing in making them feel how little he cares for such pupils. Holding a book in one hand, with the other he carelessly strikes an accompaniment, and as he diligently reads on, only the monotonous "encore" at the end of a solfeggia proves that the ear of the master has been attending.