Oh, the musical repertoire of the English home, how well I used to know it! Its “Erotik,” its “Schmetterling,” its “Pierrette,” its Nocturne in E flat on the piano; its “Humoreske,” its “Benedictus,” its “Serenata,” its “Cavatina” on the violin; and its songs, its “Rosary,” its “Indian Love Lyrics,” its little archnesses by Hermann Löhr, its spasms by Frank Lambert, its sobs by Guy d’Hardelot—really I have often wished that I lived in the good old days of “The Battle of Prague” which at least made no pretensions to be music. The repertoire was always the same, rehearsed in the drawing-room, produced in the village hall with amazing inefficiency and complete self-satisfaction. Standard of execution or criticism there was none: amiable intention was allowed to suffice, and fingers could slither, bows wobble and voices squeeze tremulously out of constricted larynxes without apology. Have we any cause for pride in these things? And the teachers of music, can we praise them? Why do we attempt so much and achieve so little? No wonder Miss Ethel Smyth craved for a climate where music, even in the family, was an art and not an accomplishment: no wonder that she borrowed five shillings from the village postman to go to London concerts till an infuriated father, after kicking in the panel of her bedroom door, gave way and allowed her to fly to Leipzig. For the love of music let us try again now the war is over. We suffer from too much bad music. The women of England are mainly responsible, for I admit that the bulk of the men don’t care; surely women could effect a little improvement. If we cannot have better music all at once, perhaps we might have less. If I were Minister of Fine Arts, I would close all pianos and violin cases but those of certified musicians, for a year, except for the playing of _bona fide_ scales and exercises, and no singing but of _solfeggi_ should be heard from private individuals, a fine of forty shillings being inflicted for each breach of the regulations. Meanwhile Sir Thomas Beecham should have a free hand and unlimited money wherewith to conduct a cleansing and inspiring propaganda for the reform of musical taste in the home. The village entertainments of a year hence would be superb. Raff’s “Cavatina” would at least be played in tune.