unworthily, when he knew how ill such former illiberality had been stomached.
The patentee was certainly nettled enough at this spirited conduct of our hero. He however thought proper to suppress what he felt, and they proceeded to the music-room, where every thing was ready for a repetition of the music.
The moment Charles entered the room, he was surrounded by the females.
'Lord, Mr. Hazard, cried one, 'don't you think this here round o is monstrous frightful? You ought to have given me a song full of divisions, and runs, and shakes, to shew my powers.'
'Let us hear it played, Miss Forward,' said Charles.
'Oh Lord,' replied the lady, 'there is no occasion for that, I have played it all over myself with one finger, and I tell you it will have no effect.'

She was going on with remarks on her other songs, but Charles turned from her. He was however as badly off, for he found the principal singer in high words with the manager, because the puppy of a composer had truly thought proper to restrict her in her cadences. What did he mean by such insolence?

Had any body ever attempted to point out to a mistress of her profession any limits to her candenza?

'I know madam,' said Charles, 'that it is almost as vain an attempt as to prescribe limits to her impertinence; but, in one word, those who sing for me shall sing what I have written, and nothing else. It is my music, and not yours, I chuse madam to give to the world; and, to tell you the truth, what little abilities I have shall be exerted to explode the candenza which has lately obtained to the scandal of taste, and the total exclusion of every characteristic by which music ought to be distinguished. As it is, singing is become a vehicle to convey every thing that is extraordinary, and nothing that is pleasing. Nature, feeling, expression, and, above all, a conveyance of the poet's ideas—beyond which every thing in vocal music is impertinence—all these are disregarded. The lady who sings highest, lowest, longest, and loudest is the best singer; and thus all you principal performers stand squalling and stretching out your necks like the crow in the fable, forgetful of the fox underneath, who not only laughs at your folly, but stands ready to snap up the cheese, the moment it falls out of your mouths.'


'Yes,' said the lady, '