re one can hope to sing even
moderately well. The singer can do nothing without technic, though of
course there are many people who try to sing without it. They, however,
never get anywhere when hampered by such a lack of equipment. Technic
furnishes the tools with which the singer creates his vocal art work;
just as the painter's brushes enable him to paint his picture.

RULES OF TECHNIC

[Illustration: MORGAN KINGSTON]

"I said the singer should have a finished technic in order to express
the musical idea aright, in order to be an artist. But technic is never
finished; it goes on developing and broadening as we ourselves grow and
develop. We learn by degrees what to add on and what to take away, in
our effort to perfect technic. Students, especially in America, are too
apt to depend on rules merely. They think if they absolutely follow the
rules, they must necessarily become singers; if they find that you
deviate from rule they tell you of it, and hold you up to the letter of
the law, rather than its meaning and spirit. I answer, rules should be
guides, not tyrants. Rules are necessary in the beginning; later we get
beyond them,--or rather we work out their spirit and are not hide-bound
by the letter.

EARLY STRUGGLES

"As you may know, I was born in Nottinghamshire, England. I always sang,
as a small boy, just for the love of it, never dreaming I would one day
make it my profession. In those early days I sang in the little church
where Lord Byron is buried. How many times I have walked over the slab
which lies above his vault. When I was old enough I went to work in the
mines, so you see I know what hardships the miners endure; I know what
it means to be shut away from the sun for so many hours every day. And I
would lighten their hardships in every way possible. I am sure, if it
rested with me, to choose between having no coal unless I mined it
myself, I would never dig a single particle. But this is aside from the
subject in hand.

"I always sang for the love of singing, and I had the hope that some day
I could do some good with the gift which the good God had bestowed on
me. Then, one day, the opportunity came for me to sing in a concert in
London. Up to that time I had never had a vocal lesson in my life; my
singing was purely a natural product. On this occasion I sang, evidently
with some little success, for it was decided that very night that I
should become a singer. Means were provided for both les