is easy by reason of a certain familiarity. When the
sense-perception is blurred, as in faulty diction, extra work is thrown
on to the brain: listening then becomes a strain, and the brain is
fatigued with supplying the details which it supposes the singer to
have intended. The listener has, as it were, to put in his consonants
for him, to dot his "i's" and cross his "t's."

Some singers distort their vowel sounds almost beyond recognition, and
many pupils seem to be definitely taught to adopt the habit. Then "and"
becomes "awnd," and the various words take on new disguises after the
reputed Oxford model of "He that hath yaws to yaw, let him yaw." Singing
is but glorified speech, it is not a thing apart, neither is there one
language of the speaker and another of the vocalist. This distortion may
be due to affectation or to ignorance, but in either case we could well
do without it. In cases where the actual production of the voice is
mechanically stiff, rigid, and therefore distorted, it is not likely
that we can secure a free and flexible musical elocution. We do
occasionally meet singers whose diction is delightful to hear because of
its absolute freedom and complete naturalness, but these only serve to
heighten by their excellence the shortcomings of the many.

Consideration of the manner in which the words are put forth leads us to
the matter of the words themselves. It is difficult to find even a
modicum of meaning, to say nothing of spirit, in much of the verse that
achieves musical setting to-day. A critic in a London Daily some time
back inquired if all our native poets were paralysed, the query being
suggested by an examination of a representative batch of songs. But the
poet is hardly to blame for the present state of affairs. In the wedding
of words and music, the usual routine is for the author of the lyric to
submit his effort to the composer for his consideration. The composer
will neither select nor waste his time in setting the better class of
verse because, as he says, the publishers will not look at it. The
publishers will not print and issue it because, so they say, the public
will not purchase it. The public might very well retort that they get
precious little chance to listen to it, since royalty ballads come
first: nor to come in contact with it, for the ordinary dealer does not
stock it. There, then, is the vicious circle quite complete. But the
poets are not paralysed, they are merely inarticula