the three things necessary to keep the voice in good order are practice, practice, and again practice. A singer who lets his voice lie idle is pretty sure to lose some of his upper notes, his breathing-power falls below its highest standard, and the larynx becomes less supple and less obedient to his will. Another vital point is never, if possible, to use the voice when it is not at its best. The slightest cold deadens to some extent the vibrations of the cords, and the resonators are also thrown out of tune by dryness or excessive moisture of their lining membranes. Bodily weakness or indisposition is reflected in the voice; the cords do not come firmly together, and their tension is insufficient for perfect purity, much less richness, of tone. A most essential element in the care of the voice is attention to the general health. This is very apt to be neglected by singers, who have rather a tendency, as a class, to lead the life of hot-house plants, living in rooms from which fresh air is shut out almost as if it were a pestilence, and taking little or no physical exercise. It is right, no doubt, that a singer should shield his precious instrument from harm as carefully as a violinist protects his Straduarius or Amati, but exaggerated precaution may defeat its object. Even the most dainty of light tenors can not live wrapped up in cotton-wool, and the delicacy engendered by the unhealthy conditions of life which have been referred to makes the slightest exposure to cold or fog almost deadly to his artificially enervated throat. A singer who wishes to keep himself in good voice should rise, if not exactly with his brother minstrel, the lark, at least pretty early, say, before eight in the morning. Tosi says that the best hour for practice is the first of the sun, but this, I fear, is a "counsel of perfection" beyond the virtue of this unheroic age. The singer should take plenty of exercise in the open air, and should harden his constitution by leading, as far as possible, a healthy outdoor life. Nothing gives richness and volume to the voice like vigorous health; an experienced ear can often tell a man's physical condition by the full, generous "ring" of his tones, both in singing and speaking.
There is even more superstition among singers than among speakers, as to what is "good for the voice." A formidable list of things which were supposed by the ancients to be injurious is given by Pliny; it includes such a variety of animal and vegetable substances that one wonders how unfortunate vocalists could have found life worth living under such ultra-Spartan conditions. Our modern artistes tend to err rather in the opposite direction, to judge from their extraordinarily comprehensive views as to what is "good" for the voice. Every species of drink, from champagne to hot water, and almost every recognized article of food, including that particularly British institution, cold roast beef, has its devotees. I have no manner of doubt that every one of these
