ebs._)

DOMINIE. Will you not go on, Mrs. Gold? The piano is a little too high,
and you are obliged to accustom yourself a little to it.

MRS. GOLD. I cannot sing any more. That beautiful song has taken such
hold of me, and I feel so badly. (_Whispers to Dominie._) Mr. Forte did
not accompany me well, either: sometimes he did not come in right, and
played too feebly; and sometimes he improvised too much in playing, and
overpowered my voice, which is a little weak just now.

DOMINIE (_aside to Emma_). What an evening of singing! Oh dear!

MR. GOLD (_who has been earnestly talking about stocks all the evening
in an adjoining room, rushes in, but rather late, after the close of the
song, and impetuously presses his wife's hand_). Marvellous!
magnificent! delicious! wonderful! My dear, you are in excellent voice
this evening. If Jenny Lind could only have heard you!

MR. PIOUS. Charming! superb! how touching! There is a religious
character in this piece, something holy about it! I beg of you, do sing
that air by Voss, "True Happiness." That will make our enjoyment
complete; it is truly ravishing! There is something divine in singing,
and your expression, your feeling, Madam! You give yourself up so
entirely to the composition!

(_Mrs. Gold has already taken up "True Happiness," and can hardly
wait while Mr. Forte murmurs off the introduction, quite after his
own fancy, with a sentimental _piano_. Mr. Pious drops a tear at
the close of the introduction, the four bars of which have been
transformed into eight bars by the great _virtuoso_. During the
tremulous, affected performance of "True Happiness," Mr. Pious
rolls up his moistened eyes; and, at the end of the first verse,
where the accompanist once more gives the reins to his fancy, he
says, "I am speechless, I cannot find words to express my
emotion!"_)

DOMINIE (_aside to Emma_). That you may call forged sentiment, the
counterfeit of feeling. You hear now how one ought _not_ to sing. For an
earnest, true musician, such a warmth in singing is only empty
affectation, disgusting, sentimental rubbish, and hollow dissimulation.
You will, however, frequently meet with such amateur infelicities.

(_Mrs. Gold has finished singing all the verses of "True
Happiness," and seems now to have almost entirely recovered. Mr.
Gold continues to converse about stocks in the adjoining room.
Dominie remains with E