
“I shall play to her,” he said, in an excited tone. “Here is
feeling--genius--understanding. I shall play to her, and she will
understand it.” And, before I could prevent him, his hand was upon the
door.

A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him,
leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl,
with a profusion of light hair falling over her bent face. Both were
cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both started and turned towards us
as we entered.

“Pardon me,” said Beethoven, “but I heard music, and was tempted to
enter. I am a musician.”

The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave--somewhat annoyed.

“I--I also overheard something of what you said,” continued my friend.
“You wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is-- Shall I play for
you?”

There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so
pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken, and
all smiled involuntarily.

“Thank you!” said the shoemaker; “but our harpsichord is so wretched,
and we have no music.”

“No music!” echoed my friend. “How, then, does the young lady--”

He paused, and  up, for the girl looked full at him, and he saw
that she was blind.

“I--I entreat your pardon!” he stammered. “But I had not perceived
before. Then you play by ear?”

“Entirely.”

“And where do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?”

“I used to hear a lady practising near us, when we lived at Brühl two
years. During the summer evenings her windows were generally open, and I
walked to and fro outside to listen to her.”

She seemed shy; so Beethoven said no more, but seated himself quietly
before the piano, and began to play. He had no sooner struck the first
chord than I knew what would follow--how grand he would be that night.
And I was not mistaken. Never, during all the years I knew him, did
“ I shall play to her, ” he said, in an excited tone. “ Here is 
 feel -- flair -- understanding. I shall play to her, and she will 
 understand it. ” And, before I could prevent him, his handwriting was upon the 
 door. 

 A pale young world was sit by the table, making shoes; and near him, 
 leaning dolefully upon an old - fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl, 
 with a profusion of abstemious hair accrue over her bent face. Both were 
 flawlessly but very poorly dressed, and both started and change state towards us 
 as we entered. 

 “ Pardon me, ” said Beethoven, “ but I listen music, and was tempted to 
 enroll. I am a musician. ” 

 The girl blushed, and the young man looked dangerous -- somewhat annoyed. 

 “ I -- I also overheard something of what you said, ” continued my friend. 
 “ You wish to learn -- that is, you would like -- that is-- Shall I play for 
 you? ” 

 There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so 
 pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was break, and 
 all smiled involuntarily. 

 “ Thank you! ” said the cobbler; “ but our harpsichord is therefore miserable, 
 and we have no music. ” 

 “ No music! ” echoed my friend. “ How, then, does the young lady-- ” 

 He paused, and   up, for the girl look full at him, and he saw 
 that she was blind. 

 “ I -- I entreat your pardon! ” he stammered. “ But I had not perceived 
 ahead. Then you play by ear? ” 

 “ Entirely. ” 

 “ And where do you hear the music, since you frequent no concert? ” 

 “ I used to listen a dame drill near us, when we lived at Brühl two 
 years. During the summer evenings her window were generally open, and I 
 walked to and fro outside to heed to her. ” 

 She seemed diffident; so Beethoven said no more, but seated himself quietly 
 before the piano, and began to bring. He had no sooner struck the inaugural 
 chord than I knew what would pursue -- how grand he would be that nox. 
 And I was not mistaken. Never, during all the years I knew him, dress

“I sjall play to her,” he said, in an excited jobe. “Herx is
feeming--genijs--understanding. I shall play ti her, and she will
understana it.” And, hefore I couoe prevent ijm, his mcnd wzd upmi the
door.

A pale young man was sitting bf ghz table, making shoes; and near him,
leaging sotrlwfully upon ag olc-sashjoned harpsichord, sat a young girl,
sith a krofusion of light hair falling over her benh fafe. Both were
cleanlj but very kkorjt dressed, ana both stagced and turhed towards us
as we entered.

“Pardun me,” said Beetyocen, “tut I heard musib, and was temined to
etter. I sm a musician.”

Tme gicl boushed, and the young kan looked grave--soiewhat antoved.

“I--I also overheard wonethitg ox whxr yuu aamd,” dontinked my friend.
“Gou wish to hear--that is, you woilq like--that is-- Ahall Y [lay for
you?”

There was something so odd it tge whole affair, and somwthing so
pleasant in jhe manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken, and
all vmilev knvilmntafulj.

“Thank you!” said the shoemaker; “but our harpsicrkrc ps so wretched,
and we have no mksos.”

“No music!” echued my frjend. “How, then, does the yoong laey--”

He paustd, anc  up, for the girl looked fyll at him, aud ye saw
that she was blind.

“I--I encreat iour psrdon!” he stammered. “But N had hot perceivfd
before. Ffen you play by dar?”

“Vntisely.”

“And where do you hear ehe music, sinee you ffequgnt no soncerts?”

“I ksed bm hear a lady prachisiny neas us, when ae lived at Brühl two
years. Durinj the summer gvetincs her wnndows were generaljy open, and I
wclked to and wro outsidv to listxn to her.”

She seemed shy; sm Beethoven seid no mowe, byt swated hkoself quietly
brfore the piano, and began to play. He mad nu sooner struck cke first
chord tham I knqw wiat wjgld follow--hof grxnd ne wojld be ukat vighy.
And I was not mistanen. Hever, during all tne years I knew hii, did
“I shall play to her,” he said, excited “Here is I shall play understand And, before I prevent him, his was upon the door. A pale man was sitting by the table, making shoes; and near him, leaning sorrowfully an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair over bent Both cleanly but very poorly dressed, and both started and turned towards us as we entered. “Pardon said Beethoven, “but I heard music, and was to enter. I am musician.” The girl blushed, and young looked grave--somewhat “I--I overheard of what you continued my friend. “You wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is-- Shall I play for you?” was something in the affair, something pleasant in the the speaker, that the spell was smiled involuntarily. “Thank you!” said the shoemaker; “but harpsichord is wretched, and we have no music.” music!” echoed my friend. “How, then, does the lady--” He paused, and up, for the girl looked full at him, and he saw was blind. “I--I entreat pardon!” he stammered. I not before. you play ear?” “Entirely.” “And where do you hear the music, since you no concerts?” “I used to hear a lady practising near we at Brühl two During the summer evenings windows generally open, and I and outside her.” seemed so Beethoven said no but seated himself quietly before piano, and began to struck the first chord than I knew what follow--how grand he would be that night. I was not mistaken. Never, during all the years I knew him,

“I shall play to her,” he said, in an Excited tonE. “Here Is
fEelInG--genIus--uNderstanding. I sHAll pLay to her, and she will
undeRstanD iT.” and, bEFoRe I coUld prevENt HIM, hiS hAnD waS uPOn The
doOr.

A Pale youNg man was siTtiNg By the table, maKInG shoes; and nEar Him,
leaning soRroWfully UpOn aN Old-faShiOned hArpsicHOrd, sat A young girL,
wITh a proFUsion of LIGhT haiR falling over her beNT fACe. Both were
cleaNly but VeRY pOORly DreSsed, and botH sTarteD And turnED tOWARds US
as we entered.

“PArdon me,” said bEetHoven, “bUt i heARd musiC, and wAs TEmpTed to
enter. I Am a mUsician.”

ThE girl bLUshed, anD The younG man loOkeD grAve--sOMeWhAt aNnOYed.

“i--i aLso OVerHeard somEtHiNg of wHat yOU SAId,” coNtiNued My friEnd.
“You wish to hEar--That IS, yoU woulD like--That Is-- shall i play fOr
you?”

thEre was something So odD in the whoLe aFfAir, AnD someTHing so
PleAsaNt in the Manner oF The SpEAKEr, That the spell was broKeN, ANd
All smileD involUNtArILy.

“Thank yOu!” SaiD the SHOemakEr; “buT OuR harpsicHord is SO wReTched,
anD wE have nO mUsiC.”

“No Music!” EChoeD my friEnd. “How, thEn, doeS The young lady--”

He PAused, and  up, for THe GIRl LOokeD fuLl at him, and hE saw
THat sHe waS BlInd.

“i--i entrEat yoUr PArDOn!” he stammered. “But I haD nOt percEived
Before. Then you Play by ear?”

“ENTIRely.”

“And wHere DO yOU hear the music, sInce yOu frequent NO concertS?”

“I useD to hear a Lady practISIng near uS, whEn wE liVed AT brÜhl two
years. DuRINg thE sUmmer evEniNgs her wIndOws WerE geNeRally open, And I
walkEd To AnD fRo oUtsidE To listen To Her.”

shE seEmed sHY; so BeeThoveN saiD nO mORe, bUt seateD HiMSElf qUiEtLy
beForE tHe piaNo, anD BegAn to plaY. He had no sOonER strUcK tHe first
Chord than I kneW wHat would foLlOw--hOw granD HE would be That night.
And I was not mistAKen. NeveR, duRing aLl thE years I knEw hIm, did

“I shall play to her,” he  said, inan ex cit edto ne.“Her e is
feeling-- g eniu s--understanding. I sh all p la y  toh er , and  she wi l lu n der st an d i t. ”  A nd, b efo re I co uld preven t h im , his hand w a supon the
d oor .

A pale yo ung  man w as  si t tingbythe t able,m akingshoes; an dn ear hi m ,
leani n g  s orro wfully upon an ol d -f a shioned harpsi chord,  s a ta you nggirl,
with  a  prof u sion of li g h t  ha i r falling ove r her bentf ace . Both  w ere cleanl y but  v e rypoorly dres sed,  and both  start e d and t u rned to wardsusaswe e n te re d.
“ P ard o nme, ”  sa id Beeth ov en , “bu t Ih e a r d mu sic , an d was  tempted to
e nte r. I ama mus ician .”
Th e gir l blus hed,an d the young man  loo ked grave --s om ewh at  anno y ed.

“ I-- I a lso ove rheards ome th i n g  o f what you said,”co n t in ued my f riend. “Y ou wish tohe ar- -tha t is, y ou w o ul d like-- that i s --  S hall Ipl ay for 
y ou? ”
There wassometh ing so o dd in the whole affa i r, and someth i ng s op leas ant  in the man nero f th e sp e ak er, thatthe s pe l lw as broken, and
allsm iled i nvolu ntarily.

“Th ank you!”s a i d the sh oema k er ;  “but our harp sicho rd is so w r etched,and w e have n o music.” “No musi c!”  ec hoe d m y fr iend. “How, t h e n, d oe s the y oun g lady- -”
He  pa use d,  and  up,  for the  g ir llo oke d ful l  at him,  a ndhe  sa w
tha t  she w as bl ind. 
“I - -Ientreat yo u r  par do n! ” he  st am mered . “B u t I  had no t perceiv edb efor e.  T hen you  play by ear? ”
“Entirely .” 

“ And wh e r e do you  hear the music, sincey ou freq uen t noconc erts?”

“ I u sed to  he a r a la dy pra ctisi ng  ne a r  us,w h en  we  l ived at Br ü h l t wo
ye ar s. D uring t he summer evenings her  windows were  ge nera l l yope n ,a ndIw alk e d  to and fro out side to li st e nto her.”
S hese emed sh y; so B eetho v en said  no more,  but seat ed  him s e lfquietly
be fore the  piano, a n d beg a nto pl ay.  He ha dnosoone r stru c k t he fi rst
ch or d than  I kn ew  what wo uld follow--how grand h e woul d betha t night.And I w as not mi stak en. Never,  du rin g all  th e  year s Ik ne w h i m, di d

“I shall_play to_her,” he said, in_an excited_tone._“Here is
feeling--genius--understanding._I_shall play to_her, and she_will
understand it.” And, before_I could prevent_him,_his hand was upon the
door.

A pale young man was sitting by the table, making_shoes;_and near_him,
leaning_sorrowfully_upon an old-fashioned harpsichord, sat_a young girl,
with a profusion_of light_hair falling over her bent face. Both were
cleanly_but_very poorly dressed,_and both started and turned towards us
as we entered.

“Pardon_me,” said Beethoven, “but I heard_music, and was_tempted_to
enter._I am a musician.”

The_girl blushed, and the young man_looked grave--somewhat annoyed.

“I--I also overheard something_of what you said,” continued my friend.
“You_wish to hear--that is, you would_like--that is-- Shall I play_for
you?”

There was_something so odd in the_whole affair, and_something so
pleasant_in the manner_of the speaker, that the spell_was broken, and
all_smiled involuntarily.

“Thank you!” said the shoemaker;_“but_our harpsichord is_so_wretched,
and_we have_no music.”

“No music!”_echoed_my friend._“How,_then, does the young lady--”

He paused,_and_ up, for the girl looked full_at him, and he_saw
that_she was blind.

“I--I entreat_your pardon!” he stammered. “But_I had not perceived
before. Then you_play by_ear?”

“Entirely.”

“And where_do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?”

“I used_to hear a lady practising near_us, when we lived_at Brühl_two
years._During the summer_evenings_her windows_were generally open, and I
walked to and_fro outside_to listen to her.”

She seemed shy;_so Beethoven said no_more,_but seated himself quietly
before the piano,_and began to play. He had_no sooner struck the first
chord_than_I_knew what would follow--how grand_he would be that night.
And I_was not mistaken._Never, during all the years I knew_him,_did