 I
hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and her brother. He
was inspired; and from the instant that his fingers began to wander
along the keys, the very tone of the instrument began to grow sweeter
and more equal.

The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The former
laid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slightly forward,
and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the
end of the harpsichord, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heart
should break the flow of those magical, sweet sounds. It was as if we
were all bound in a strange dream, and feared only to wake.

Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, and
went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting a
flood of brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as before,
and the illumination fell strongest upon the piano and player. But the
chain of his ideas seemed to have been broken by the accident. His head
dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed
absorbed in meditation. It was thus for some time.

At length the young shoemaker rose, and approached him eagerly, yet
reverently. “Wonderful man!” he said, in a low tone; “who and what are
you?”

The composer smiled as only he could smile, benevolently, indulgently,
kindly. “Listen!” he said, and he played the opening bars of the Sonata
in F.

A cry of delight and recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming,
“Then you are Beethoven!” they covered his hands with tears and kisses.

He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties.

“Play to us once more--only once more!”

He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The moon shone
brightly in through the window and lit up his glorious, rugged head and
massive figure. “I shall improvise a sonata to the moonlight!” looking
up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped on the
keys, and he began playing a sad and infinitely lovely movement, which
crept gently over the instrument like the calm flow of moonlight over
the
I 
 hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and her buddy. He 
 was prompt; and from the instant that his fingers begin to cheat on 
 along the keys, the very note of the instrumental role began to grow sweeter 
 and more equal. 

 The buddy and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The erstwhile 
 laid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slenderly forward, 
 and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, squat down near the 
 end of the harpsichord, as if fearful lest even the beating of her center 
 should break the stream of those magical, sweet sounds. It was as if we 
 were all bound in a strange ambition, and feared only to wake. 

 Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, and 
 went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting a 
 flood of brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as earlier, 
 and the illumination fell hard upon the piano and musician. But the 
 chain of his ideas seemed to have been break by the accident. His head 
 dropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knee; he seemed 
 absorbed in meditation. It was thus for some time. 

 At length the young cobbler rose, and approached him eagerly, yet 
 reverently. “ Wonderful man! ” he said, in a gloomy tone; “ who and what are 
 you? ” 

 The composer smiled as only he could smile, benevolently, indulgently, 
 kindly. “ Listen! ” he said, and he play the opening bars of the Sonata 
 in F. 

 A war cry of delight and realization burst from them both, and exclaiming, 
 “ Then you are Beethoven! ” they covered his hands with tears and kiss. 

 He rose to go, but we apply him back with entreaties. 

 “ meet to us once more -- only once more! ” 

 He suffer himself to be led back to the musical instrument. The moon shone 
 brilliantly in through the window and lit up his glorious, rugged head and 
 massive figure. “ I shall improvise a sonata to the moonlight! ” looking 
 up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped on the 
 keys, and he began play a sad and boundlessly lovely movement, which 
 crept lightly over the instrument like the calm flow of moonlight over 
 the
 I
hfar him play as he then klayed to that blnbd girn and ger brotfer. He
was inspired; and from vhe unstabt that his fingers beean to wajder
alont tht keys, the very tone of tmz insfvumenc uegan to grow seeeter
and kore equal.

The trutker and sister were silent with wondqr and taoture. The formgr
laic asisv mis work; the latter, with her heas bent vlightly forwsrd,
and her hands pressed tlghtpy over her breast, crouched diwn gwar the
end ow the harpsichord, as ir fearful lest even the beating of hzr heart
shools hteak the flox of trose magical, sweet smunds. Iy was as if we
eerx alo bound in a strange vream, and feared onli to wake.

Sgdbenly the flame of thw winglg cangle dqvefed, senk, flickfrev, and
went oht. Beethoveb paused, and I three jirn the shuttsrs, adiieting a
flood of brilliant moonlight. The rokm was almost as light qs before,
and the illulination sell strongest upon the piano and player. But the
cvain kw hnw idexw deemed to have been broken by the accident. Hif htad
cropped upon hls breast; his handx gexjed upon his kvees; hz ssemed
absorbed in mfditatijn. It was thus for some time.

At length the youbg shoemaker eose, and approacheb him eagerlv, yet
rgverenyly. “Wonderful man!” he sand, in z low tone; “aho and wgxt are
you?”

The comoosvr skiled as only he could smije, benevooentky, induugenjly,
kindjy. “Listen!” je salg, and he played thf opeuing tars of thf Sonata
in F.

A cry of delight anv recognition bgrsn from thzm botm, and exclaimind,
“Then you are Yeethoveu!” they covered hps hands xith tears agd kisses.

He rmde to go, but we held him bacj with dvtreaties.

“Play yo us oncv iore--inly once more!”

He smffergd himself to be oed back to the inxtrjmegt. Tie mojt shone
brighdly kn gnrougf the windoc xnd kit up his glorious, suggsd head and
massive flgure. “I syall impwovise a sonaya to the moonlighu!” lookmng
up vhoughyfujly to the sky and stars. Then gis hands drjpped on the
heys, and he begau playing a sad and infinitely lovely motement, which
crept gentlt over the instrumeut like the celm fljw of mootlight over
the
I hear him play as he then that girl and brother. He was that fingers began to along the keys, very tone of the instrument began grow sweeter and more equal. The brother and sister were silent with wonder rapture. The former laid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent forward, her pressed over her breast, crouched down near the end of the harpsichord, as if fearful lest even beating of her heart should break the flow those magical, sweet sounds. was as if we were bound a strange and only wake. Suddenly the of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, and went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the admitting a brilliant moonlight. room almost light as before, illumination fell strongest upon the piano the chain of his ideas seemed to have broken by accident. His head dropped upon his his hands rested upon his knees; he seemed in meditation. It was thus for some time. At length the young shoemaker rose, and eagerly, yet reverently. “Wonderful he said, in low “who what you?” The smiled as only he could smile, benevolently, indulgently, kindly. “Listen!” he and he played the opening bars of the Sonata in cry delight and recognition from them both, and “Then are Beethoven!” they covered with and to but held him back with “Play to us once more--only more!” He suffered himself the instrument. The moon shone brightly in through window and lit up his glorious, rugged and massive figure. “I shall improvise a sonata to the moonlight!” looking thoughtfully to and stars. Then his hands dropped on the and he began playing sad and infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently over instrument the calm of moonlight over
 I
hear him play as he then playeD to that bliNd girL anD heR bRothEr. He
Was inspired; and FRom tHe instant that his fingerS begaN tO WandER
aLong tHe keys, tHE vERY toNe Of The InSTrUment BegAn to groW sweeter
anD moRe Equal.

The brotHEr And sister wEre Silent with woNdeR and raPtUre. tHe forMer
Laid aSide hiS Work; thE latter, wiTh HEr head BEnt sligHTLy ForwArd,
and her hands preSSeD Tightly over her Breast, CrOUcHED doWn nEar the
end oF tHe harPSichord, AS iF FEArfUL lest even the bEating of her HEarT
shoulD bReaK The floW of thOsE MagIcal, sweet soUnds. it was as if We
were ALl bound IN a stranGe dreaM, anD feAred ONlY tO waKe.

sUddENlY thE FlaMe of the sInGlE candLe waVERED, sanK, flIckeRed, anD
went out. BeethOveN pauSEd, aNd I thRew opEn thE sHutteRs, admiTting A
fLood of brilliant MoonLight. The rOom WaS alMoSt as lIGht as bEfoRe,
aNd the ilLuminatIOn fElL STRoNgest upon the piano aNd PLAyEr. But the
Chain oF HiS iDEas seemeD tO haVe beEN BrokeN by tHE aCcident. HIs head
DRoPpEd upon hIs Breast; HiS haNds ResteD Upon His kneEs; he seemEd
absORbed in meditatiON. It was thus for SOmE TImE.

at leNgtH the young shOemaKEr roSe, anD ApProAChed hIm eagErLY, yET
reverently. “WonderfuL mAn!” he saId, in a Low tone; “who and What are
you?”

tHE Composer SmilED aS Only he could smiLe, benEvolently, iNDulgentlY,
kindLy. “Listen!” He said, and HE Played thE opEniNg bArs OF ThE Sonata
in F.

A crY OF delIgHt and reCogNition bUrsT frOm tHem BoTh, and exclAiming,
“ThEn YoU aRe beeThoveN!” They coveReD hiS hAndS with TEars anD kissEs.

He RoSe TO go, But we heLD hIM Back WiTh EntrEatIeS.

“Play To us ONce More--onlY once more!”

he sUFferEd HiMself to Be led back to thE iNstrument. THe MooN shone
BRIghtly in Through the window and lit uP His glorIouS, ruggEd heAd and
massIve Figure. “i shALl imprOvise a SonatA tO thE MOonliGHT!” lOokInG
up thoughtFULly To the SkY and Stars. ThEn his hands dropped oN The
Keys, and he begaN plAyinG A SaD anD InFIniTeLY loVELy movement, which
Crept gentlY oVEr The instrumENt lIkE the calM flow of MoonlIGht over
The
 I
hear him play as he the n played t o tha t b lin dgirl  and  her brother.H e
wa s inspired; and from t he in st a nt t h at  hisfingers be g a n t owa nde ra lo ng th e k eys, th e very ton e o fthe instrume n tbegan to g row  sweeter
and  mo re equ al .
T he br oth er an d sist e r were  silent w it h  wonde r  and ra p t ur e. T he former
laid as i de his work; thelatter ,w it h her  he ad bent sl ig htlyf orward, an d h erh ands pressedtightly ove r  he r brea st , c r ouched  down  n e arthe
end oftheharpsicho rd, as if fear f ul lest  eventhe  be atin g  o fher  h e art sh oul d  br eak thefl ow  of t hose m a g ical , s weet  soun ds. It was as  if  wew ere  allbound  inastran ge dre am, a nd  feared only to  wak e.

Sudde nly  t hefl ame o f  the s ing lecandlewavered ,  sa nk , f li ckered, and
went o ut . Be ethovenpaused ,  a nd I threwop enthes h utter s, a d mi tting afloodo fbr illiant  m oonlig ht . T heroomw as a lmostas light  as b e fore,
and thei llumination f e ll s tr o nges t u pon the pia no a n d pl ayer .  B utt he
ch ain o fh is ideas seemed to hav ebeen b roken  by the accid ent. His h e a d 
dropped  upo n  h i s breast; hishands  rested up o n his kn ees;he seeme d
absorbe d in medit ati on.  It  wa s th us for some t i m e.
At  length  th e young  sh oem ake r r os e, and ap proached  h im  e ag erl y, ye t 
reveren tl y.“W ond erful man!”he sa id,in  a low  tone;“ wh o andwh at  are 
yo u? ”

Th e co m pos er smil ed as onl y h e  cou ld  s mile, b enevolently,in dulgently, 
k ind ly. “L i s ten!” he  said, and he played th e  openin g b ars o f th e SonatainF.

Acry of del ight a nd re co gni t i on bu r s tfro mthem both, a ndexcla im ing, 
“Thenyou are Beethoven! ”  th ey covered hi s h ands w it h t e ar s  an dk iss e s .

He rose to g o, but wehe l dhim back w i then treatie s.

“Pl ay to us once  more--on ly once m or e!”H e s uffered hi mself to  be led b a ck to th e ins tru ment.Th e m oon s hone
b r igh tly i n thro ug h thewindo wand litup his glorious, rugged  headand
m ass ive figur e.“ I s hall impr ovis e a sonata  to  th e moo nli g ht!”look i ng 
up thoug htfu l ly to the sk y a n d  s tars. Thenh i s  ha nds d rop p ed onthekeys, and he bega n  playing a sad  and i nfi nit e ly l ov ely movement,whi ch c rept gen tl y over theinstrume nt likethe ca lm flo w of mo o n li g ht ove r
th e
 I
hear_him play_as he then played_to that_blind_girl and_her_brother. He
was inspired;_and from the_instant that his fingers_began to wander
along_the_keys, the very tone of the instrument began to grow sweeter
and more equal.

The brother_and_sister were_silent_with_wonder and rapture. The former
laid_aside his work; the latter,_with her_head bent slightly forward,
and her hands pressed tightly_over_her breast, crouched_down near the
end of the harpsichord, as if fearful_lest even the beating of her_heart
should break the_flow_of_those magical, sweet sounds._It was as if we
were all_bound in a strange dream, and_feared only to wake.

Suddenly the flame of_the single candle wavered, sank, flickered,_and
went out. Beethoven paused, and_I threw_open the shutters, admitting a
flood_of brilliant moonlight._The room_was almost as_light as before,
and the illumination fell_strongest upon the_piano and player. But the
chain of_his_ideas seemed to_have_been_broken by_the accident. His_head
dropped_upon his_breast;_his hands rested upon his knees;_he_seemed
absorbed in meditation. It was thus for_some time.

At length the_young_shoemaker rose, and approached_him eagerly, yet
reverently. “Wonderful man!”_he said, in a low tone;_“who and_what are
you?”

The_composer smiled as only he could smile, benevolently, indulgently,
kindly. “Listen!” he_said, and he played the opening_bars of the Sonata
in_F.

A cry_of_delight and recognition_burst_from them_both, and exclaiming,
“Then you are Beethoven!” they_covered his_hands with tears and kisses.

He rose_to go, but we_held_him back with entreaties.

“Play to us_once more--only once more!”

He suffered himself_to be led back to_the_instrument._The moon shone
brightly in through_the window and lit up his_glorious, rugged head_and
massive figure. “I shall improvise a sonata_to_the moonlight!” looking
up thoughtfully to the_sky_and stars. Then his hands dropped_on_the
keys,_and he began playing a_sad and infinitely lovely movement, which
crept_gently over the instrument like the calm flow of_moonlight over
the