has over
three hundred articles, from masons' trowels to oil paint, skillets and
books, paint-pots, guitars, fiddles, flutes and other musical
instruments, as well as a large box of harpsichord wire and hammers."

This motley collection no doubt found eager customers. Another paper
tells us that "Herman Zedwitz, teacher of the violin, announces to the
public that he has just returned from Europe and will give a concert in
the assembly rooms at the 'Sign of the Golden Spade.'" Later, in 1774,
this same man evidently found that the public did not appreciate him
musically, for the intervals were so long between lessons and
engagements for his violin that he was forced to take up the occupation
of a chimney sweep. From accounts in the paper he must have inaugurated
a sort of trust, for he advertised to take contracts by the year for
"dusting out the sooty interior of flues" and adds, "None but competent
boys employed." Evidently musical culture in New York was temporarily at
a low ebb.

In this story of the evolution of the piano we have seen how, from its
primitive beginning, it has become the one splendid instrument that is
capable of representing the effect of a full orchestra. Before the death
of Beethoven he realized the tremendous power of the piano and
displayed its resources in a manner undreamed of by Haydn. Could these
old masters return today and sit at one of the splendid productions of
the twentieth century they would be dumb with amazement and entirely at
a loss as to how to handle the enormous range of seven and a third
octaves. Best of all, the price is such that some style of modern piano
is within the reach of nearly every one. Music in the home is now the
rule, not the exception.

Leigh Hunt has well expressed the feeling of all piano lovers in these
verses, which are full of sentiment:

Oh, friend, whom glad or gay we seek,
Heaven-holding shrine;
I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak,
And peace is mine.
No fairy casket full of bliss,
Outvalues thee;
Love only, wakened with a kiss
More sweet may be.

To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow,
In griefs or joys
Unspeakable, emotions owe
A fitting voice.
Mirth flees to thee, and loves unrest,
And memory dear,
And sorrow, with his tightened breast
Comes for a tear.

Oh, since few joys of human mould,
Thus wait us still,
Thrice blesse