nd although in these days of electricity
one might reasonably imagine the cable would have outstripped me, still
by careful examination of American newspapers I find only meagre mention
of the remarkable musical occurrence that shook all Laputa to its centre
last month. As you know, we pride ourselves on being a thoroughly
musical nation; our symphony concert programs and our operatic repertory
contain all the novelties that are extant. To be sure, we are a little
conservative in our tastes and relish Mozart, and, must it be confessed,
even Haydn; but, on the other hand, we have a penchant for the
Neo-Russian school and hope some day to found a trans-Asiatic band of
composers whose names will probably be as hard as their harmonies are to
European and American ears.

The event I speak of transcends anything in the prodigy line that we
have ever encountered, for while we have been deluged with boy pianists,
infant violinists, and baby singers, _ad nauseam_, still it must be
confessed that a centenarian piano virtuoso who would make his debut
before a curious audience on his hundredth birthday was a novelty
indeed, particularly as the aged artist in question had been studying
diligently for some ninety-five years under the best masters (and with
what opportunities!) and would also on this most auspicious occasion
conduct an orchestral composition of his own, a _Marche Funebre a la
Tartare_, for the first time in public. This, then, I repeat, was a
prodigy that promised to throw completely in the shade all competitors,
in addition to its being an event that had no historical precedence in
the annals of music.

With what burning curiosity the night of the concert was awaited I need
not describe, nor of the papers teeming with anecdotes of the venerable
virtuoso whose name betrayed his Asiatic origin. His great-grandchildren
(who were also his managers) announced in their prospectus that their
great-grandfather had never played in public before, and with, of
course, the exception of his early masters, had never even played for
anybody outside of his own family circle. Born in 1788, he first studied
technics with the famous Clementi and harmony with Albrechtsberger. His
parents early imbued him (by the aid of a club) with the idea of the
extreme importance of time and its value, if rightfully used, in
furthering technique. So, from five hours a day in the beginning he
actually succeeded in practising eighteen hours out of the