ers, like
horses which he knew he had safe in hand, play what pranks they
pleased? A reader may, I think, be measuring verse correctly to
himself, and yet make of it nothing but rugged prose to his hearers.
Perhaps this may be how severe masters of quantity in the abstract are
so careless of it in the concrete--in the audible, namely, where alone
it is of value. Shall I analogize yet a little further, and suggest the
many who admire righteousness and work iniquity; who say, "Lord, Lord,"
and seldom or never obey? Anyhow, a man may have a good enough ear,
with which he holds all the time a secret understanding, and from
carelessness offend grievously the ears he ought to please; and it was
thus with Joseph Jasper.

Mary was too wise to hurry anything. One evening when he came as usual,
and she knew he was not at the moment wanted, she asked him to take a
seat while she played something to him. But she was not a little
disappointed in the reception he gave her offering--a delicate morsel
from Beethoven. She tried something else, but with no better result. He
showed little interest: he was not a man capable of showing where
nothing was, for he never meant to show anything; his expression was
only the ripple of the unconscious pool to the sway and swirl of the
fishes below. It seemed as if he had only a narrow entrance for the
admission of music into his understanding--but a large outlet for the
spring that rose within him, and was, therefore, a somewhat remarkable
exception to the common run of mortals: in such, the capacity for
reception far exceeds the capability of production. His dominant
thoughts were in musical form, and easily found their expression in
music; but, mainly no doubt from want of practice in reception, and
experience of variety in embodiment, the forms in which others gave
themselves utterance could not with corresponding readiness find their
way to the sympathetic place in him. But pride or repulsion had no
share in this defect. The man was open and inspired, and stupid as a
child.

The next time she made the attempt to open this channel between them,
something she played did find him, and for a few minutes he seemed lost
in listening.

"How nice it would be," she said, "if we could play together sometimes!"

"Do you mean both at once, miss?" he asked.

"Yes--you on your violin, and I on the piano."

"That could hardly be, I'm afraid, miss," he answered; "for, you see, I
don't know always--not