ady heard this symphony rendered by the court musicians in
Belgium. I had no heart to practice my lessons for weeks after."

"And why not?"

"It seemed useless for me to waste time or money over an art so far
beyond my powers to master."

His face softened, while he arose from his chair and came a few steps
nearer to me.

"Only one or two human beings, so far as we know, have had musical
powers equal to Beethoven. Most men are satisfied if they can perform
harmoniously his creations."

"I could never do that. I might by years of hard study get so far as to
strike the correct notes, but the soul and expression would elude me,
simply because I have not brain power sufficient to comprehend them. A
thrush would be foolish to emulate the nightingale."

"Yes but some one might be gladdened by its own simple note," he said,
gently.

I was silent, while his words sank comfortably in my heart.

Looking up, at last, I caught his eye.

"I will try to be satisfied with my thrush's note, and make the best of
it."

"That is right, but make sure that you are not any better song bird than
the thrush, before you rest satisfied with its simple accomplishment."

Very earnestly and sincerely I promised him to do my best, and then
followed Mrs. Flaxman from the room. Our escort proved to be Mr. Bovyer,
a grave man, not so young as Mr. Winthrop, and who had a genuine passion
for classic music. I fancied from his name and partiality for German
composers that he must be either directly or remotely of Teutonic origin.
Beethoven was his great favorite. He averred that the latter had
penetrated further into the mysteries of music than any other human
being. He seemed transformed while we sat listening to the great waves
of harmony bewildering our senses; for, notwithstanding Mr. Winthrop's
prophecy, the concert was a success. He had a stolid face. One might
take him almost for a retired, well-to-do butcher; but when the air was
pulsating with delicious sounds, his face lighted up and grew positively
handsome.

"I wonder how you will endure the music of the immortals, that God
listens to, if you get with the saved by and bye?" I said, impulsively.

He shook his head doubtfully, but gave me at the same time a look of
surprise.

"I do not ask for anything better than Beethoven," he replied quietly.

Some way I felt saddened. The Creator was so much beyond the highest
object of his creative skill, even though that is or might be on