study under the best masters. At first it seemed to be the perfection of piano-forte-playing; but in a few minutes I began to ask myself, wearily, "What is it that is wanting? Why does one get no pleasure from it?"
Then I set myself to listen intently to every note; and the mystery explained itself. There was an almost-perfect mechanical correctnessand there was nothing else! Praise notes, of course, did not occur: she knew the piece too well for that; but there was just enough irregularity of time to betray that the player had no real 'ear' for musicjust enough inarticulateness in the more elaborate passages to show that she did not think her audience worth taking real pains forjust enough mechanical monotony of accent to take all soul out of the heavenly modulations she was profaningin short, it was simply irritating; and, when she had rattled off the finale and had struck the final chord as if the instrument being now done with, it didn't matter how many wires she broke, I could not even affect to join in the stereotyped "Oh, thank you!" which was chorused around me.
