Favorite Songs and Hymns For School and Home, page: 0048

450 Of The World's Best Songs And Hymns, With Lyrics & Sheet music for voice & piano.

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	48	FAVORITE SONGS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME.
	The Moonlight Sonata.�The Wide-Awake Magazine tells a pretty story of the way that Bee�thoven composed this beautiful piece of music. He was going by a small house one evening and heard some one playing his Symphony in F on the Piano. He stopped to listen, and heard a voice say: " What would I not give to hear that piece played by some one who could do it justice." The great composer opened the door and entered. "Pardon me," said Beethoven, somewhat embarrassed; " pardon me, but I heard music, and was tempted to enter. I am a musician!" The girl blushed, and the young man assumed a grave, almost severe manner. �� I heard also some of your words," continued Beethoven. " You wish to hear, that is, you would like�in short,		would you like me to play to yon?" There w«s something so strange, so comical in the whole affair, and something so agreeable and eccentric in Bee�thoven's manner, that we all involuntarily smiled. " Thank you," said the young shoemaker; "but our piano is bad, and then we have no music." " No music?" repeated Beethoven, "how, then, did ma�demoiselle�." He stopped and colored, for the young gitl had just turned towards him, and by her sad, veiled eyes he saw that she was blind. " I en�treat you to pardon me," stammered he: " but I did not remark at first. You play, then, from memory ?" " Entirely!" " And where have you heard this mu�sic before ?" " Never, excepting the music in the streets." She seemed frightened, so Beethoven did not
	NONE CAN TELL. Con anima.		W. H. Emra. G. B Allen.
	add another word, but seated himself at the instru�ment and began to play. He had not touched many notes when I guessed, says the narrator, who accom�panied him, what would follow, and how sublime he would be that evening. I was not deceived. Never, during the many years I knew him, did I hear him play as on this occasion for the blind girl and her brother on that old dilapidated piano. At last the shoemaker rose, approached him, and said in a low voice: " Wonderful man, who are you then ?" Beethoven raised his head, as if he had not comprehended. The young man repeated the ques�tion. The composer smiled as only he could smile. " Listen," said he; and he played the first move�ment in the F Symphony. A cry of joy escaped		from the lips of the brother and sister. They recog�nized the player and cried: "You are, then, Bee�thoven !" He rose to go, but they detained him. " Play for us once more, just once more," they said. He allowed himself to be led back to the instrument. The brilliant rays of the moon entered the curtain-less windows and lighted up his broad, earnest, and expressive forehead. "I am going to improvise a sonata to the moonlight," he said, playfully. He contemplated for some moments the sky sparkling with stars; then his fingers rested on the piano, and he began to play in a low, sad, but wondrously sweet strain. The harmony issued from the instrument as sweet and even as the bright rays of the beauti�ful moonlight spread over the shadows on the ground.