‘T is wonderful how soon a piano gets into a log hut on the frontier. You would think they found it under a pine stump.
‘T is wonderful how soon a piano gets into a log hut on the frontier. You would think they found it under a pine stump.
My piano is to me what his boat is to the seaman, what his horse is to the Arab: nay more, it has been till now my eye, my speech, my life. Its strings have vibrated under my passions, and its yielding keys have obeyed my every caprice.
