"No, no; they are not such as I gave him, be certain."
"I thought not, perhaps. Oh, sir, how very surprising he must have been when he was so young and little!"
"He did not rudely declaim, thou mayest imagine, at eight years old, and his voice was so modest to strangers that it was hard to make him heard at all,—this it was that made me set no laws before him."
"How then, sir, did you teach him?" was my bolder question.
"He would discourse of music in its native tongue, when his small fingers conversed with the keys of his favorite harpsichord, so wondrously at home there, from the first time they felt themselves. And in still obedience to the law of that inborn harmony that governed his soul, he would bend his curly pate over the score till all the color fell off his round cheek; and his forehead would work and frown with thoughts strong enough to make a strong man's brain quiver. I was severe with him to save my conscience; but he ever outwitted me, nor could I give him enough to do, for he made play of work, and no light work of play. It was as if I should direct the south wind to blow in summer, or the sunbeams to make haste with the fruit. At length it came to such a pass—his calm attainment—that I gave him up to die! He left off growing too, and there was of him so little that you would have thought him one the pleasant folk had changed at birth: bright enough were his eyes for such suspicion. So I clapped upon him one day as he was lying upon a bit of shade in my garden, his cap of velvet tumbled off, and the feather flying as you please, while over the score of Graun he had fallen fast asleep. When I came to him, I thought the little heart-strings had given way, to let him free altogether, he lay so still and heavy in his slumber, and no breath came through his lips that I could see. So I took him up, never waking him, and laid him away in bed, and locked up every staved sheet that lay about, and every score and note-book, and shut the harpsichord; and when at last he awoke, I took him upon my knee,—for it was then he came to my house for his lessons, and I could do with him as I pleased. 'Now,' said I, 'thou hast been asleep over thy books, and I have carried them all away, for thou art lazy, and shalt see them never again, unless thou art content to do as I shall bid thee.'
"Then he looked into my face with his kind child's eyes, and said,—
"'I wish that thou wert my pupil, master; for if so, I should show thee how I should like to be taught.'
"'Well, thou art now very comfortable on my knee, and mayest pull my watch-chain if thou wilt, and shalt also tell me the story of what thou shouldst teach thine old, grand pupil,—we will make a play of it.'
"'I do not care to pull thy chain now, but I should like to watch thy face while I tell thee.'
"So then, Master Carl, this elf stood upright on my knees, and spread out his arms, and laughed loud till the wet pearls shone; and while I held his feet—for I thought he would fly away—says he to mock me,—