The New York newspapers of olden time contain many notices that are curious enough to us who read them over in this day and generation. For instance, we find that "Peter Goelet has just gotten in a supply of goods on the ship 'Earl of Dunmore,' and advertises that he has over three hundred articles, from masons' trowels to oil paint, skillets and books, paint-pots, guitars, fiddles, flutes and other musical instruments, as well as a large box of harpsichord wire and hammers."
This motley collection no doubt found eager customers. Another paper tells us that "Herman Zedwitz, teacher of the violin, announces to the public that he has just returned from Europe and will give a concert in the assembly rooms at the 'Sign of the Golden Spade.'" Later, in 1774, this same man evidently found that the public did not appreciate him musically, for the intervals were so long between lessons and engagements for his violin that he was forced to take up the occupation of a chimney sweep. From accounts in the paper he must have inaugurated a sort of trust, for he advertised to take contracts by the year for "dusting out the sooty interior of flues" and adds, "None but competent boys employed." Evidently musical culture in New York was temporarily at a low ebb.
In this story of the evolution of the piano we have seen how, from its primitive beginning, it has become the one splendid instrument that is capable of representing the effect of a full orchestra. Before the death of Beethoven he realized the tremendous power of the piano and displayed its resources in a manner undreamed of by Haydn. Could these old masters return today and sit at one of the splendid productions of the twentieth century they would be dumb with amazement and entirely at a loss as to how to handle the enormous range of seven and a third octaves. Best of all, the price is such that some style of modern piano is within the reach of nearly every one. Music in the home is now the rule, not the exception.
Leigh Hunt has well expressed the feeling of all piano lovers in these verses, which are full of sentiment:
Oh, friend, whom glad or gay we seek,
Heaven-holding shrine;
I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak,
And peace is mine.
No fairy casket full of bliss,
Outvalues thee;
Love only, wakened with a kiss
More sweet may be.
To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow,
In griefs or joys
Unspeakable, emotions owe
A fitting voice.
Mirth flees to thee, and loves unrest,
And memory dear,
And sorrow, with his tightened breast
Comes for a tear.
Oh, since few joys of human mould,
Thus wait us still,
Thrice blessed be thine, thou gentle fold
Of peace at will.
No change, no sullenness, no cheat
In thee we find;
Thy saddest voice is ever sweet,
Thine answer kind.