I visited Notre Dame on the Sunday, and introduced myself to the organist during service, who persuaded me to strike a few chords on the organ, which at once ratified our acquaintance, and I went home with him to take coffee. He lodged with two old ladies of the “ancien regime,” dressed in powder and stately costume, who received me with great politeness. In the room was a wretched little piano, the notes of which had never been heard amidst the sounds of war. I played and sang a canzonet of Haydn’s, with which they were delighted to tears, for they had not heard a note of this master before, and were only acquainted with him by name. << less