If these walls could talk, they may actually hum - hum with the music that was made in it's space. The timbers might echo with the tunes that were picked out painstakingly by family members, or the plaster might complain of the plight of listening to the hours of scales, Hanon or Pischna piano exercises. The floor boards might share the flourishes that came of listening to the endless choir or theater music, particularly a good Broadway tune. I like to think the whole house was infused with the inspiration of the many hours and hours of all the classical repertoire that I played upon the little upright Baldwin that was tucked in here, against the staircase in the front room. When the front door was open, the whole neighborhood either suffered along with me, or was surprisingly roused by the fury of my flying fingers.
The Hallelujah Chorus always seemed to get everyone's attention.