My dear old friend X, who lives in a West End square and who is an amazing mixture of
good nature and irascibility, flies into a passion when he hears a street piano, and rushes
out to order it away. But near by lives a distinguished lady of romantic picaresque tastes,
who dotes on street pianos, and attracts them as wasps are attracted to a jar of jam.
Whose liberty in this case should surrender to the other? For the life of me I cannot say. It is as reasonable to like street pianos as to dislike them―
and vice versa.
