out:

"It is a pity such ill-mannered people should thrust themselves among
ladies and gentlemen."

"Ill-mannered!" quoth its neighbor; "I assure you they are carriage
company from the neighborhood of Union Square."

In these days of universal respectful attention at the Philharmonic
concerts it is but a curious reminiscence of long-passed boorishness,
this of persons who whispered and giggled, and rustled out before the
end, at concerts, to the disturbance of all mannerly people.

As the city grew the concerts came up-town, and were for some time
given at Niblo's concert-room. But, wherever they were, one person was
for many years constantly familiar, sometimes as general director,
sometimes as pianist to accompany singing, always modest, courteous,
and efficient, a man widely and most kindly remembered--Henry C. Timm.
Like most of our musical benefactors, he was a German, and gave
lessons in piano-playing. He was not one of the great virtuosos, but
his touch was delicate and nimble, and he had a sincere love of his
art. Often and often, at a house always pleasant from that
reminiscence, with the consent of parent and pupil, and to his own
great delight, the hour designed for the scholar's scales and
exercises was given to the master's playing. He was fond of Weber's
"Invitation to the Waltz," and he played it with force and precision
and the utmost delicacy. Mr. Timm had a pale, smooth, sharp face, a
rather prim manner, and a quick, modest gait. He was most
simple-hearted, and loved a joke; and his fun was all the more
effective from his very sober face and his lisp. It was his wife who