Please, no banjos.

And no thump-thump drumbeat, either . . .

Somewhere I read a statement about Mozart, that he knew the human voice to be the most beautiful musical instrument of all. If Mozart had not already known that, and he happened to walk through my house unannounced and unbeknownst, and he heard, as I have heard, emanating from another room as if from a faraway world, the indescribable beauty of my wife’s voice in song, he would know it then to be true. She, thinking herself alone, and singing so sweetly in her diamond-pure soprano voice, Mozart would hear her, and it would cause him to weep, like it always does me.