Yes; he said so; not to play.

The breathing of the youngest gentleman was heard through the key-hole of the door.

He DIDN'T play.

What vent was a flute for the passions swelling up within his breast?
A trombone would have been a world too mild.
The serenade approached its close.

Its crowning interest was at hand.
The gentleman of a literary turn had written a song on the departure of the ladies, and adapted it to an old tune.