This was worse than all that had gone before.

To one of his musical inspiration, the human voice divine in conversation was, endurable, and the roar of battle might even be tolerable, but to hear a creature attempt to play one of the "songs without words" on an instrument he knew as little of as the music he was parodying, was beyond all bearing! Then, if ever, did my wretched master dig his fingers into his ears, and writhe and shiver and groan at each discord produced by that inhuman performer.

He retreated into the innermost recess of his bedroom; he even hid his unhappy head beneath the clothes, if haply he might escape the agony of this torture.

But it was hopeless.

The shrieks and groans of that brutal ophicleide would have penetrated the walls of the Tower of London.
It lasted, I should not like to say how long; and when it was over, the recollection of its horrors was almost as bad as their endurance.