ylinder--now fast
disappearing--was a superior and admirable sausage."

"Have another?" said Doris.

"No mother; and you must not bring the cabbage either. Up to midnight
not a minute must be lost, and if I then leave off for a little while
you must by that time be dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things."

"I will carry you the cabbage then," said his father, "for I shall
not be in bed so early at any rate. The hymn to Sabina, composed by
Mesomedes, is to be performed with the chorus, as soon as the Empress
visits the theatre, and I am to lead the upper part of the old men,
who grow young again at the sight of her. The rehearsal is fixed for
to-morrow, and I know nothing about it yet. Old music, note for note, is
ready and safe in my throat, but new things--new things!"

"It is according to circumstances," said Pollux, laughing.

"If only they would perform your father's Satyr-play, or his Theseus!"
cried Doris.

"Only wait a little, I will recommend him to Caesar as soon as he is
proud to call me his friend, as the Phidias of the age. Then, when
he asks me 'Who is the happy man who begot you?' I will answer: It is
Euphorion, the divine poet and singer; and my mother, too, is a worthy
matron, the gate-keeper of your palace, Doris, the enchantress, who
turns dingy clothes into snow-white linen."

These last words the young artist sang in a fine and powerful voice to a
mode invented by his father.

"If only you had been a singer!" exclaimed Euphorion.

"Then I should have enjoyed the prospect," retorted Pollux, "of spending
the evening of my life as your successor in this little abode."

"And now for wretched pay, you plant the laurels with which Papias
crowns himself!" answered the old man shrugging his shoulders.

"His hour is coming, too," cried Doris, "his merit will be recognized; I
saw him in my dreams, with a great garland on his curly head!"

"Patience, father-patience," said the young man, grasping his father's
hand. "I am young and strong, and do all I can. Here, behind this
forehead, good ideas are seething; what I have succeeded in carrying out
by myself, has at any rate brought credit and fame to others, although
it is all far from resembling the ideal of beauty that here--here--I
seem to see far away and behind a cloud; still I feel that if, in a
moment of kindness, Fortune will but shed a few fresh drops of dew on
it all I shall, at any rate, turn out something better than the mere
ill-paid