et
livelier!"

This appeared to satisfy Costello, and shaking hands with Von Barwig once
more, he went out and left him standing in the middle of the room. Von
Barwig's eye fell on a daguerreotype of Mendelssohn, and it called him
back to Leipsic. "Eat 'em alive, eat 'em alive, eat 'em alive!" rang in
his ears. "Good God, to what have I fallen, to what have I fallen?" he
cried to himself; then he stopped. "I must have more courage. I am a
coward, I am always railing at fate! Who can tell what the future shall
have in store for me?" Then he thought of the songs he had found in his
old trunk with his symphony. He hastily opened the trunk, took them out
and hurried uptown for the purpose of selling them, but the symphony he
did not take--he had not the courage to sell that.

It was some years since Von Barwig had tried to dispose of his
compositions and he made the rounds of the various music publishers with
as little success as usual. "There is no demand for my music," he
thought, and he went into a fashionable music emporium, as a last hope.

The clerks at Schumein's recognised him in a moment; his was a face one
could not forget. Mr. Schumein, the head of the firm, could not see him;
he was busy.

"I will wait," said Von Barwig, and he sat down.

"I'm afraid he'll be busy all the afternoon," said the clerk
apprehensively.

"I can wait all the afternoon, if necessary," said Von Barwig. He was
tired and was glad to sit down.

"Suppose you leave your songs here and I'll hand them to our reader,"
suggested the clerk, after Von Barwig had been waiting over two hours.

"They won't see me," thought Von Barwig, "I can no longer obtain an
interview. I am not worth seeing," and he smiled to himself as he
thought of the days when people used to wait for hours to see him.
"Well," he spoke aloud, "I will leave them; and to-morrow I will call for
the answer."

"Better leave it till next week; our reader is very busy," said the
clerk, a little impatiently.

"I will call again next week," said Von Barwig patiently.

"What's your address?" asked the clerk.

Von Barwig told him and he wrote it on the back of the manuscript. "All
right, I'll attend to it," and the young man threw the songs carelessly
into a drawer in his desk. Von Barwig thanked him, bowed politely, and
walked slowly out.

"Who is that?" asked a young lady who had just arrived in a fashionable
carriage and pair. She had been watching Von Ba