at Her
Majesty's Opera before now. Name what you like, and I will play it
you. Or, if you like it better, you shall hear the water running in a
brook, the wind passing through the trees, or the waves falling on the
beach. Only say the word."

Arthur thought for a moment.

"It is a beautiful day, let us have a contrast--give us the music of a
storm."

The old man considered a while.

"I understand, but you set a difficult subject even for me," and
taking up his bow he made several attempts at beginning. "I can't do
it," he said, "set something else."

"No, no, try again, that or nothing."

Again he started, and this time his genius took possession of him. The
notes fell very softly at first, but with an ominous sound, then rose
and wailed like the rising of the wind. Next the music came in gusts,
the rain pattered, and the thunder roared, till at length the tempest
seemed to spend its force and pass slowly away into the distance.

"There, sir, what do you say to that--have I fulfilled your
expectations?"

"Write it down and it will be one of the finest pieces of violin music
in the country."

"Write it down. The divine 'afflatus' is not to be caged, sir, it
comes and goes. I could never write that music down."

Arthur felt in his pocket without answering, and found five shillings.

"If you will accept this?" he said.

"Thank you, sir, very much. I am gladder of five shillings now than I
once was of as many pounds;" and he rose to go.

"A man of your talent should not be wandering about like this."

"I must earn a living somehow, for all Talleyrand's witticism to the
contrary," was the curious answer.

"Have you no friends?"

"No, sir, this is my only friend; all the rest have deserted me," and
he tapped his violin and was gone.

"Lord, sir," said a farmer, who was standing by, "he's gone to get
drunk; he is the biggest old drunkard in the countryside, and yet they
do say he was gentleman once, and the best fiddler in London; but he
can't be depended on, so no one will hire him now."

"How sad," said Angela, as they moved homewards.

"Yes, and what music that was; I never heard any with such imagination
before. You have a turn that way, Angela; you should try to put it
into words, it would make a poem."

"I complain like the old man, that you set a difficult subject," she
said; "but I will try, if you will promise not to laugh at the
result."

"If you succeed on paper only half so well as he