suited to express the tender pathos of these inimitable melodies.
Waymark always enjoyed this singing; his eyes brightened, and a fine
emotion played about his lips. And as he walked along the dark ways
to his lodgings, Egger's voice was still in his ears--

"_Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, der kommt nimmermefr_."

"Heaven be thanked, no!" the young man said to himself.

Poverty was his familiar companion, and had been so for years. His
rent paid each week, there often remained a sum quite insufficient
for the absolute necessities of existence; for anything more, he had
to look to chance pupils in the evenings, and what little he could
earn with his pen. He wrote constantly, but as yet had only
succeeded in getting two articles printed. Then, it was a necessity
of his existence to mix from time to time in the life of the town,
and a stroll into the Strand after nightfall inevitably led to the
expenditure of whatever cash his pocket contained. He was
passionately found of the theatre; the lights about the open
entrance drew him on irresistibly, and if, as so often, he had to
choose between a meal and a seat in the gallery, the meal was
sacrificed. Hunger, indeed, was his normal state; semi-starvation,
alternating with surfeits of cheap and unwholesome food, brought
about an unhealthy condition of body. Often he returned to Walcot
Square from his day-long drudgery, and threw himself upon the bed,
too exhausted to light a fire and make his tea,--for he was his
own servant in all things except the weekly cleaning-out of the
room. Those were dark hours, and they had to be struggled through in
solitude.