gazing about him in consternation when the audience rose to go.
Afterwards he read long dissertations about each symphony before he
went, and he would note down the important points and watch for
them. The critic would expatiate upon "the long-drawn dissonance
_forte_, that marks the close of the working-out portion"; and
Thyrsis would watch for that long-drawn dissonance, and be wondering
if it was never coming--when suddenly the whole symphony would come
to an end! Or he would read about a "quaint capering measure led off
by the bassoons," or a "frantic sweep of the violins over a trombone
melody," and he would watch for these events with eyes and ears
alert, and if he found them--_eureka_!

But such things could not last forever; for Thyrsis had a heart full
of eagerness and love, and of such is the soul of music. And just
then was a time when he was sick and worn--when it seemed to him
that the burden of his life was more than he could bear. He was
haunted by the thought that he would lose his long battle, that he
would go under and go down; and then it was that chance took him to
a concert which closed with the great "C-Minor Symphony."

Thyrsis had read a life of Beethoven, and he knew that here was one
of the hero-souls--a man who had grappled with the fiends, and
passed through the valley of death. And now he read accounts of this
titan symphony, and learned that it was a battle of the human spirit
with despair. He read Beethoven's words about the opening theme--"So
knocks fate upon the door!" And a fierce and overwhelming longing
possessed him to get at the soul of that symphony.

He went to the concert, and heard nothing of the rest of the music,
but sat like a man in a dream; and when the time came for the