he was recently in straitened circumstances, but he was too proud and
independent to ask or accept assistance.' The old friend, Mr. LEWIS
CHAPUY, Comedian, had 'frequently offered him hospitalities, which
he never accepted.' Offered him hospitalities! Worthy comedian! In
faith, EUGENIUS, 'tis delicately worded. True 'Sensibility' here,
supplemented by practical sympathy. Both, alas! unavailing. Somewhat
of the doggedly independent spirit of the boot-rejecting Dr. JOHNSON
in this poor deaf violinist apparently. Verily, EUGENIUS, the story
requires but the 'decorative art' of the literary sentimentalist
to make it moving, even to the modish. The ingeniously emotional
historian of LA FLEUR would have made much of it."

"My gentle heart already bleeds with it," said I. "But the upshot,
YORICK; the sequel, my friend?"

"'Tis short and simple," responded YORICK. "'The afflicted Violinist'
occupied a room at 34, Compton Street, Brunswick Square, in which he
lived alone. He suffered from lumbago, as well as from a proud spirit
and a broken heart. He had a dread of 'coming to the Workhouse.'
Spectral fear which haunts ever the sensitive and poverty-stricken!
Unreasonable? Perhaps. But not the less agonising. What comfort may
Political Economy and an admirable Poor Law yield to proud-spirited
victims of poverty?"

"But surely," said I, "the compassion of the stranger would gladly
have poured oil and wine into the wounds of his spirit--or into poor
afflicted MARIA's--had he only known."

"Doubtless," said YORICK. "But 'the great Sensorium of the World,'
as--in 'mere pomp of words'--thou dost designate 'Dear Sensibility,'
did _not_ 'vibrate' to the case of this 'well-known Violinist'--until
'twas too late to vibrate to any useful purpose. He was 'found lying
dead in his bed, fully dressed, with the exception of his hat and
boots,' mute as the untouched strings of his own violin. 'He had died
suddenly from syncope, or heart-failure.' Heart-failure, EUGENIUS.
Doth not thy gentle heart fail at the thought? 'Dr. COLLEY found the
body in an advanced stage of decomposition, and life had probably been
extinct since the preceding Thursday night.' Prithee, Sir, is 'MARIA,
sitting pensive under her poplar, more pathetic than this poor broken
musician, dying alone, in his poverty and pride?"

"Indeed, no!" I responded, musingly.

"Those," continued YORICK, "who go, like the 'Knight of the Rueful
Countenance,' in quest of melancholy adv