e street.

A rumor was going about A---- in those days which occasioned the mother
of our young lady a little uneasiness. When Leonhard came to A---- it
was to live by his profession--music. He was an enthusiast in the
science, and the best people patronized him. He might have all the
pupils he pleased now, and at his own prices, thought Mrs. Washington
Ayres, who had herself taught music: why doesn't he stick to his
business? But then, she reminded herself, they say he has money; and he
is so bewitched about architecture that he can't let it alone. Too many
irons in the fire to please me! Perhaps, though, if he has money, it
makes not so much difference. But I don't like to see a young man
dabbling in too many things: it looks as if he would never do anything
to speak of. It is the only thing I ever heard of against him; but if he
can't make up his mind, I don't know as there could be anything much
worse to tell of a man.

She was not far wrong in her thinking, and she had seen the great fault
in the character of young Mr. Marten. It was his nature to take up and
embrace cordially, as if for life, the objects that pleased him. Perhaps
the tendency conduced to his popularity and reputation as a
music-master, for his acquaintance with the works of composers was
really vast; but the effect of it was not so hopeful when it set him to
studying a difficult art almost without instruction, in the confidence
that he should soon by his works take rank with Angelo, Wren and other
great masters.

At the music-dealer's window Mr. Leonhard stood for a moment beside
Miss Marion, and then said with a queer smile, "How cool it looks over
yonder among the trees! I wish somebody would like to walk there with an
escort."

"Anybody might, I should think," answered the young lady. "I have waded
through hot dust, red-hot dust, all the afternoon. Besides, I want to
ask you, Mr. Marten, what it means. Everybody is coming to me for
lessons. Are you refusing instruction, or are you growing so unpopular
of late? I have vexed myself trying to answer the question."

"They all come to you, do they? Yes, I think I am growing unpopular. And
I am rather glad of it, on the whole," answered Leonhard, not quite
clear as to her meaning, but not at all disturbed by it.

"I know they must all have gone to you first," she said. "Of course they
all went to you first, and you wouldn't have them."

Leonhard smiled on. Her odd talk was pleasant to him, an