Now I might even then have submitted and promised and given up my fiddle and so pleased my father and remained in his favour. But this was one of those moments which are turning-points in a man's life. Besides I was young; I was inexperienced. And an overwhelming disgust fell upon my soul as I thought of the counting-house and the ledgers and the long hours in the dingy place driving the quill all day long. So without understanding what the words meant, I broke out impatiently: 'Sir,' I said, 'with submission, I would ask your leave to give up my place in this office.' 'Give up? Give up?' he cried, growing purple in the face. 'Does the boy know what he means?' [Illustration: "'GIVE UP!' HE CRIED, GROWING PURPLE IN THE FACE."] 'Give up?' cried my uncle. 'Is the boy mad? Give up his prospects in this House--this--the soundest House in the whole City? Nephew Will, wouldst starve?' 'I will make a living by music.' 'Make a living--a living--make a living--by music? What? To play the fiddle in a tavern? To play in the gallery while your father is feasting below?' 'Nay, sir; but there are other ways.' 'Hark ye, Will; let this stop. Back to thy desk lest something happen.' My father spoke with sudden sternness. 'Nay, sir; but I am serious.' 'Ay--ay? Serious? Then I am serious, too. Understand, then, that I own no son who disgraces the City family to which he belongs by becoming a common musician. Choose. Take thy fiddle and give up me--this office--thine inheritance--thine inheritance, mind, or lay down the fiddle and go back to thy desk. There, sir, I am, I hope, serious enough.' He was. My father was a masterful man at all times; he was perfectly serious. Now the sons of masterful men are themselves often masterful. I walked out of the counting-house without a word. I am conscious that there is no excuse for a disobedient son. I ought to have accepted any orders that my father might choose to lay upon me. But to part with my fiddle, to give up music: to abandon that sweet refreshment of the soul: oh! it was too much. Moreover, no one knew better than myself the inveterate hatred with which my father and the whole of my family regarded what they called the tinkling cymbal which they thought leads souls to destruction. Had I seen any gleam of hope that there would be a relenting, I would have waited. But there was none. Therefore I cast obedience to the winds, and left the room without a word. Had I known what awaited me: the misfortunes which were to drag me down almost unto a shameful death, in consequence of this act of disobedience, I might have given way. But perhaps not: for in all my troubles there were two things which cheered and sustained me, I enjoyed at all times, so you shall learn, the support of love and the refreshment of music.