"True!--but in thus dying, think how many fools it afterwards fattens! There is an all-wise Providence in this, my dear sir! Schubert perished of want,--but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made since out of his compositions! It is a most beautiful dispensation of nature,--that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for the sustenance of knaves!" He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise. His remark touched so near my own opinions that I wondered whether he were in jest or earnest. "You speak sarcastically of course?" I said--"You do not really believe what you say?" "Oh, do I not!" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes that was almost lightning-like in its intensity--"If I could not believe the teaching of my own experience, what would be left to me? I always realize the '_needs must_' of things--how does the old maxim go--'needs must when the devil drives.' There is really no possible contradiction to offer to the accuracy of that statement. The devil drives the world, whip in hand,--and oddly enough, (considering that some belated folk still fancy there is a God somewhere) succeeds in managing his team with extraordinary ease!" His brow clouded and the bitter lines about his mouth deepened and hardened,--anon he laughed again lightly and continued--"But let us not moralize,--morals sicken the soul both in church and out of it,--every sensible man hates to be told what he _could_ be and what he _won't_ be. I am here to make friends with you if you permit,--and to put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back to my hotel where I have ordered supper?" By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner, handsome presence and mellifluous voice,--the satirical turn of his humour suited mine,--I felt we should get on well together,--and my first annoyance at being discovered by him in such poverty-stricken circumstances somewhat abated. "With pleasure!" I replied--"But first of all, you must allow me to explain matters a little. You have heard a good deal about my affairs from my friend John Carrington, and I know from his private letter to me that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. For that generous intention I thank you! I know you expected to find a poor wretch of a literary man struggling with the direst circumstances of disappointment and poverty,--and a couple of hours ago you would have amply fulfilled that expectation. But now, things have changed,--I have received news which completely alters my position,--in fact I have had a very great and remarkable surprise this evening...." "An agreeable one I trust?" interposed my companion suavely. I smiled. "Judge for yourself!" And I handed him the lawyer's letter which informed me of my suddenly acquired fortune. He glanced it through rapidly,--then folded and returned it to me with a courteous bow.