"CHOPIN" IN THE DUSK. 219 



a very indifferent listener to Chopin's waltz. 

 And yet there are statues that seem to me to 

 hearken very attentively to music, and the 

 marble poetry of their dead countenances 

 appears to glow and brighten under the in- 

 fluence of sound. 



A glimmer of white muslin through the 

 gap, a crisp rustle of a flounce, and Cousin 

 Kate, the " Chopinese," as I call her, on 

 account of her partiality for the composer, 

 stands before me in a pretty threatening atti- 

 tude. She has a red cloak over her dress, 

 with the hood up ; and she bears a fishing-rod 

 in her hand, for Kate is as fond of angling as 

 I am myself. 



" Well, sir, so you stole away when I thought 

 all the time you were listening to me in the 

 arm-chair. However, you shan't have all the 

 fishing to yourself. What flies have you up ? 

 I see." And Miss Kate, extracting a book 

 from my basket, proceeded to fasten on the 

 proper bait with a deftness which a master of 

 our craft might envy. 



" There is no use in trying now, Kate, the 

 fish are off the feed. Look at the moon, 

 "Sit, Jessica." 



