s on men, as if to show them that they render
her too little, her successor too much honor. April can boast that
in her house is born the spring, whose vigor is only strengthened and
beauty developed by her blooming heir.

It was Sunday, and whoever on such a day, while the bells are ringing,
wanders in Holland over sunny paths, through flowery meadows where
countless cattle, woolly cheep, and idle horses are grazing, meeting
peasants in neat garments, peasant women with shining gold ornaments
under snow-white lace caps, citizens in gay attire and children released
from school, can easily fancy that even nature wears a holiday garb
and glitters in brighter green, more brilliant blue, and more varied
ornaments of flowers than on work-days.

A joyous Sunday mood doubtless filled the minds of the burghers, who
to-day were out of doors on foot, in large over-crowded wooden wagons,
or gaily-painted boats on the Rhine, to enjoy the leisure hours of the
day of rest, eat country bread, yellow butter, and fresh cheese, or
drink milk and cool beer, with their wives and children.

The organist, Wilhelm, had long since finished playing in the church,
but did not wander out into the fields with companions of his own age,
for he liked to use such days for longer excursions, in which walking
was out of the question.

They bore him on the wings of the wind over his native plains, through
the mountains and valleys of Germany, across the Alps to Italy. A
spot propitious for such forgetfulness of the present and his daily
surroundings, in favor of the past and a distant land, was ready.
His brothers, Ulrich and Johannes, also musicians, but who recognized
Wilhelm's superior talent without envy and helped him develop it, had
arranged for him, during his stay in Italy, a prettily-furnished room
in the narrow side of the pointed roof of the house, from which a broad
door led to a little balcony. Here stood a wooden bench on which Wilhelm
liked to sit, watching the flight of his doves, gazing dreamily into
the distance or, when inclined to artistic creation, listening to the
melodies that echoed in his soul.

This highest part of the house afforded a beautiful prospect; the view
was almost as extensive as the one from the top of the citadel, the old
Roman tower situated in the midst of Leyden. Like a spider in its web,
Wilhelm's native city lay in the midst of countless streams and canals
that intersected the meadows. The red brick mason