passion of the present day
only.

His arrangements were soon accomplished. In those days, in order to be
merry and cheerful, it was not absolutely necessary there should be a
long suite of apartments, lighted up with flaming chandeliers, and
furnished with numerous unmeaning things, which encumber the
fashionable apartments of the present age. All was simple. The room in
the town-hall was, from its size, well adapted for the purpose, and the
humble rude-shaped lamps which hung on the walls, had, up to that time,
thrown out light enough to show off the dresses and illumine the pretty
faces of the maidens of Ulm.

But not only had the arrangements of the active scribe succeeded in
everything he had undertaken on this important occasion; he had also in
the course of his visits learned some secret intelligence which had
been confided solely to the committee of the council, and the principal
officers of the League.

Satisfied with the result of his various avocations, he returned home
at noon, when his first step was to inquire after his guest.

Albert had been employed, during the absence of his host, in looking
over a beautifully-written book of chronicles, which he found in his
room. The neat painted figures which formed the first letter of the
chapters, the pictures of fields of battle, and triumphal entries of
victorious troops, delineated with a bold outline, and painted with
peculiar care and labour, and which were dispersed throughout the
volume, had amused him for some time. His mind being full of the
warlike figures he had been examining, induced him to think of his own
weapons, and of polishing his helmet, armour, and the sword which he
had inherited from his father. He accordingly set to work, at the same
time singing sometimes a cheerful, sometimes a serious song, to the
great annoyance of the unmusical organs of Frau Sabina.

Dieterick heard the sounds of his agreeable voice as he walked up
stairs, and he could not resist listening at the door until he had
finished his song. It was one of those touching strains, bordering
almost on the melancholy, which has been brought down to our times, and
is to be heard even now in the mouth of the Swabians. Often and with
pleasure have we listened to those strains on the charming banks of the
Neckar, struck with the beautiful simplicity and lengthened sound of
their harmony.

Albert went on singing:

Swift as thought
All our pleasures c