n he struck into his part. He resembled the portraits of
Raphael, when that artist was a boy; only I think he looked better than
Raphael, and without trying, for he seemed to be a spontaneous sort of
boy. And how that boy did sing! He was the soprano of the choir, and he
had a voice of heavenly sweetness. When he opened his mouth and tossed
back his head, he filled the church with exquisite melody.

He sang like a lark, or like an angel. As we never heard an angel
sing, that comparison is not worth much. I have seen pictures of angels
singing, there is one by Jan and Hubert Van Eyck in the gallery at
Berlin,--and they open their mouths like this boy, but I can't say as
much for their singing. The lark, which you very likely never heard
either, for larks are as scarce in America as angels,--is a bird that
springs up from the meadow and begins to sing as he rises in a spiral
flight, and the higher he mounts, the sweeter he sings, until you think
the notes are dropping out of heaven itself, and you hear him when he
is gone from sight, and you think you hear him long after all sound has
ceased.

And yet this boy sang better than a lark, because he had more notes and
a greater compass and more volume, although he shook out his voice in
the same gleesome abundance.

I am sorry that I cannot add that this ravishingly beautiful boy was a
good boy. He was probably one of the most mischievous boys that was ever
in an organ-loft. All the time that he was singing the vespers he was
skylarking like an imp. While he was pouring out the most divine melody,
he would take the opportunity of kicking the shins of the boy next to
him, and while he was waiting for his part, he would kick out behind at
any one who was incautious enough to approach him. There never was
such a vicious boy; he kept the whole loft in a ferment. When the monk
rumbled his bass in his stomach, the boy cut up monkey-shines that set
every other boy into a laugh, or he stirred up a row that set them all
at fisticuffs.

And yet this boy was a great favorite. The jolly monk loved him best
of all and bore with his wildest pranks. When he was wanted to sing his
part and was skylarking in the rear, the fat monk took him by the ear
and brought him forward; and when he gave the boy's ear a twist, the boy
opened his lovely mouth and poured forth such a flood of melody as you
never heard. And he did n't mind his notes; he seemed to know his notes
by heart, and could sing a