do this, we had to pass
Berne. The approach to this place is very pleasing: the country is
beautifully undulating, and in the highest state of cultivation. The
neighborhood indicated by its noise and bustle that we were
approaching a capital, and as we entered the city we found the streets
crowded with people in their gayest attire, and filled with corn and
cattle, and almost every article of commerce, it being market day. It
is a magnificent city. The houses are all built of stone, with arcades
in the principal streets, and rows of well-furnished shops. Fountains
are numerous, and streams of water flow through the centre of the
spacious streets, in deep and broad channels cut for their reception.
The city had a very gay appearance. The costume, the expression, the
language--all were new. I was greatly interested in my excursions
round the walls. The cathedral is a magnificent pile of gothic
architecture, occupying a bold elevation above the Aar. We found here
a remarkably fine organ, of great size, stretching across nearly the
whole breadth of the church.

Climbing up to the loft, we were told the story of a former organist,
a famous musician, somewhat independent, and yet sensitive and quick
to feel. Under the papal power Louis Steinway incurred the displeasure
of one of the dignitaries of the church, and his position as organist
was taken from him. Overcome with sorrow he at once proceeded to the
house of the bishop to make an explanation. Trembling with excitement
he so poorly explained the misunderstanding, as to give the prelate
even a worse idea of it than he had at first: the consequence was that
hard words were added to the burden already laid upon him. The poor
organist went home and was immediately taken down with severe illness,
and a few days afterward eluded his attendants and flew along the
streets to the cathedral, from which the people soon heard tones of
the organ issuing majestic and ravishing but unspeakably sad. As soon
as the wife knew of her husband's absence, she went to the cathedral.
Her husband was in his old place, his hands upon the keys, as if in
the act of playing, his head bent forward and drooping. He was dead!

From Berne the road climbs a hill immediately on leaving the gates of
the city, and passes between rows of trees, with a gentle slope on
either hand, covered with a soft fresh green and smooth as the finest
lawn. The glimpses of the city through the trees, with the windings of