was great bustle and preparation. The
Elector of Saxony was that day to pass
through it; and had signified his intention—
before partaking of a banquet prepared for
him in the Town Hall by the chief
burgomasters—to be present at a solemn service in
the principal church. It was the first time
for many years that the town had been so
honoured.

As the hour drew near the people flocked
from all parts towards the church, and before
the Elector himself had arrived a dense crowd
filled every corner, and a low ceaseless murmur
of many voices broke the silence of the
echoing aisles. The sunlight streamed across
the choir; and from more than one painted
window the rainbow tints again were falling
on the ground, and in the far recesses where
no sunlight ever came. In the dim chancels,
which never but on occasions such as
this were visited except by one or two stray
wanderers, long lines of lamps were hung, each
shedding for a little way around a faint, pale
light, and shining on the eager faces which,
grouped below, were all expectantly turned in
one direction.

At last he came. There was a loud buzz
of voices; and, mingling with the full swell of
the Hallelujah chorus which broke forth
grandly and solemnly there came in the same
moment a tramp of feet along the marble
pavement of the nave. The Elector crossed
the church, and took the seat assigned to him
near to the high altar.

The mass began, and the united voices of
the choir broke forth together in the opening
Kyrie, in purest and most perfect harmony;
but when the solemn and exquisite solo,
Et incarnatus, swept through the church,
rising and falling as the accompaniment of
organ and chorus rose and fell—the full, rich,
fresh voice which gave it forth with the
passionate fervour of an inspired devotion
was greeted with an involuntary murmur
of admiration from the Elector's lips, which
was caught up and echoed by those standing
near, spreading over the whole assembled
people.

The mass was over, and the priests had
left the altar; but the Elector still remained,
speaking to one or two of those around him,
and presently it was whispered through the
church that he in person would inspect the
choir; for he was an amateur of music. In
a few minutes he was conducted up the
narrow staircase that led to the organ-loft.
The visit was so unexpected and unprepared
for that the Kapell-meister had scarcely
received notice, from a hurried messenger, of
the Elector's approach; when he entered with
two or three of his suite.

"Herr Kapell-meister, I have come to
take a glance at your little territory here.
Your choir does you much credit."

The bewildered maestro bowed.

"You have good materials to work upon,"
the Elector continued, in the tone of a
connoisseur; "good voices, and a good instrument;
" and, sending an excuse to the civic
authorities for a little delay, added

"I would gladly listen to a little
supplementary performance."

The Master took his seat; and, at a sign
from him, a beautiful dark-eyed girl moved
from the little group; and, blushing deeply as
the Elector's eye fell full upon her, stood by
the Kapell-meister's side.

"Ay, that must be she," thought the
Elector, who was a connoisseur no less in
beauty than in music. But he had been
over-confident. In another moment he found
that his sweet songstress was still to seek,
for the voice of the dark-eyed girl was a
contralto.

"Very good—very good, indeed! a fine
voice, and well-trained," approvingly murmured
the Elector. "This young lady is
your best contralto singer, I presume?"

"She is. Perhaps your Highness might
wish to judge of our soprano?"

"By all means," the Elector answered,
heartily.

The Kapell-meister paused for a moment;
and, glancing over his choir, as if in doubt
whom to select, he came to a sudden decision
and beckoned to Margaret. She came
half unwillingly to his side; and, stooping
down, spoke something to him in a low
voice.

"Yes, presently," he answered aloud, with
a smile; and, pointing to the music that lay
on the desk before him, he began to play. It
was an air from Pergolesi's Calvary that he
had chosen.

"Very beautiful v—ery beautiful, indeed!"
cried the Elector. " But she was not the
singer of the lncarnatus?"

"Your Highness may be interested in knowing,"
said the Kapell-meister, " that the best
soprano singer in the choir is a blind girl."
Berthalde was called.

"Why, she is a mere child!" exclaimed the
Elector.

"She is older than she appears," said the
Master, playing the opening bars of the
Incarnatus.

The Elector rose, and stood with his eyes
fixed upon the pale rapt face which, raised,
seemed receiving inspiration.

When she ceased the Elector remarked:

"Herr Kapell-meister, your blind girl is an
angel! Where did you find her?—how have
you taught her?—what do you say is her
name? " and glancing from the Master to
Berthalde, he listened eagerly to the answers
that were given to his questions. " Yes, yes
—very good—very good," he muttered to
himself, as if pondering some project in his
mind. " I would gladly hear one other piece.
I will choose something for myself," and,
reaching across the Master, he began to turn
over the pages of the mass that still lay open
on the desk. He stopped at her own favourite
Agnus Dei, and at his request she sang it. Her