n,
France had flared up, and now Germany was to splurge just as much as she
was a mind to.

Well, Germany did splurge, but she began with a loud, deep, woe-begone
rush of music, that seemed to roll out from a graveyard where everybody
lay uneasy in his grave and was begging to get out. This ended off when
the day closed with a dreary, low complaint, as if they had begged long
enough and gave up. Now and then they broke in with a grand crash that
made me start from my seat, and went off in a low wail, with a storm of
music between.

Something lively followed the first moan. Then a lady got up and sang
all alone by herself, and her voice went floating through that great
barny place, full, loud, and clear, as if ten thousand nightingales--not
that I ever saw or heard a nightingale in my life, but I persist in
it--as if ten thousand nightingales had broken loose in a swamp of wild
roses.

"Who on earth is that?" says I to E. E.

"Madame Puschka Leutner," says she, clasping her hands. "Isn't she
delicious?"

Then out E. E. drew her handkerchief and set it flying.

"I never heard anything like it, so strong, so sweet, so spreading,"
says I, flirting out my own handkerchief with enthusiasm. "The human
voice is something worth while in the way of music after all."

It was no use saying more, for up jumped all the thousands of people in
that great encampment, out went a swarm of white handkerchiefs, flocking
together like a host of frightened seagulls, and the roar of the people
went up like thunder.

Then a great band of men, mostly with yellow beards and rosy faces, got
on their feet, and went at the fiddles, the twisted horns, the drums and
things, like crazy creatures, and the way the music rose, and swelled,
and thundered out was enough to drive one crazy.

Once more that great crowd burst in with yells and shouts, and a wild
storm of praise. Then one of the yellow-haired men stood up alone with a
wide-mouthed toot-horn, made of bright brass, in his hand. After looking
around a minute, he just put the horn to his mouth, and blew a slow,
long blow. Then he went at it tooth and nail, bringing out great round
tones that seemed as if they never would grow faint or die away.

I have heard a great many toot-horns in my life; in fact, I have blown a
tin one myself to call the men folks in to dinner; but never did I hear
anything like that. It was what Cousin E. E. called wonderful--so-low.

I couldn't quite agree wit