was falling as a young journeyman, very handsome and
distinguished-looking, Friedrich by name, was lying on a little grassy
hillock, shaded by leafy trees. The sun had set, and rosy flames were
shooting up from the deep abyss of the western sky. The famous town of
Nuernberg could be distinctly seen in the distance, broadening out in
the valley, its proud towers stretching up into the evening red, which
darted bright rays, streaming on to their summits. The young mechanic
had his arm propped upon his bundle, or travelling knapsack, and was
gazing down into the valley with longing eyes. He plucked a flower or
two from the grass, and cast them into the air towards the sunset sky;
then once more he gazed mournfully before him, and the hot tears came
to his eyes. At length he lifted his head, stretched out his arms, as
if he were embracing some beloved form, and sang the following song, in
a rich, tuneful voice:

"Again, again I see thee, my own beloved home,
My faithful heart has never lost
The faintest trace of thee.
Rise on my sight, oh roseate sheen;
Fain would I see nought else but roses.
Love's own blossoms, glow on my heart,
Gladden my bosom, cheer my soul.
Ah, swelling heart, and must thou break?
Beat firm through pain and sweetest joy.
And thou, thou golden evening sky,
Be thou to me a faithful herald;
Bear down to her my sighs and tears
And tell her, should I die, my heart
Dissolved in love unchanging."

When Friedrich had finished this song, he took some wax from his
bundle, warmed it in his breast, and began to model a beautiful rose,
with its hundreds of delicate petals, in the most skilful and artistic
manner. As he worked at it, he kept singing detached phrases of his
song; and, thus absorbed, he did not notice a handsome lad who had been
standing behind him for a considerable time, eagerly watching him as he
worked.

"My friend," said this young fellow, "that is an exquisite piece of
work you are doing."

Friedrich looked round, startled. But when he saw the stranger's kindly
dark eyes, he felt as if he had known him long. So he answered, with a
smile, "Ah, my dear sir, how can you care to look at this trifle, which
serves to pass a little of my time on my journey?"

The stranger answered, "If you call that flower, so accurately studied
and copied from nature, and so tenderly executed, a 'trifle,' a
plaything, you mu