certainly, but you did not think it beneath you to
play with me; and you always talked of such charming things. And that
beautiful little basket of silver wire which you gave me one Christmas,
I still have, and shall always prize it as a precious keepsake." Tears
stood in the lad's eyes, in the intoxication of his happiness. He tried
to speak; but only the words, "Ah, Rosa! Dear Rosa!" came out of his
heart like a deep sigh. Rosa went on to say: "I have always wished most
heartily that I might see you again, but that you should take to the
cooper's craft, I never could have imagined. Ah! when I think of the
beautiful things you used to make at Herr Holzschuer's, it is really a
shame that you do not keep to your own art."

"Ah, Rosa," said Friedrich, "it was all for your sake that I was
faithless to my own beloved art." Scarcely were the words spoken than
he would fain have sunk into the ground with shame and alarm. The most
unintentional of avowals had come from his lips. Rosa, as if she saw it
all, turned her face away from him. He strove in vain for words.
However, Herr Paumgartner rapped on the table loudly with a knife, and
announced to the company that Herr Vollrad, a worthy master-singer,
would favour them with a song. So Herr Vollrad stood up, cleared his
throat, and sung such a beautiful song in Hans Vogelsang's "golden
tone," that all hearts throbbed for joy, and even Friedrich recovered
from his serious embarrassment. After Herr Vollrad had sung other
beautiful songs, in various other "tones" or "manners,"--such as the
"sweet" tone, the "crooked horn" manner, the "flowery paradise" manner,
the "fresh orange" manner, etc.,--he said that, should there be
any at the table who knew anything of the gracious craft of the
master-singers, he should now be so good as to sing a song. At this
Reinhold rose, and said that, if he might be permitted to accompany
himself on the lute, after the Italian manner, he too would be happy to
sing a song, keeping, however, in it wholly to the German "modes." No
one saying anything to the contrary, he got out his lute, and after
preluding a little in the loveliest way, went on with the following
song:--

"Where is the little fount,
Where springs the flavourous wine?
Deep in the ground.
There found,
All men may see with joy its golden glory shine.
Who found it, thought it out,
With doughty might and thews,
With craft and careful