" He smiles whimsically, nodding to himself, at the
contemplation of the instance of all this uppermost in his mind,
the events of the evening before. "How peaceful, in its adherence
to good customs, approved in conduct and deed, lies in the heart
of Germany my beloved Nuremberg! But late upon a night, a man there
is found totally void of counsel how to prevent a catastrophe,
resulting from youth and hot blood. A shoe-maker in his shop tugs
gently at the threads of illusion: how promptly up and down the
lanes and streets the thing begins to rage; men, women, boys and
children, fall upon one another like mad and blind; and the
crack-brained spirit is not to be laid until a shower fall of blows--a
shower of blows, kicks and cudgel-thwacks, to smother the angry
conflagration. God knows how it all came about?" He smiles again,
reflectively, over the recollection of the lovely quiet evening
it was, the terrific discordant pother that arose,--the lovely
and hushed night that presently resumed her reign. The incident
looks fantastic now. "An imp must have had a hand in it!" is the
poet's fanciful induction; "A glow-worm could not find his mate,
it was he responsible for all the damage done! It was the fault of
the elder-tree--of Saint John's night! ... But now--" he broadly
dismisses the fancies and aberrations of the warm mid-summer night,
and turns his face toward the clear-defined duty of the day: "But
now it is Saint John's Day! And now let us see how Hans Sachs shall
contrive deftly to guide Illusion to the working out of a noble
purpose. For if the spirit will not let us rest even here in Nuremberg,
let it be for such works as seldom succeed by vulgar means, and
succeed never without some grain of illusion in the perpetrator
himself!"

Walther appears at the door of an inner chamber. Sachs rises to
meet and greet his guest. They had a good talk the night before,
after the wise shoester's act of well-meant violence. Walther was
grateful, no doubt, upon calmer reflection, to have been saved
from the ruinous folly he had projected. The two men are obviously
fast friends. There is in Sachs's attitude a touching deference
toward the younger man, the heart-wholly acknowledged superior
in talent. It is a pleasant spectacle, the grey meistersinger's
eager glorying in the golden youth's simple, abundant, God-bestowed
gift. The motif of his address to Walther has a touch of charming
courtliness. "God keep your lordship! Did you