Scenes in Switzerland | Page 5

be neither clear nor rainy: a steel blue sky brought
out the broken peaks of Kasten, while the white shoulders of the Sentis
were veiled with a thin, gray suit.
"A month later and we should see the herdsmen," remarked Spruner.
"The leader of the herd marches in front with a large bell suspended
from his neck by a handsome leathern band; the others follow, some
with garlands of flowers and straps of embroidered leather, with
milking pails suspended between the horns."
Before nightfall, occasional streaks of sunshine shot across the
mountain. It did not last, however, and when we reached our
stopping-place, it was raining below and snowing above us.
The next morning our road dropped into a ravine, bringing something
to admire at every turn. Leaving our course, we visited the Cascade of
Horsfall, the beauty of which amply repaid us for the delay it cost. That
night we slept at Herisau, the largest town in the Canton, and here I was
to part with Spruner. There was no difficulty in reaching the lower
valley. With many shakes of the hand, and "May God's blessing be

upon you,'" we parted: one to take the railroad to Zurich, the other back
to his household charms, and the work he had chosen.

A Night In The Cathedral.
Franz Hoffner's father was kappelmeister; and the old cathedral with its
grained arches and cloistered aisles resounded with rare music, as the
organist took his seat, and run his fingers over the keys with the
careless ease of one who knows not only to control, but to infuse
something of his own spirit into the otherwise senseless machine before
him. Under his inspiration it became a living, breathing form; lifting
the hearts of worshippers, and giving them glimpses of what is
hereafter to be obtained.
Herr Hoffner was a rare musician; but, alas, musicians are no exception
to the rule: the wheel is always turning; one goes up and another goes
down. A new star had risen. Court belles and beauties grew enthusiastic.
The elector's heart was touched; his influence was asked. "Herr Hoffner
has been here long enough," it was said. There was a twinge of the
electoral conscience.
Herr Hoffner went to his house a ruined man; and the new favorite,
Carl Von Stein, played upon the keys so dear to the heart of the old
organist.
Herr Hoffner had a wife and two lovely children; and one would
suppose that he could live in the beautiful cottage the elector had given
him, independent of the favorite. But no; deprived of his old instrument
all else was lost to him. For hours would he sit before his humble door,
heedless of his wife's entreaties or the childish prattle of Franz and
Nanette; his eye riveted on the old cathedral, and his hands playing
nervously, as though cheating himself with the idea he was still at the
organ. Then roused by a sudden inspiration, he would rush to the piano
and play till his hands dropped from mere exhaustion.
Franz and Nanette loved music, and they could play skilfully, but they
were all too young to be of service; and thus they lived cut off from all
outward influences befitting their age; loving music above everything
else, and yearning for the time when they could go out and win for their
father, as he had once done for them.
Years passed. Franz Hoffner was a tall, slight boy, and his father was
blind. Sitting at his cottage door he could no longer see the tall towers

of the old cathedral, but he could hear the chime of stately bells--and
his fingers played on: while Franz and Nanette not unfrequently
climbed up the winding stairs, just to beg Herr Von Stein to let them
touch the keys their father used to love.
[Illustration]
It happened one day the organist went out and left the key in the lock.
Franz entered with the evening worshippers. A nameless feeling seized
him. Urged on by the sudden impulse, he mounted the stairs. He did not
dream of playing, he only thought of the organ as his father's friend;
and to seat himself on the stool where his father had so often sat was all
he aimed to do. A moment, and he spied the key; would there be any
harm in raising the lid and playing himself? Herr Von Stein had never
denied him. He grew courageous. A few chords and Franz forgot that
his father would be expecting him; piece after piece was played till his
memory could serve him no longer, and then he began to improvise.
All at once heavy shadows were cast over the keys: he looked down
into the church, it was dark and still. A strange awe seized him, he felt