The Abbé Dobler belonged to a society of Jesuits in Germany, where music formed a prominent part of their studies. You could rarely pass the walls of the monastery without hearing the richest harmonies floating upon the breeze. There was also a neighbouring convent of monks of another order, who delighted more in the pleasures of the table than in the airy sensations produced by music. With this brotherhood the Abbé, and his three friends, had a desire to become acquainted, and the following stratagem was hit upon as a means of introduction. On the left bank of the Rhine stood this venerable pile, the front of which overhung the river, resting upon arches that allowed the current to flow beneath. A boat was prepared, with a paper lantern in the centre, upon the four sides of which was written that delightful quartette of Haydn, No. 21, and by the light shining through the transparent paper the notes could easily be read. Upon one of those golden nights during the vintage, as the sun was setting, the musical party took their places in the boat, which was left to glide down that noble current without sail or oar. It was dusk as they stole under the arches of the monastery unobserved, and the monks were at supper. The music had no sooner begun than the windows of the refectory were thrown open to catch the strange and pleasing sound; not a boat was passing,—all was amazement; nor could they guess from whence the harmonies proceeded, till a party, rushing down the steps to the water’s edge, discovered the lantern and the retreat of the serenaders. A hearty welcome ensued: they were conducted by the brethren into the hall, where the evening began anew, and was prolonged till the tints of the morning fell on the tops of Drachenfells and Jura. << less