No birds in the world make real music except the nightingale and the wood thrush. The remainder whistle. Shelley’s lark is the ideal of the going to heaven and disappearing, but there is no song. This little bird in our dark wood coppice used to come out and sit on a garden post at night and commit suicide from love in such a way as nearly to tear his throat apart. Look out how you take it seriously, though, for the next minute after you are sure the life has gone out of his body he is fooling you by gurgling such sentimental poppycock as “I took you away and made you love me.” All the way from Hamlet to Pierrot, it is music burbling through blood and tears. _V. Stuttgart_ It is a far cry from Paris to Stuttgart, but my only experience of Germany is in this town, and there are several things about it that I like to remember. The greatest impression left to me is the music, everything was permeated with it. I have never been able to perform on any instrument, and my only claim to singing is that I could yell louder than anyone else in school, but some how I have always felt the rhythms inside, and the wonder to me was to see a whole race of people who were musicians. In the later afternoon the workmen come home from their work in the vineyards, fifteen or twenty of them in one group. They fall into singing quite naturally, each one taking the part best suited to his voice, while away down the road another group will take up the melody, fitting in perfect harmony, until the whole has formed a large chorus, singing in accord. I often think it is a pity that we do not have something like that, but I suppose that these songs must be the growth of the soil—and we are too young. Many years ago—I do not know how many—a citizen left a sum of money in his will, providing for music to be played from the cathedral tower at twelve o’clock noon. I do not know if he directed the kind of music it should be, but in my time it was provided by four stringed instruments. Just after the clock had struck the hour, proclaiming that the weary worker might pause and rest, this music would come down from the sky, as if some heavenly chorus were singing.