considering that the Italian banditti sing hymns to the Virgin Mary, and that there are kind-hearted Englishmen who cannot distinguish between the airs of 'God save the Queen' and the 'Old Hundredth.' Anyhow, it may be doubted whether certain distinguished royal musicians had really music in their soul. Take, for instance, the Emperor Nero, who lived about the middle of the first century of our era. Some statements transmitted to us, respecting the depravity of this cruel monarch may be unfounded,--such as that the large conflagration of Rome, which occurred in his reign, was the work of incendiaries secretly hired by him, and that he amused himself with looking at the fire from the top of a high tower, and singing to the accompaniment of the lyre the destruction of Troy, of which he had read, and which he desired to see represented in the spectacle before him. Some say that he played on the bagpipe. His principal instruments, on which he practised assiduously, were the lyre and the harp. His voice was weak and hoarse; nevertheless, in contesting with the best singers of his time, he always, of course, gained the prize. Foreign musicians streamed to Rome to hear him, and to flatter him. About five thousand of them were successful in so far as they obtained appointments in his service with high salaries. He undertook a professional tour through Greece, to perform in public; and as those of his audience who did not applaud him ran the risk of losing their life, a brilliant success could not fail to be constantly the result of his appearance as a musician. The surest means of obtaining his favour was to praise his voice, to be enraptured by his singing, and distressed when he took the whim that he could not sing. It gratified him to be pressingly implored to sing. In short, he did not appreciate music for the sake of its beauties, but because it appeared to him a suitable means for flattering his excessive vanity. Such miserable royal musicians would at the present day, fortunately, not be tolerated. But a rather harmless vanity like that shown in the following example is still not uncommon, and may easily be excused, as it is not incompatible with a good heart. Joseph Clemens Cajetan, Elector and Archbishop of Cologne, sent in the year 1720, the following letter to the Jesuit Seminary in Munich. It is here translated from the German. "Bonn, July 28th, 1720. Dear Privy Councillor Rauch!