M. Hollydorf overhearing the padre’s supplication cast upon him a grateful look of appreciation. Admonished by our feelings of grossness, we with reverence retreated beyond the charmed circle, but lingered within view screened by a hedge of rose and honeysuckle, through which our eyes paid worshipful devotion to the digital service of the kitchen nymphs. Without the aid of mystic conjurations, the scene seemed invested with a refinement of purity that exceeded the compass of instinct, raising our capacities for the realization of beauty, with a halcyon blending, for the perception of an enduring affection. Spell- bound within our enclosure, delightfully absorbed with our thoughtful contemplations, and nectarious impressions, varied with occasional voiceful melodies, concerted in time to the movements of busy hands and feet, we were startled from our reveries, and retranslated back to the grossness of appetite, by the exclamation, “Oh, for a Tobias sausage, well underlayed and flanked with gamey kraut, and a mug of foamy lager, for I am as hungry as a bear.” The body of Dr. Baāhar appeared in the rear of this hungry ejaculation, enveloped in flowers and cuttings bestowed by the teachers from the garden growths cultivated by the pupils. In a moment the carols of the kitchen celestas ceased, and sidelong glances were directed to the hedge to detect the intruder whose guttural accents betrayed the profanity of his petition. The effect produced by this interruption may be truthfully likened to the hush imposed upon the twilight warblings of the water- thrush, swayed in tuneful measure upon the spray by the evening zephyr, and the rippling accompaniment of a flowing stream, when its evening carols are suddenly checked and silenced, for the night, by the croaking heralds of darkness from the sedgy confines of a neighboring bog. Even the padre, whose stomach had many a time and oft remonstrated with indigestive harshness against the introduction of crab salad,—saur- kraut’s English and American cousin,—egg-nogs, brandy smashes, and like poetical compounds for its disposal, stood aghast at this profanation of the divinities’ edible incantations. Finding himself unexpectedly subjected to an array of admonitory glances, his eyes sought through the openings in the hedge the cause of his cool reception, and with its revelation became aware of his invocation’s apostate grossness. As he stood peering through the leafy screen, forgetful of his flowery decorations, he looked like a satyr wood-god of ancient devisement, in orchidean envelope, regaling his sight with a surreptitious view of the grove nymphs while adorning their persons for the festal mysteries.