stationed on an upper balcony, had to stop playing for a long time. You would have imagined that great alarm might have ensued, but it all went off well and not a person was injured. Oh, but it was not much like the times nowadays. Where can we get the money for such a celebration now?” The nurse suddenly sprang from her seat. A shot was heard. “Oh dear!” cried she. “The English are entering the city, and it means fighting.” The maid assumed an air of confidence but wished in her heart that the night were well over. The cathedral bell struck one. After a little she rose from her seat and paced the room to and fro. As she was thus engaged she noticed a book, bound in red morocco, lying upon a table near the door. As she picked it up, she saw the nurse looking at it curiously, and said to her: “Why, nurse, is this your book? Can you read?” “I wish I could,” answered the nurse. “Surely our gracious Electoress must have forgotten the book when she came in to see and kiss her little son before he went to sleep. Yes, now I remember, she had such a book in her hand.” “Let us take a look at it,” said the maid, seating herself at a table and opening the volume. “It was printed last year,” she said. “It reads, ‘at Frankfort-on-the-Oder, by Michael Kochen, 1619.’” After she had examined the title-page, which was ornamented with red and black lettering, she lightly turned over some of its leaves. The nurse looked at her like a hungry person gazing upon another at a bountiful repast. At last the maid noticed her eager look and said: “Shall I read you some of it?” “I should be delighted to have you do so!” “You must first know that a regular Francophobist wrote this book.” “Are there such people as Francopho—” The maid was only restrained from a peal of laughter by fear of waking the child. “Ah! You are still way back in Ukermark,” she said. “Francophobists is the name of persons who cannot abide anything that is French.” She turned the leaves once more and then said: “Listen to what he has written.” She read a long tirade against the French and their influence upon German life, habits, literature, music, and attire. “What does this man know of our attire?” said she. The nurse meanwhile sat staring at the maid’s head-dress. The latter was irritated and said: “What are you looking at, you marigold of Ukermark, with your taffeta head ribbon? You would gladly dress like me if there were no regular style of dress prescribed for you.” They would have resumed their casual talk had not the tumult increased around the castle and in the streets near by. The maid immediately betook herself to the dark room and looked out of the window. Armed men were rushing about excitedly. She saw military officers and heard wild cries and curses, shouts and laughter. Now and then a shot was fired.