Is not found every day.

He passes lofty beech trees,
And old oaks stout and good,
Because that which he seeks for
Grows not in every wood.

But yonder in the sunshine,
Above the dark green shade,
Behold a hazel-fir tree--

"Jörgel," said I, "as you are a forester and know all the trees in the
wood, I wish you would show me a hazel-fir tree."

"_Wohl gut_," he replied. "Higher up the chances are small but what we
pass one. I only pray the gracious Fräulein to say those verses over
again."

When I had done so he wished to know whether the fiddle-maker Stainer
were a real man or no.

"Why, good Jörgel," I replied, "he was a real Tyroler like yourself,
only you are not likely to have met with him, seeing that he died and
was buried some two hundred years ago. Yes, a very real man, who did
his work well, but to little profit. He was a peasant lad of Absam,
who, probably going to Innspruck whilst the archduke Leopold and
his Italian consort, Claudia dei Medici, kept their gay court there,
thought Italian violins were harsh and unsatisfactory in tone, and so
quietly worked out one of a different make from his own principles;
which has since gained for him the name of 'the father of the German