The constituents of the concert resolved themselves to his ear.

There was a wonderful soprano, a tenor, a bass, one sweet boy's voice, a bass-viol, and a violin.

They were practising a fugue.

The soprano rang out like the invitation of an angel, "Come, my beloved, haste away, Cut short the hours of thy delay," above all the others--even the shrill boy-treble.

Then it followed, with noblest and sweetest order, the bass in-- "Fly like a youthful hart or roe, Over the hills where the spices grow." The very breath of the spices of Arabia seemed borne into the young man's senses by that voice.