took us on long walks, frequently to the country seat of Herr Korte, who
stood high in the estimation of farmers.

From such excursions, which were followed by others made with the son and
tutor of a family among our circle of friends, we always brought our
mother great bunches of flowers, and often beautiful stories, too; for
the tutor, Candidate Woltmann, was an excellent story-teller, and I early
felt a desire to share with those whom I loved whatever charmed me.

It was from this man, who was as fond of the beautiful as he was of
children, that I first heard the names of the Greek heroes; and I
remember that, after returning from one of these walks, I begged my
mother to give us Schwab's Tales of Classic Antiquity, which was owned by
one of our companions. We received it on Ludo's birthday, in September,
and how we listened when it was read to us--how often we ourselves
devoured its delightful contents!

I think the story of the Trojan War made a deeper impression upon me than
even the Arabian Nights. Homer's heroes seemed like giant oaks, which
far overtopped the little trees of the human wood. They towered like
glorious snow mountains above the little hills with which my childish
imagination was already filled; and how often we played the Trojan War,
and aspired to the honor of acting Hector, Achilles, or Ajax!

Of Herr Liebe, our teacher, I remember only three things. On his
daughter's birthday he treated us to cake and wine, and we had to sing a
festal song composed by himself, the refrain of which changed every year:

"Clara, with her fair hair thick,
Clara, with her eyes like heaven,