He had driven to Rudolstadt with the "old bay," but he willingly accepted
a seat in our carriage.

We had scarcely left the street with the hotel behind us, when he began
to speak of Schiller, and pointed out the mountain which bore his name
and to which in his "Walk" he had cried:

"Hail! oh my Mount, with radiant crimson peak."

Then he told us of the Lengefeld sisters, whom the poet had so often met
here, and one of whom, Charlotte, afterward became his wife. All this
was done in a way which had no touch of pedagogy or of anything specially
prepared for children, yet every word was easily understood and
interested us. Besides, his voice had a deep, musical tone, to which
my ear was susceptible at an early age. He understood children of our
disposition and knew what pleased them.

In Schaale, the first village through which we passed, he said, pointing
to the stream which flowed into the Saale close by: "Look, boys, now we
are coming into our own neighbourhood, the valley of the Schaal. It owes
its name to this brook, which rises in our own meadows, and I suppose you
would like to know why our village is called Keilhau?"

While speaking, he pointed up the stream and briefly described its
course.

We assented.

We had passed the village of Schaale. The one before us, with the