was done; and, in place of so much broken crockery, there was at least a
ludicrous story, in which the roguish authors took special delight to
the end of their days.

My father's mother, for it was her house in which we dwelt, lived in a
large back-room directly on the ground-floor; and we were accustomed to
carry on our sports even up to her chair, and, when she was ill, up to
her bedside. I remember her, as it were, a spirit,--a handsome, thin
woman, always neatly dressed in white. Mild, gentle, and kind, she has
ever remained in my memory.

The street in which our house was situated passed by the name of the
Stag-Ditch; but, as neither stags nor ditches were to be seen, we wished
to have the term explained. They told us that our house stood on a spot
that was once outside the city, and that, where the street now was,
there had formerly been a ditch, in which a number of stags were kept.
These stags were preserved and fed here because the senate, every year,
according to an ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag, which was
therefore always at hand in the ditch for such a festival, in case
princes or knights interfered with the city's right of chase outside, or
the walls were encompassed or besieged by an enemy. This pleased us
much, and we wished that such a lair for tame animals could have been
seen in our times.

The back of the house, from the second story particularly, commanded a
very pleasant prospect over an almost immeasurable extent of neighboring
gardens, stretching to the very walls of the city. But, alas! in
transforming what were once public grounds into private gardens, our
house, and some others lying towards the corner of the street, had been
much stinted; since the houses towards the horse-market had appropriated