, begging him to
go home with him. When the astonished musician recovered himself, he
presented the boy to Jules Benedict, his young friend and pupil who
walked at his side, saying, "This is Felix Mendelssohn." For response
Felix, with a bright look, seized the young man's hand in both his
own. Weber stood by smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. Again Felix
besought them to come home with him, but Weber had to attend a
rehearsal. "Is it for the opera?" the boy cried excitedly.

"Yes," answered the composer.

"Does he know all about it?" asked Felix, pointing to Benedict.

"Indeed he does," answered the composer laughing, "or if he doesn't he
ought to for he has been bored enough with it already." The boy's eyes
flashed.

"Then _you_, will come with me to my home, which is quite near, will
you not?" There was no refusing those appealing dark eyes. Felix again
embraced Weber, and then challenged his new friend, Mr. Benedict, to
race him to the door of his house. On entering he dragged the visitor
upstairs to the drawing-room, exclaiming, "Mama, Mama, here is a
gentleman, a pupil of Carl Weber, who knows all about the new opera,
'Der Freischuetz.'"

The young musician received a warm welcome, and was not able to leave
until he had played on the piano all the airs he could remember
from the wonderful new opera, which Weber had come to Berlin to
superintend. Benedict was so pleased with his first visit that he came
again. This time he found Felix writing music and asked what it was.
"I am finishing my new quartet for piano and strings," was the simple
reply. To say that Benedict was surprised at such an answer from a boy
of twelve hardly expresses what he felt. It was quite true he did not
yet know Felix Mendelssohn. "And now," said the boy, laying down his
pen, "I will play to you, to prove how grateful I am that you played
to us last time." He then sat down at the piano and played correctly
several melodies from "Der Freischuetz," which Benedict had played on
his first visit. After that they went into the garden, and Felix for
the moment, became a rollicking boy, jumping fences and climbing trees
like a squirrel.

Toward the close of this year, 1821, his teacher Zelter announced he
intended going to Wiemar, to see Goethe, the aged poet of Wiemar, and
was willing to take Felix with him. The poet's house at Wiemar was
indeed a shrine to the elect, and the chance of meeting the object
of so much hero worship, filled the i