a boy of nine or
ten, so deeply, and that, though possessing barely the average amount of
musical talent, Orpheus's yearning cry, "Eurydice!" rang in my ears so
long.

That these frequently repeated pleasures were harmful to us children I
willingly admit. And yet--when in after years I was told that I succeeded
admirably in describing large bodies of men seized by some strong
excitement, and that my novels did not lack dramatic movement or their
scenes vividness, and, where it was requisite, splendour--I perhaps owe
this to the superb pictures, interwoven with thrilling bursts of melody,
which impressed themselves upon my soul when a child.

Fortunately, the outdoor life at Keilhau counteracted the perils which
might have arisen from attending theatrical performances too young. What
I beheld there, in field and forest, enabled me in after life, when I
desired a background for my stories, not to paint stage scenes, but take
Nature herself for a model.

I must also record another influence which had its share in my creative
toil--my early intercourse with artists and the opportunity of seeing
their work.

The statement has been made often enough, but I should like to repeat it
here from my own experience, that the most numerous and best impulses
which urge the author to artistic development come from his childhood.
This law, which results from observing the life and works of the greatest
writers, has shown itself very distinctly in a minor one like myself.

There was certainly no lack of varied stimulus during this early period
of my existence; but when I look back upon it, I become vividly aware of
the serious perils which threaten not only the external but the internal
development of the children who grow up in large cities.

Careful watching can guard them from the transgressions to which there
are many temptations, but not from the strong and varying impressions
which life is constantly forcing upon them. They are thrust too early
from the paradise of childhood into the arena of life. There are many
things to be seen which enrich the imagination, but where could the young
heart find the calmness it needs? The sighing of the wind sweeping over
the cornfields and stirring the tree-tops in the forest, the singing of
the birds in the boughs, the chirping of the cricket, the vesper-bells
summoning the world to rest, all the voices which, in the country, invite
to meditation and finally to the formation of a world of