hended the necessity of
cultivating the minds of children by school instruction, especially in
the old languages! How he recommended his beloved music to be
introduced into the schools! How great his views were when he advised
the magistrates to establish city libraries; and, again, how
conscientiously he endeavoured to secure freedom of choice in
matrimony! He had overthrown the old sacrament of marriage; but higher,
nobler, and freer, he established the inward relation of man and wife.
He had attacked the unwieldy monastic schools; everywhere in village
and city, as far as his influence reached, flourished better
institutions for the education of youth; he had removed the mass and
the Latin chantings; he gave instead, to both disciples and opponents,
regular preaching and the German chorale.

His desire to find something divine in all that was lovely, good, and
amiable, which the world presented to him, always kept increasing. With
this feeling he was ever pious and wise, whether in the fields, or in
decorous gaiety among his companions, in his playfulness with his wife,
or when holding his children in his arms. He rejoiced when standing
before a fruit tree at the splendour of the fruit: "If Adam had not
fallen, we might thus have admired all trees." He would take a large
pear admiringly in his hands, and exclaim: "See, six months ago it was
deeper under the earth than its own length and breadth, and has come
from the extreme end of the roots; these smallest, and least thought of
things are the most wonderful of God's works. He is in the smallest of
his creations, even to the leaf of a tree or a blade of grass." Two
little birds had made a nest in his garden, and flew about in the
evening, being frightened by the passersby: he thus addressed them:
"Ah, you dear little birds, do not fly away. I wish you well from my
heart, if you could only trust me--though I own we do not thus trust
our God." He had great pleasure in the companionship of true-hearted
men; he enjoyed drinking wine with them, and conversation flowed
pleasantly on both great and small matters; he sang, or played the
lute, and arranged singing-classes. He delighted in the art of music,
as it yielded innocent enjoyment. He was lenient in his judgment about
dancing, and spoke with indulgence--fifty years before Shakespeare--of
plays: "For they teach," said he, "like a mirror how every one should
behave himself."[41]

Once when sitting with Melancthon, the