so well known to our ears." This is
in reference to such birds which fly about the mountain of Kyffhauser, in
which the Emperor Friedrich Barbarossa is sleeping, and where he will
sleep till they disappear. And then, praising himself, Heine adds: "But
old age has weakened them, and there are good marksmen who know right
well how to bring them down. I know one of these archers, who now lives
in Paris, and who knows how, even from that distance, to hit the crows
which fly about the Kyffhauser. When the Emperor returns to earth, he
will surely find on his way more than one raven slain by this archer's
arrows. And the old hero will say, smiling, 'That man carried a good
bow.'" In my note to this I remarked that "the raven or crow transfixed
by an arrow is the crest of the coat-of-arms of the name of Leland, or of
my own. I sincerely trust that Bussli, the first who bore it, did not
acquire the right to do so by shooting a clergyman." As a single crow is
an omen of ill-luck, so the same transfixed signifies misfortune
overcome, or the forcible ending of evil influences by a strong will. It
is a common belief or saying among all the Lelands, however widely
related, that there has never been a convicted criminal of the name. _Dii
faxint_!

At four years of age, while still living in Washington Square, I was sent
to an infant school in Walnut Street, above Eighth Street, south side,
near by. It was kept by the Misses Donaldson. We all sat in a row, on
steps, as in an amphitheatre, but in straight lines. Miss Donaldson,
senior, sat at a desk, prim and perpendicular, holding a rod which was
fifteen or twenty feet in length, with which she could hit on the head or
poke any noisy or drowsy child, without stirring from her post. It was
an ingenious invention, and one which might be employed to advantage in
small churches. I can remember that at this time I could not hear a tune
played without stringing my thoughts to it; not that I have any special
ear for music, but because I am moved by melody. There was a rhyme that
was often sung to me to the tune of "Over the Water"--

"Charley Buff
Had money enough,
And locked it in his store;
Charley die
And shut his eye,
And never saw money no more."

The influence of this and other tunes on my thought was so great, that I
have often wondered whether anybody ever realised how much we may owe to
metre acting on thought; for I do not believe