n the shape of
cherry-stones. After the first few steps he had taken, he stopped short,
indignantly apostrophising us. "I tell you, boys, it's just a piece of
impudence when the master treads on cherry-stones." We thought so, too,
and howled with delight. At that time I had a beautiful big dog named
Hector, and one afternoon I thought it might prove effective if I
entered the class-room with him when the French lesson had begun. I did
so, to the terror of "the Frenchman," on whom Hector had at once made a
friendly rush. The dog was expelled, and then I was severely taken to
task. "Ah," said the Professor, "you think you can take liberties with
me, but I tell you, sir, you can't take liberties with such a big dog."

But it must not be thought that I was always worrying poor innocent
Magisters, and rejoicing in their discomfiture; some of my teachers I
think of with gratitude. There was Stallbaum, the rector himself a great
man of learning: he took great pains to cram us with our full share of
Latin and Greek, and to make us periodically contribute to the wealth of
the classical literature handed down to us, by writing essays and
composing verses in the dead languages.

The love of fighting was early instilled into us by the works of Homer,
Herodotus, Julius Caesar, and other historians; and if, as some think, my
pugnacious instincts have not been satisfactorily developed, it was not
the fault of the Rector. But he taught me to revere that grandest and
most powerful of tragedians, Sophocles.

Nor must I forget to mention the lasting impression that Ovid's
"Metamorphoses" made on me. The gods of mythology have ever remained
dear to me; they are so accessible, so free and easy as they come down
from Olympus quite unceremoniously, to roam about and make love; you
meet them in the woods and on the waters, above ground and below ground,
sometimes enjoying themselves at your expense, but mostly showing you,
by their example, how you should enjoy life. To be sure the methods of a
Jupiter or a Venus are quite inapplicable to the social restrictions,
and generally to the changed conditions of the present day, but they
were dear old gods and goddesses all the same, who condescended to be
human, and sanctified our frailties. I, for one, am grateful to them,
for they taught me the love of poetry and the poetry of love.

My first drawing-master, Herr Brauer, was a good old soul too: I owe him
one of the foremost pleasures of my lif