; whence their place in our
Customs tariff.

One of the members of the English and French Club was a Mr. Vieweg, at
that time, I believe, the largest manufacturer of sulphate of quinine
in Europe. Mr. Vieweg was that rara avis amongst middle-class German
business-men, a born sportsman. He had already made two sporting trips
to Central Africa after big game, and rented a large shooting estate
near Brunswick. In common with the other members of the Club, he
treated me very kindly and hospitably, and I often had quaint repasts
at his house, beginning with sweet chocolate soup, and continuing with
eels stewed in beer, carp with horseradish, "sour-goose," and other
Teutonic delicacies. Mr. Vieweg's son was one of Hentze's pupils, and
was the thin, silent boy I have already noticed. I remember well how
young Vieweg introduced himself to me in laboured English, "Are you a
friend to fishing with the fly?" he asked. "I also fish most gladly,
and if you wish, we will together to the Harz Mountains go, and there
many trout catch." As the Harz Mountains are within an hour of
Brunswick by train, off we went, and young Vieweg was certainly a most
expert fisherman. My respect for him was increased enormously when I
found that he did not mind in the least how wet he got whilst fishing.
Most German boys of his age would have thought standing in cold water
up to their knees a certain forerunner of immediate death.

Vieweg told me, with perfect justice, that he knew every path and every
track in the Northern Harz, and that he had climbed every single hill.
He complained that none of his German friends cared for climbing or
walking, and asked whether I would accompany him on one of his
expeditions. So a week later we went again to the Harz, and Vieweg led
me an interminable and very rough walk up-hill and down-dale. He
afterwards confessed that he was trying to tire me out, in which he
failed signally, for I have always been, and am still, able to walk
very long distances without fatigue. He had taken four of his
fellow-pupils from Hentze's over the same road, and they had all
collapsed, and had to be driven back to the railway in a hay-cart, in
the last stages of exhaustion. Finding that he could not walk me down,
Vieweg developed an odd sort of liking for me, just as I had admired
him for standing up to his knees in very cold water for a couple of
hours on end whilst fishing. So a queer sort of friendship sprang up
between me and this