to perform the journey to Brandenburg on foot. A little peasant-girl
joined him. They broke stout walking-sticks from the trees at the
road-side, and together marched on cheerfully, conversing as they
went, until the tutor's carriage met them about a mile from the next
halting-place.

[Illustration: '_The tutor's carriage met them._']

It was a most delightful tour, enjoyed by all concerned, and long to
be treasured by the young musician, to whom Interlaken, Vevey, and
Chamounix, with their mountains, lakes, glaciers, torrents, and
valleys, their sunrises and sunsets, presented a panorama of endless
enchantment. Amidst the constant demands upon the senses there was
little time for actual composition, but two songs and the beginning of
a pianoforte quartet were inspired by the sight of the Lake of Geneva
and its beautiful surroundings. Nor was the journey without the
pleasures afforded by meetings with many eminent people in the musical
world, such as the composer Spohr at Cassel, and Schelble, the
conductor of the famous Caecilien-Verein concerts, at Frankfort. To the
latter Felix exhibited his powers by an extemporisation on Bach's
motets, which called forth the musician's astonished praise.

On the return journey a call was made at Weimar, in order that Abraham
Mendelssohn might pay his respects to the poet, and personally
acknowledge the old man's kindness to Felix. Goethe received them most
kindly, and talked much with the father on the subject of the boy's
future. Of Felix's playing he never seemed to get tired. There was a
charm about the boy's bright presence, and a soothing restfulness in
his playing which appealed to the old poet's kindlier nature in a way
that few things had the power to do. 'I am Saul, and you are my
David,' he said to Felix one day, when his temper had been ruffled by
something that had occurred. 'When I am sad and dreary, come to me and
cheer me with your music.' How much sunshine had been infused into the
old man's declining days by these brief visits Felix himself could
never have guessed, but he knew that he loved Goethe, and that his
love was returned.

Felix's progress, not only in music, but in his other studies as well,
was by leaps and bounds. Knowledge to him seemed a food for which his
appetite was insatiable, difficulties to him were but spurs to
increased effort, and the effort itself appeared to be inappreciable.
It was impossible to regard any longer as a boy one who