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regulated the time for our bath according to principles of health. Boys who did not readily acquire skill in swimming received instruction in it. The teachers joined us likewise in our sport on the ice. For coasting we had an artificial coasting-hill built every year. It was covered with snow, and watered in the evening so as to freeze over during the night. Thus we were not tempted to coast with the rough boys of the town, of whom there were, indeed, plenty, -and to fall into habits similar to theirs. Another sport consisted of shooting with cross-bows. This was, however, indulged in on special occasions only, under the supervision of some authoritative person who would take proper care that no harm should result from it. An eagle, made of pieces of colored wood and fastened to a high pole, was the target. It held in its claws sceptre and globe, and wore a crown on its head. Neck, feathers, and all its parts came down in pieces, until the mastershot laid low the trunk, which sat firmest, and made the archer the king of the day. For each piece that fell a prize was assigned.

We had, indeed, plenty of inducements for play on our private grounds, and did not feel the restriction under which we were placed in regard to playing out of sight of guardians and tutors who adhered and made us adhere to the maxim of Horace: "Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines;" that is, There is moderation in things, there are finally certain boundary lines. Walks were taken almost every day. Sometimes a holiday was set apart for a walking excursion with our masters, and these were most delightful days; there was so much pure happiness and mirth, and, owing to the good influences under which we spent them, there was no excess, and consequently no cause for regret. Indeed, no exercise can be more healthful and elevating than a good walk through fine country, and of

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this exercise we had plenty during our course in the gymnasium.

On Sunday, attendance at church was required, an hour or two were given to letter-writing, and the rest of the day was spent in walking, reading, and resting. Church holidays were observed in the same way. The other holidays were celebrated by public speaking in the hall of the gymnasium. The opening of the day set apart for celebrating the anniversary of the foundation of the Fürstenschule was noteworthy for its impressiveness. An hour before sunrise we all marched, headed by our teachers, to a high rock, the Götterfelsen of mythological reminiscence, situated two or three miles from the town. There we saw the sun rise above the quiet valley at our feet, and, removed from the world below us, we offered, with heads uncovered under heaven's free dome, our morning hymn of praise and prayer to God on high. The hill was, if I remember rightly, owned by the school, and a cross had been planted where once the heathen gods were supposed to have been worshiped. In the afternoon and early evening of these holidays a ball was held in the hall of the gymnasium. To these entertainments were invited the parents and relatives of the students, the families of the teachers, and the élite of the town. Only the students of the upper forms danced, while the rest looked on with the guests. The dancers had passed through a course of lessons approved of by the faculty. In fact, all amusements of this kind were subject to the approval of the president and teachers. A student could not attend any dancing-class he chose, nor could he go to any ball he pleased, without exposing himself to censure, warning, and final dismissal if he persisted in seeking such forbidden pleasures. Special permission was always required, and was not seldom refused, if the order of the amusement was in any way objectionable, if the applicant had only a short time be

fore attended a similar entertainment, or if he showed by his work that he needed his time for the purpose of maintaining good standing in the class. The theatre, which, as we all know, ranks very high in Germany as an institution for moral, intellectual, and aesthetic education, was, of course, open at times to the students; but discretion was exercised by our superiors as to the plays we might attend, and too frequent visits were not considered as being in keeping with faithful application to school duties. I shall ever remember the words of a venerable teacher of mine, who, refusing my petition, added: "Constant gratification of one's wishes is by no means the surest road to happiness. Wait until to-morrow morning, and you will find that greater satisfaction is often won from quiet resignation."

Irksome as this constant supervision and control might appear, it tended after all to keep the student from being at an early age satiated with the joys of this world; and, moreover, the judgment to which he was compelled to submit could not but leave behind a lasting impression. Early he learned to take an elevated view of life, and a high sense of duty grew to be second nature with him at an age when heart, mind, and soul are most receptive and flexible.

During our vacations we enjoyed our rest at home. We were, however, not allowed to spend our time entirely in idleness. In fact, we had become accustomed to some mental occupation every day, had by constant habit learned to appreciate the satisfaction which a certain daily employment lends to life in general, and thus did not desire to abandon all intellectual pursuits. At all events, two or three hours during the morning were required by all judicious parents for reading, provided the day was not set apart for some special purpose. In the long summer vacation we took, as a rule, a fortnight's trip. As these journeys were made with some

reliable person of mature age, with relatives or parents, they were not only enjoyable, but instructive at the same time. Our eyes were constantly kept open for the beauties of scenery, and our hearts were brought under their influence. Indeed, the love of nature is fostered among the young in Germany to such an extent that we rarely meet with an educated German who does not find intense relief from work and toil in intercourse with nature. When we reached localities which were of significance in history, literature, art, and industry, we became acquainted with whatever lent them importance in any of these lines. The historical spirit was kept alive in places where great men had accomplished great deeds, and who can deny that "the spot where a good man has stood is consecrated," and thus is best adapted for conveying impressive lessons? If there were art treasures, our attention was called to them, and artistic taste and judgment were cultivated by introducing us to their merits. Factories where human skill and ingenuity had attained extraordinary results were also visited. In this way our superiors combined for us utile cum dulci.

I remember standing, when a gymnasiast, on the famous battle-field of Lützen, near the monument in honor of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, the greatest champion of Protestantism, who fell there for a holy cause; and the visit to this famous spot will ever cling to memory, and bring to mind again the lesson it conveyed. I recall our trip to Mount Gickelhahn in the Thuringian forest, where Goethe conceived his exquisite poem The Wanderer's Nightsong (Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh), the very lines. of which he wrote on the wall of the pavilion which, until 1876, when it was burned, crowned that peak. Our attention was directed to the magnificent treetops which inspired that immortal song, and seemed to breathe forth to us the very spirit of the poet. Why is it that

such moments are never forgotten? Because they have their intrinsic worth. The boy may not become entirely conscious of their force and bearing, but the man looks back upon them and cherishes them throughout life; he rises again and again with them, as he did in early years, and strives never to lose the susceptibility for living them over and over, just as, in his very last days, Goethe could return to Mount Gickelhahn and read with deep emotion the words of his youth: "Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch" (Wait, soon thou too shalt rest). I shall never forget my first visit to Weimar. At sunrise we went to the beautiful park to hear the finest singers among the birds, the nightingales, in places where one of the greatest singers of mankind had conceived many of his songs. We passed along the avenues which had been the favorite walks of Goethe, while many a line closely associated with those very spots was brought to our notice; and stopping, on our return to the city, before the nobly wrought bronze group of Goethe and Schiller in Theatre Square, we felt much inclined to think that the artist, Rietschel, had not been wrong in allowing Goethe to hold the laurel wreath, while Schiller is simply grasping after it. The day we spent at the Wartburg, near Eisenach, will ever remain the subject of fondest recollection. There we went to the small cell in which Luther, during strict confinement, translated the Bible; a narrow space indeed for so broad a mind Close by, across the court-yard, stood the spacious halls befitting high and mighty knights. But these, too, had become associated with the world of thought. The walls had been covered with exquisite frescos by Schwind, rep resenting the famous Sängerkrieg; for Landgrave Hermann assembled here the singers of his time, just as six hundred years later his successor, Duke Augustus of Saxe - Weimar - Eisenach, did at the court of Weimar. Calling such

events vividly before the minds of the young means inspiring them with an appreciation, reverence, and love for what is noble and high in human life.

The manner in which we spent our leisure lacked freedom and independence, but it abounded in regularity and good influences. The German gymnasiast does not appear to be as spirited in his plays as he might; he is often charged with too great seriousness and dignity, and this criticism is not unjust. I admit that he is, on the whole, not as boylike as we should want him to be. But he is, on the other hand, apt to be exceedingly childlike, in the good sense of the word; he is, as a rule, reverential and submissive, simple and uncontaminated by the ways of the world, with which he has come little in contact. In spite of the large amount of work he accomplishes, he is after all a pretty hardy specimen of a boy. The one hundred and eighth regiment, which had enlisted the flower of the Saxon youth from the University at Leipzig, counting hundreds of students in its lines, excelled by its vigorous marches and valiant deeds in the war of 1870. In the history of this war we read of regiments that marched for twenty-three successive hours only to fall in line of battle at the end of such a march; and the students covered themselves with glory in this campaign.

I doubt, however, whether the German gymnasiast could do the work he does, and preserve his good health, if it were not for the judicious disposition of his leisure hours, during which he is not unduly indulged, but carefully guarded in all the details of life. Moreover, he is thus fitted to withstand the great amount of liberty that is bestowed upon him when he is graduated and enters the university. Among the thousands of university students, there are very few who succumb to university freedom. The habits according to which the gymnasiast was compelled to regulate his free hours, the self-control, the sense of

duty and love for higher aims, which he gained not only in the class-room, but also during his leisure, prevail in the end, and, as a rule, he makes a final

success of his university course, and becomes a useful citizen. For he who has learned to obey in all things is most likely to command in all things. George Moritz Wahl.

XX.

As many people know, there are not, in the famous Théâtre Français, more than a dozen good seats accessible to ladies. The stalls are forbidden them, the boxes are a quarter of a mile from the stage, and the balcony is a delusion save for a few chairs at either end of its vast horseshoe. But there are two excellent baignoires close to the stage, which indeed are by no means always to be had. It was, however, into one of them that, immediately after his return to Paris, Sherringham ushered Mrs. Rooth and her daughter, with the further escort of Basil Dashwood. He had chosen the evening of the reappearance of the celebrated Mademoiselle Voisin (she had been enjoying a congé of three months), an actress whom Miriam had seen several times before and for whose method she professed a high though somewhat critical esteem. It was only for the return of this charming performer that Sherringham had been waiting to respond to Miriam's most ardent wish - that of spending an hour in the foyer des artistes of the great theatre. She was the person whom he knew best in the house of Molière; he could count upon her to do them the honors, some night when she was in the "bill," and make the occasion sociable. Miriam had been impatient for it she was so convinced that her eyes would be opened in the holy of holies; but wishing particularly, as he did, to participate in her impression, he had made her promise that she

would not taste of this experience without him not let Madame Carré, for instance, take her in his absence. There were questions the girl wished to put to Mademoiselle Voisin-questions which, having admired her from the balcony, she felt she was exactly the person to answer. She was more "in it now, after all, than Madame Carré, in spite of her slenderer talent: she was younger, fresher, more modern and (Miriam found the word) less academic. Sherringham perfectly foresaw the day when his young friend would make indulgent allowances for poor Madame Carré, patronizing her as an old woman of good intentions.

The play, to-night, was six months old, a large, serious, successful comedy, by the most distinguished of authors, with a thesis, a chorus, embodied in one character, a scène à faire and a part full of opportunities for Mademoiselle Voisin. There were things to be said about this artist, strictures to be dropped as to the general quality of her art, and Miriam leaned back now, making her comments as if they cost her less; but the actress had knowledge and distinction and pathos, and our young lady repeated several times, “How quiet she is, how wonderfully quiet! Scarcely anything moves but her face and her voice. Le geste rare, but really expressive when it comes. I like that economy; it's the only way to make the gesture significant."

"I don't admire the way she holds her arms," Basil Dashwood said: “like