experience of his conversation than of his writings.  He also seemed to find pleasure in associating with the lad who could listen with so much heart and soul.  Yet unfortunately, possibly in the fervour of his discourses, of which he was not a little proud, he forgot that their substance, as well as their form, was far above my youthful powers of comprehension.  I called daily to accompany him on his constitutional walk beyond the city gates, and I shrewdly suspect that we often provoked the smiles of those passers-by who overheard the profound and often earnest discussions between us.  The subjects generally ranged over everything serious or sublime throughout the whole realm of knowledge.  I took the most enthusiastic interest in his copious library, and tasted eagerly of almost all branches of literature, without really grounding myself in any one of them.

My uncle was delighted to find in me a very willing listener to his recital of classic tragedies.  He had made a translation of Oedipus, and, according to his intimate friend Tieck, justly flattered himself on being an excellent reader.

I remember once, when he was sitting at his desk reading out a Greek tragedy to me, it did not annoy him when I fell fast asleep, and he afterwards pretended he had not noticed it.  I was also induced to spend my evenings with him, owing to the friendly and genial hospitality his wife showed me.  A very great change had come over my uncle’s life since my first acquaintance with him at Jeannette Thome’s.  The home which he, together with his sister Friederike, had found in his friend’s house seemed, as time went on, to have brought in its train duties that were irksome.  As his literary work assured him a modest income, he eventually deemed it more in accordance with his dignity to make a home of his own.  A friend of his, of the same age as himself, the sister of the aesthete Wendt of Leipzig, who afterwards became famous, was chosen by him to keep house for him.  Without saying a word to Jeannette, instead of going for his usual afternoon walk he went to the church with his chosen bride, and got through the marriage ceremonies as quickly as possible; and it was only on his return that he informed us he was leaving, and would have his things removed that very day.  He managed to meet the consternation, perhaps also the reproaches, of his elderly friend with quiet composure; and to the end of his life he continued his regular daily visits to ‘Mam’selle Thome,’ who at times would coyly pretend to sulk.  It was only poor Friederike who seemed obliged at times to atone for her brother’s sudden unfaithfulness.