THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
parents left the castle to establish a home of their own in the village of Liblar. The village consisted of one street. Midway on an elevation stood the parish church with its pointed steeple and cross. The houses, mostly one-storied and very small, were of whitewashed plaster, with frames and beams exposed, and tiled roofs. There were perhaps half a dozen brick buildings in the village, belonging to the count. The inhabitants of Liblar, small farmers, laborers, mechanics and a few inn- or shop-keepers, took an especial pride in their village because its street was paved with cobblestones. Notwithstanding our house had two stories, it was very small, with ceilings so low in the upper story that my grandfather when standing upright almost touched them with his head.
Although we no longer lived at the castle, I continued to be my grandfather's favorite, and he wished me to come to him as often as possible. My mother had to take me almost every day to the Burg, and I accompanied my grandfather sometimes even at his work. At harvest time, when he took the loaded wagons into the barn, I had to sit with him in the saddle. In the late autumn, when the slaughtering of the fat swine,—a work which he insisted upon performing himself,—took place, the honor fell to me of carrying the big, leathern knife-case, the bright buckled straps of which were wound around my neck so that they should not drag along the ground. And the more important I believed myself to be on such occasions the greater was my grandfather's delight. On rainy days he lent me an old gun with a flint lock, and taught me how to cock and snap it so that it gave out sparks. Then I was allowed to go hunting in the sitting-room and the adjoining chambers, and to shoot as many deer and wild birds as my imagination could scare up. This would amuse me for hours; and my grandfather then took me on his knees and listened to
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