THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
ing. To read the whole of Klopstock's “Messiah” is considered to-day an almost impossible test of human perseverance, and there are probably few Germans now living who can boast of having accomplished the feat. I am one of the few. On the long walks between Brühl and Liblar I studied the whole twenty cantos, not only with steadfastness, but in great part with profound interest. It is true that among the pompous hexameters I hit upon many that sounded very mysterious to me. I consoled myself with the thought that probably I was too young fully to understand this grand creation. Other parts really impressed me as transcendentally beautiful. I must confess that in the literary studies of my later life I have never been able to rise again to this appreciation of Klopstock's greatness. After having finished the “Messiah,” I was told by my father to learn by heart Tiedge's “Urania” and a series of poems by Gellert, Herder, Bürger, Langbein, Körner and others. Thus I became acquainted with a good many products of German literature, and was in point of reading well prepared to enter the lowest class of the gymnasium.
Here I must mention an occurrence which in a truthful narrative of my life should not be suppressed. My father, who loved me dearly and took pride in me, was extremely exacting in the performance of duty. He examined carefully the weekly reports of my teachers and was never satisfied with anything short of the best. These reports were always good. Only once, tempted by a robber play with my school-fellows, I had omitted the learning of the Latin lesson, which crime the priest, my teacher, duly recorded. Whether shame or fear prevented me from telling my father I do not remember, but returning home on Saturday afternoon, I tried to make him believe that accidentally the report had not been
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