oriels at the corners, and pointed turrets on the roof.  The gables were on the street, in three steps; over the great house door there was our coat of arms, the three links of the Schopppes and the fool’s head with cap and bells as a crest on the top of the casque.  The middle windows of the first and second stories were of noble size, and there glittered therein bright and beautiful panes of Venice glass, whereas the other windows were of small roundels set in lead.

And while from outside it was a fine, fair house to look upon, I never hope to behold a warmer or more snug and comfortable dwelling than the living-rooms within which was our home the winter through; albeit I found the saloons and chambers in the palaces of the Signori at Venice loftier and more airy, and greater and grander.  Whenever I have been homesick under the sunny blue sky of Italy, it was for the most part that I longed after the rich, fresh green foliage and flowing streams of my own land; but, next to them, after our pleasant chamber in the Schopper-house, with its warm, green-tiled stove, with the figures of the Apostles, and the corner window where I had spun so many a hank of fine yarn, and which was so especially mine own—­although I was ever ready and glad to yield my right to it, when Herdegen required it to sit in and make love to his sweetheart.

The walls of this fine chamber were hung with Flanders tapestry, and I can to this day see the pictures which were so skilfully woven into it.  That I loved best, from the time when I was but a small thing, was the Birth of the Saviour, wherein might be seen the Mother and Child, oxen and asses, the three Holy Kings from the East—­the goodliest of them all a blackamoor with a great yellow beard flowing down over his robes.  On the other hangings a tournament might be seen; and I mind me to this day how that, when I was a young child, I would gaze up at the herald who was blowing the trumpet in fear lest his cheeks should burst, inasmuch as they were so greatly puffed out and he never ceased blowing so hard.  Between the top of these hangings and the ceiling was a light wood cornice of oak-timber, on which my father, God rest him, had caused various posies to be carved of his own devising.  You might here read: 

“Like a face our life may be
To which love lendeth eyes to see.”

Or again,

“The Lord Almighty hides his glorious face
That so we may not cease to seek his grace.”

Or else,

“The Lord shall rule my life while I sit still,
And rule it rightly by his righteous will.”

And whereas my father had loved mirthful song he had written in another place: 

“If life be likened to a thorny place
Song is the flowery spray that lends it grace.”

Some of these rhymes had been carved there by my grandfather, for example these lines: 

“By horse and wain I’ve journeyed up and down,
Yet found no match for this my native town.”