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His examination was a little perfunctory, almost apologetic, and he did want to be friendly. You guessed that he was thinking he would like to go around the corner and have "ein Glas Bier" rather than search me. What a hearty "Auf wiedersehen!" he gave me when he saw that I was inclined to be friendly, too!

Good-bye, mon Capitaine; you have been very kind." She drew off her gauntlet and extended her hand. I bent and kissed, possibly too lingeringly, the little fingers. "Farewell, Princess," I said. And then, half under my breath, I added: "Till we meet again." She heard, and again that smile. "'Auf Wiedersehen' be it," she answered. Then she rode away.

Auf! bade, Schueler, unverdrossen Die ird'sche Brust im Morgenrothl" I add here some suggestions to teachers who may wish to use this book in the classroom. In connection with each chapter I have indicated the more important discussions of the special topic.

And yet "Wilhelm Meister" changed the whole current of European literature the work was practically committed to memory by the noblest men and women of the world. We hear the venerated Queen of Prussia repeating from it in her cruel exile, "Wer nie sein Brod mit Thranen ass, Wer nicht die Kummervollen Nachte Auf Seinem Bette weinend sass, Der Kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Machte."

Thus we have that bad state of things described in an old-fashioned verse, which gives it as the lot of the great ones here on earth to be recognized only when they are gone: Es ist nun das Geschick der Grossen fiier auf Erden, Erst wann sie nicht mehr sind; von uns erkannt zu werden.

"They require your undivided attention?" mildly. "I quite understand Ludwig." Their eyes met, then Miller turned on his heel. "Auf wiedersehen" he exclaimed under his breath, and the waiter's stolid expression changed to one of relief. Miller, who had checked his overcoat and hat before entering the dining-room, wasted no time but entered a public telephone booth.

I had myself never been a great reader of his poetry, when I met him, though when I was a boy of ten years I had heard my father repeat passages from the Biglow Papers against war and slavery and the war for slavery upon Mexico, and later I had read those criticisms of English poetry, and I knew Sir Launfal must be Lowell in some sort; but my love for him as a poet was chiefly centred in my love for his tender rhyme, 'Auf Wiedersehen', which I can not yet read without something of the young pathos it first stirred in me.

Nightingales here and there, new-comers, tune their timid April song: but, strangest of all sounds in such a place, my comrade from the Grisons jodels forth an Alpine cowherd's melody. Auf den Alpen droben ist ein herrliches Leben! Did the echoes of Gian Galeazzo's convent ever wake to such a tune as this before?

The band was playing "Auf Wiedersehen," and the waltz carried with it the sadness that had made people call the man who wrote it the waltz king. Swanson listened gratefully. He was glad that before he went out, his last mood had been of regret and gentleness. The sting of his anger had departed, the music soothed and sobered him. It had been a very good world.

Paul had often hung about the hotel, watching the people go in and out, longing to enter and leave school-masters and dull care behind him for ever. At last the singer came out, accompanied by the conductor, who helped her into her carriage and closed the door with a cordial auf wiedersehen, which set Paul to wondering whether she were not an old sweetheart of his.