ever be grateful to her that I succeeded in
controlling myself. Had I given way to my just anger, I would have had
myself to blame for Ernst's desperate course and his lost life. That
would have been adding guilt to misfortune, and would have been
insupportable.

I had yet much to learn. As a father I was sadly deficient in many
respects. But, with every desire to improve herself, my wife was
already a perfect being, and could therefore be more to the children
than I was. I was disposed to neglect my family on account of what was
due my office. She was vigilant and severe, and supplied what was
lacking on my part. But although she was sterner than I was, the
children were more attached to her than to me.

Although Ernst's views of life gave me deep concern, he was often kind
and affectionate; for his good-nature was, at times, stronger than his
so-called principles.

I sought consolation in the thought that children will always see the
world in a different light from that in which it appears to their
parents. Even that which is ideal is subject to constant change, and we
should therefore be careful not to imagine that the form which is
pleasing to us, and to which we have accustomed ourselves, will endure
forever. And, moreover, was it not our wish to educate our children as
free moral agents, and was it not our duty to accord full liberty even
to those who differed with us?

I have often seen it verified that a perfect development cannot take
place with those who, either through birth or adverse circumstances,
are deficient in any important moral faculty. With all of Ernst's love
of freedom, he was entirely wanting in respect or regard for the
feelings of others. Piety, in its widest sense, he was utterly devoid
of. From his stand-point, his actions were perfectly just; as to their
effects upon others, he was indifferent.

On the Wiesenplatz in Frankfort, during the autumn of 1848, I had gone
through a heart-rending experience. And now, after many years, I
returned to the same spot only to be reminded of my former grief by
painful and conflicting emotions. I had gone to Frankfort to attend the
Schuetzenfest. The city was alive with joy; a spirit of unity had for
the first time become manifest. I was standing close by the temple for
the distribution of the prizes. Although surrounded by a gay and
laughing crowd, I was quite absorbed in my own reflections, when
suddenly a voice thus addressed me:

"Ah, father! Ar