ial philanthropy of the Basedow system
of education.

But Froebel's influence was soon to draw, as if by magnetic power, the
man who had formed an alliance with him amid blood and steel, and who
was destined to lend the right solidity to the newly erected structure
of the institute--I mean Heinrich Langethal, the most beloved and
influential of my teachers, who stood beside Froebel's inspiring genius
and Middendorf's lovable warmth of feeling as the character, and at the
same time the fully developed and trained intellect, whose guidance was
so necessary to the institute.

The life of this rare teacher can be followed step by step from the
first years of his childhood in his autobiography and many other
documents, but I can only attempt here to sketch in broad outlines the
character of the man whose influence upon my whole inner life has been,
up to the present hour, a decisive one.

The recollection of him makes me inclined to agree with the opinion to
which a noble lady sought to convert me--namely, that our lives are far
more frequently directed into a certain channel by the influence of
an unusual personality than by events, experiences, or individual
reflections.

Langethal was my teacher for several years. When I knew him he was
totally blind, and his eyes, which are said to have flashed so brightly
and boldly on the foe in war, and gazed so winningly into the faces of
friends in time of peace, had lost their lustre. But his noble features
seemed transfigured by the cheerful earnestness which is peculiar to the
old man, who, even though only with the eye of the mind, looks back upon
a well-spent, worthy life, and who does not fear death, because he knows
that God who leads all to the goal allotted by Nature destined him also
for no other. His tall figure could vie with Barop's, and his musical
voice was unusually deep. It possessed a resistless power when, excited
himself, he desired to fill our young souls with his own enthusiasm. The
blind old man, who had nothing more to command and direct, moved through
our merry, noisy life like a silent admonition to good and noble things.
Outside of the lessons he never raised his voice for orders or censure,
yet we obediently followed his signs. To be allowed to lead him was
an honor and pleasure. He made us acquainted with Homer, and taught us
ancient and modern history. To this day I rejoice that not one of us
ever thought of using 'pons asinorum,' or copied passage,