When I had reached the age of twelve, I had got to the head of the preparatory school to which I had been sent.

And having thus exhausted all the oxygen of learning in that little receiver, my parents looked out for a wider range for my inspirations.

During the last two years in which I had been at school, my love for study had returned; but it was a vigorous, wakeful, undreamy love, stimulated by competition, and animated by the practical desire to excel.
My father no longer sought to curb my intellectual aspirings.

He had too great a reverence for scholarship not to wish me to become a scholar if possible; though he more than once said to me somewhat sadly, "Master books, but do not let them master you.

Read to live, not live to read.
One slave of the lamp is enough for a household; my servitude must not be a hereditary bondage." My father looked round for a suitable academy; and the fame of Dr.
Herman's "Philhellenic Institute" came to his ears.
Now, this Dr.Herman was the son of a German music-master who had settled in England.