a Miss Vulpius. He began the study of Kant's critic of pure reason, not agreeing in every respect with the tenets of that great philosopher, who drew his materials too exclusively from the world of the senses, whilst Göthe derived them from the soul. His acquaintance with Schiller followed these philosophical pursuits, which did not prevent him from publishing, at the same time, treatises on the metamorphosis of plants; a work much attacked then, but highly appreciated now, in which he was anxious to show that it was the result of long and conscientious studies.

In June, 1790, Göthe joined the duke of Weimar, then staying at the Prussian camp in Silesia, but by no means relished the din and bustle of military life. He found time to write there a comic opera, and an essay on the development of animals. During the year 1791, which was spent very quietly, the duchess Amelia founded her Friday conversazione, attended by Göthe, Herder, Bertuch, Böttiger, Hufeland, Bode, the stars par excellence of that era of intellectual pursuits. In 1792, Göthe accompanied the duke in his campaign in Champagne, and after his return, undertook again the direction of the Weimar theatre. During these dramatic preparations, he wrote the 'Grosz Kophta,'' der Bürgergeneral,' 'die Aufgeregten,' 'Unterhaltungen deutscher Ausgewanderten,' devoted himself to scientific researches, and prepared 'Reineke Fuchs.'

From the year 1794, date those friendly and intellectual relations with Schiller, the results of which proved highly beneficial to them, and to the literary world; for a mental interchange between men of such transcendant genius could not but promote the cause of literature, and cause emulation among those eager to follow the example.

For me it was like the setting-in of returning spring,' says Göthe, when the seed springs up young, and the branches shoot forth their buds.'

Upon Schiller the impression produced was different. Much younger in years and experience, and of a totally different mental organization, he expressed his doubts that their natures, so diametrically opposed, should ever coalesce. The sequel, however, has proved that these apprehensions were erroneous. The correspondence between the immortal writers—a masterpiece of composition, draws a faithful picture of their characters, and is highly to be recommended in an aesthetic point of view.

The publication of the Xenien,' a critical periodical, suggested to Göthe by Martials, and the result of his intimacy with Schiller had for object to encourage true genius, but unsparingly to condemn all that was shallow and hypocritical.

It was a glorious struggle of emulation between two kindred minds, and produced splendid fruits; for some of Göthe's finest ballads date from this period ('Erlkönig,' 'Braut von Corinth,' 'Gott und die Bajadere.') Wilhelm Meister,' begun in 1777, appeared now in 1790, it was rapidly followed by Herrmann und Dorothea;' the former being a picture of worldly life, the latter the pure reflection of the German home circle. A dangerous illness, which befell him in the year 1801, interrupted his literary activity. His translations from Voltaire's 'Mahomet und Tancred,' and 'Winkelmann und sein Jahrhundert' belong to this period. Schiller's death, which took place in 1805, affected him greatly. No one had the courage at first to convey to him the intelligence. From the countenances of those around him, he saw that something had occurred, and he was deeply affected when a lady informed him of the melancholy event. 'He is dead,' he said, in a faint voice, and overcome by his feeling, wept bitterly. The loss he had sustained was irreparable. 'Half of my very existence is gone,' he writes, in a letter to his dear friend Zelter. 'My diary is a blank; the white pages intimate the blank in my existence-I take no interest in anything.' In the year 1808, appeared the work of his life, the brightest star in the literature of Germany- FAUST;' a year later, the Wahlverwandtschaften.'

His health now began to give way, his hearing became impaired, yet his intellect retained its former lucidity and vigour. The picturesque scenery around Ilmenau, and the bracing air of the hills surrounding it, apparently revived him. Hence it became his favourite resort. Thither he repaired on his eighty-second birthday, to spend it in retirement. After having mounted to the very top of those heights, beholding once more the little romantic woodhut snugly concealed among the shrubs, where, in company with so many friends dear to his memory, but, alas! departed, he had spent so many happy hours, and in reading once more what he, in times gone by, had written in pencil :

Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh,

In allen Wipfeln spürest du

Kaum einen Hauch,

Die Vöglein schweigen im Walde,

Warte nur, balde

Ruhest du auch!

Hushed on the hill

Is the breeze;
Scarce by the zephyr
The trees

Softly are pressed;

The woodbird's asleep on the bough,
Wait, then, and thou

Soon wilt find rest.-BOWRING.

Then the past, with its joys and sorrows, its soaring aspirations and withered hopes, passed once more, like a beautiful dream, before the old man's mind, and, as if foreboding his approaching end,

he, melancholy, with tears in his eyes, repeated the two last

verses :

Ja, warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch!

Be patient, weary heart-anon
Thou, too, shalt be at peace!

On the 16th of March, 1832, he was taken ill. It became evident that his last hour was approaching. Ottilie, one of his relatives, bestowed upon him the most tender care. Her name was always on his lips. The serenity of his mind never left him. A little before his death, he became feverish. Look at that lovely face, he said, and then, Light, light! more light!' These were his last words. He then continued making signs, and at half past twelve,' says Lewes, in his graphic account of the great man's last moments, 'he composed himself in the corner of his chair. The watcher placed a finger on her lip to intimate that he was asleep. If sleep it was, it was a sleep in which a life glided from the world. He woke no

more.'

Let us now speak of his works. 'Götz von Berlichingen,' the first, appeared in the year 1771. It contains the history of Gottfried von Berlichingen of the iron hand, the Burgrave of the sixteenth century, who united in his person the qualities of Bayard, the knight' sans peur et sans reproche,' to the freebooting propensities of a hero of the Faustrecht era. Ardently attached to his emperor, and fighting his battles right gallantly, Götz devoted himself also to pursuits of a more questionable character, by stopping travellers on the highroad, especially if he knew them to be the oppressors of the weak, and carried on, at the same time, his feuds against the bishops of Bamberg and Mayence. These contests, so full of historical interest, Göthe describes most graphically in his historical drama. The fact of its being a national subject could not but heighten the interest felt by the public at the time when it appeared, a period proverbially barren in national literary productions. There is a Shakespearian touch in this work, which, notwithstanding some remarks expressed to the contrary, cannot be denied. Göthe deviated here from the beaten path of his predecessors, and, instead of merely confining himself to imitate Shakespeare, he, as Vilmar tells us, raised here enthusiastically a subject derived from the ancient national past, and treated it independently, though in the spirit of the great bard. No other work of the author possesses, in the same degree, the spirit of observation which knows how to identify itself, and to assimilate its own individuality with the subject treated, as Götz von Berlichingen did. It is because Göthe did not, in harmony with the require

ments of modern culture and criticism, oppose the past, but embraced it with fervour, because he blended the olden with modern times, not attempting to represent the former in an idealic light, but making it speak for itself in its cheerful or gloomy mood, in its love and hatred; it is because he brought before us the great national movement of the sixteenth century, and made us judge its actors, not by their words, but by their deeds; the the nation, in reading the drama, identified itself with the events on which it bears, recognising therein its own manners and those of its ancestors; the work found, on that account, an echo in the nation's heart, just as the great epics of antiquity had struck a similar chord in the national soul.' We are precluded from giving here many extracts of this great work, but we cannot refrain from pointing out two scenes full of dramatic interest, and stirringly graphic. The first is, that passing in the gipsy tent, sombre, yet beautiful, like one of those pictures of Rembrandt, in which the gleams of light make the dark figures around appear still more gloomy. The second, of which we add a short extract, represents the secret tribunal (Vehmgericht), where Adelheid, the murderess of her husband, stands before the inexorable midnight judges of the middle age.

(Götz, in einem finstern, engen Gewölbe. Die Richter des heimlichen Gerichts, alle vermummt.)

Eltester. Richter des heimlichen Gerichts, schwört! auf Strang und Schwert, unsträflich zu sein, zu richten im Verborgenen, zu strafen im Verborgenen, Gott gleich! Sind eure Herzen rein und eure Hände, hebt die Arme empor, ruft über den Missethäter: wehe! wehe!

Alle. Wehe! Wehe!

Eltester. Rufer, beginne das Gericht! Rufer. Ich, Rufer, rufe die Klage gegen den Missethäter. Dess Herz rein ist, dessen Hände rein sind zu schwören auf Strang und Schwert, der klage bei Strang und Schwert! klage! klage!

Kläger (tritt hervor). Mein Herz ist rein von Missethat, meine Hände von unschuldigem Blut, verzeih, mir Gott böse Gedanken und hemme den Weg zum Willen! Ich hebe meine Hand auf und klage, klage, klage.

Eltester. Wen klagst du an? Kläger. Klage an auf Strang und Schwert Adelheid von Weisslingen. Sie hat Ehebruchs sich schuldig gemacht, ihren Mann vergiftet durch ihren Knaben. Der Knabe hat sich selbst gerichtet. Der Mann ist todt.

Eltester. Schwörst du zu dem Gott der Wahrheit, dass du die Wahrheit klagst? Kläger. Ich schwöre.

Eltester. Würde es falsch befunden, beutst du deinen Hals der Strafe des Mordes und des Ehebruchs?

Kläger. Ich biete.

Eltester. Eure Stimme. (Sie reden heimlich zu ihm).

Kläger. Richter des heimlichen Gerichts, was ist euer Urtheil über Adelheid von Weisslingen, bezüchtigt des Ehebruchs und Mordes?

Eltester. Sterben soll sie! Sterben des bittern, doppelten Todes mit Strang und Dolch, büssen doppelt doppelte Missethat. Streckt eure Hände empor und rufet wehe über sie! wehe! weh! in die Hände des Rächers!

Alle. Wehe! Wehe! Wehe!
Eltester. Rächer! Rächer! tritt auf!
Rächer. (Tritt vor).

Eltester. Fass hier Strang und Schwert sie zu tilgen von dem Angesicht des Himmels binnen acht Tage Zeit. Wo du sie findest, nieder mit ihr, in Staub! Richter, die ihr richtet im Verborgenen, Gott gleich, bewahrt euer Herz vor Missethat und eure Hand vor unschuldigem Blut.

It is remarkable, that, shortly after the publication of Götz von Berlichingen, a drama so full of genuine national life, and evincing so much mental vigour on the part of its author, Göthe should have written a novel so deficient in this respect. We allude to

'WERTHER'S LEIDEN.'

A work in which the prevailing tendencies of the age are faithfully reflected, and, on that account, created an immense sensation throughout Germany. Sentimentalism reigned supreme at that time. Germany was in its tearful mood. Various associations and orders had sprung up in every direction for the pursuit of something mysteriously sublime, yet hopelessly unattainable. The mind was unsettled by the pursuit of an indefinite aim, and our universities had caught the prevailing mania. It did not spare Göthe, but having fortunately vented itself in Werther's Leiden,' the cure became perfect. The incidents referred to in Werther' are intimately interwoven with the events of his own life. We have, in our biographical sketch, already alluded to this subject, and repeat only here that young Mr. Jerusalem, the son of the celebrated divine, had, in consequence of an unfortunate love, committed suicide in the town of Wetzlar. The melancholy event had reacted upon Göthe's mind, whose own heart-affair bore some analogy to that of this wretched youth, though, happily, it did not drive him to the committal of a similar crime. The effect of Werther was prodigious. "That nameless interest,' remarks Carlyle, the blind struggle of a soul in bondage, that high, sad, longing discontent, which was agitating every bosom, had driven Göthe almost to despair; all felt it; he alone could give it voice, and here lies the secret of his popularity; in his deep susceptive heart he felt a thousand times more keenly what every one was feeling; with the creative gift which belonged to him as a poet, he bodied it forth into visible shape, gave it a local habitation and a name; and so made himself the spokesman of his generation.'

Werther is but the cry of that dim-rooted pain under which all thoughtful men of a certain age were languishing; it paints the misery, it passionately utters the complaints, and the heart and voice, all over Europe, at once respond to it.

The characters in this novel would have appeared less genuine had they not been copied from life, and it is evident that the sufferings described therein, were at one time keenly felt by the author himself. It created a sensation not only in Germany, but throughout Europe, because the sound struck a chord in the hearts of all those who love.