indeed, of his dependence on a superior power, that of age and time: but this great prince had not that consolation which arises to the meanest of mankind. He did not enjoy that comfort which proceeds naturally from our weakness-an idea of our dependence on God, and of the end of our existence beyond this life and the grave. Frederic the Great considered his life as a vapour, created by chance, and which age dissipated. He did not believe in what is the noblest, the best, and the grandest hope of man-the immortality of the soul. His creed was, that the thinking part of man is inseparable from the body, and perishes with it. "He, who was so often melancholy when he reflected how much his existence depended on age and time, was not sensi, ble that this dependence, which renders us so little in one point of view, exalts us in another, by intimately connecting us with the Deity. Frederic the Great, in the latter part of his life, undoubtedly experienced very painful sensations. Men generally, either through vanity or affectation, conceal these sensations; and flatterers, who wish to praise the great, suppose that they are never disturbed by them. This eminent prince did not conceal from me what he felt in this respect. These ideas, however, were in his great mind only momentary; and though, for the most part, they destroy all the activity and faculties of the best organized heads, he preserved, till the last moment, his usual firmness and courage. On this account he was always master of himself. Till almost the very moment of his death, he applied, without interruption, to his wonted occupations. It has, nevertheless, been frequently asserted, throughout all Germany, that Frederic outlived himself; that his powers of mind were exhausted, and that his vivacity and vigour of thought had abandoned him. It appears to me, on the contrary, that many princes would be very happy to possess, in the flower of life, that vigour and strength of mind which Frederic enjoyed during the last summer of his: this certainly would secure to them a great name. The generals, ministers, ambassadors, and private secretaries of his Prussian majesty, well know that the spirit of this prince was discernible in every thing which he did in the summer of 1786; and what Mr Hertzberg, the minister, said on this subject, has certainly more weight than the idle reports of all Germany. I saw Frederic at many moments when he appeared to me capable of deciding respecting a war; and though he could not have taken the field in person, one might read in his eyes that his head was sufficiently clear to form the best plans, and to direct the execution of them with perfect propriety. A few days before my arrival at Pots dam, he wrote, with his own hand, in- reso "My readers will, perhaps, wish to know in what manner his majesty spent his time during the seventeen days I resided at Potsdam. His manner of living, from the period of my departure till his death, may be seen in the Memoirs of Mr Hertzberg. "After his majesty's disorder had become so serious, he began business at a very early hour. Before that period, the cabinet secretaries never made their appearance till towards six or seven in the morning; but after it he always required their attendance at four. "My condition (these are the memorable words by which his majesty announced to his secretaries this change) obliges me to give you this trouble, which will not continue long. As my life is on the decline, I must turn to advantage that part of it which remains, for it does not belong to me but to the state.' What a lesson to future kings, princes, and rulers! for every one knows that there is no king or prince, great or small, who has not occasion for his time. Every morning, at four, after Frederic had given audience to his adjutant, one of his hussars in waiting brought him all the reports of his ministers and generals, all the dispatches of his ambassadors, and all the letters which had arrived in the night at Berlin, from different countries. Having examined them, and selected such as were of most immediate consequence, he placed on one side those which he wished to read himself, and on the other those which he intended his cabinet secretaries should give him an account of. His secretaries were then called, who were obliged to come from Sans-Souci to Potsdam by four in the morning. When they arrived, his majesty delivered to them such papers as he wished them to read; they then repaired to an apartment without the castle, read the whole, and made short extracts from them: in the mean time his majesty perused all his letters; after which the secretaries were called in succession, each having his pen in his hand. Frederic first dictated what concerned the letters which he had read himself; his secretaries then gave an account of those from which they had made extracts; and his majesty dictated to them his orders, and the answers he meant to give, almost word for word. Thus, in general, from the hour of four to six or seven in the morning, one sick mortal ruled a whole kingdom, and dispatched at the same time all foreign affairs. The cabinet secretaries then returned to Potsdam, wrote out fair copies of what the king had dictated to them, and brought them after dinner to be signed. But, what is rarely done in the administration of states, his majesty read over again all these letters and orders, before he put his signature to them. "Frederic then, after seven in the morn ing, might have given himself up to indolence, and been exposed to languor, if he had thought proper; but this he never could nor would do. Such a mode of life no Sovereign can follow. I "At that hour the bill of fare was brought him, but only for dinner, as he never supped; at the same hour all the productions of his gardens and greenhouses, which had appeared since the preceding day, were also brought him. always saw them in large baskets placed on the tables of the anti-chamber; they were the choicest and most beautiful of his fruits, consisting of cherries, grapes, melons, peaches, apricots, plums, and pisangs; and care was taken not to suffer a single cherry to be amongst them that was deformed by the smallest speck. Frederic, in general, ate some of these fruits. "At eight, when I arrived, he was almost always employed in reading, either a French translation of some ancient author, or some work respecting modern history; but as his hand was so weak that he could not hold a moderate octavo volume, he had every work of a large size formed into small divisions of a few sheets each. From the hour of eight I remained with him as long as he thought proper; generally half an hour, but sometimes a whole hour. After my departure the commandant of Potsdam, the worthy, honest, and mild Lieutenant-General De Rohdich, arrived to receive the orders of the day; but this was always a momentary business, because at four in the morning an officer gave an account of every thing that had passed at the gates of Potsdam, and in the whole garrison. Between nine and eleven his majesty gave audience to the adjutants, and other officers with whom he had occa sion to speak. "At eleven, Count de Luchesini and General Goertz, his majesty's usual company at table, made their appearance. From the time of my arrival .till near that of my departure, Count de Schwerin, first equerry and after my departure, till his majesty's death, Mr Hertzberg, the minister, and Count Pinto, a Piedmontese, and colonel of engineers, were generally of the party also. Besides these, he had with him sometimes one of his generals, and sometimes one of his majors. It is to be observed that Frederic sent an invitation every morning even to those who were admitted to his table the whole year round. "The dinner lasted sometimes only half an hour, but oftener an hour and a half. The king ate always with a keen appetite, and, for the most part, too much. He drank a kind of white wine made at Bergerac, in France, but with great moderation. When dinner was over, he always slept more or less, but never long; after which he took a few dishes of coffee, then sat in the sun, on his terrace, or amused himself with some object or other. For example, he had always something to do with jewellers and lapidaries. One day, while I was with him, he reviewed all his jewels and precious stones, which were very numerous. Those in his own apartment were estimated at five millions of crowns." "I had generally orders to wait upon his majesty at three in the afternoon; but my visit was often delayed half an hour or more, on account of his being busy, or asleep. The audience lasted as long as that of the morning. His majesty's occupations then recommenced, and various letters were brought him to be signed. One day I saw Count de Finkenstein enter; and, at the same time, Prince Dolgoroucky, the Russian envoy, had his audience of leave. Often, as I was going out, officers and engineers were entering with plans, drawings, &c. "The king's evening party arrived at half after five, and consisted usually of the Chamberlain, Count de Luchesini, and General Goertz. During the whole time I resided at Potsdam, and even during the time he himself resided there, Count Schwerin, the grand equerry, was admitted also. Two days after my departure, he was succeeded by Mr de Hertzberg, who, as well as Count de Schwerin, attended the king, and remained at Sans-Souci till the period of his death. The king always conversed cheerfully with this society, who "Precious stones excited a kind of passion in the capricious mind of Frederic. His taste in this respect was singular: brilliants he considered as not sufficiently beautiful. He had always before him, besides a leaden chest full of snuff, two other wooden chests, and four snuff-boxes of Silesian agate. They were ornamented with precious stones of all colours, which were neither sapphires, rubies, nor emeralds, as I at first imagined, but real brilliants, with foils of different colours placed under "A beautiful kind of figs brought them, according to his majesty's direc-, from the island of Java." * tions.' VOL. V. 3 к afterwards supped together by themselves; even told him so; and he was mild and and Frederic made a young man from Berlin read to him, sometimes Cicero, sometimes Plutarch, and sometimes Voltaire, till the hour of ten, at which he usually went to sleep." pp. 93-105. The conclusion of this queer per formance is more queer than any part of it. Zimmermann himself, we be lieve, was a good, harmless, fiddlefuddle sort of a person, something like his own dandelion, and a Christian withal; but nothing can show, more distinctly, how completely unchristianized the habits of thinking and of writing in his time were, by the dazzling influence of a wretched philosophy, than the following eloquent peroration. He seems to make it a mighty merit in his hero, that he remained an infidel to the last gasp, and died as hard as some of those great men, in Fielding's use of the term, who make their final exit from a no less exalted stage. "He more than once testified to me, that he adhered, in every thing, to the principles exposed in the Works of the Philosopher of Suns-Souci; and I expected that he would not proceed farther; but, after the publication of his works, his religious principles became still worse. Luchesini, however, did every thing that an honest man could do; he brought him back from atheism to deism: and I was very much surprised to find, during my residence at Potsdam, that he spoke much more of the latter than he had done for many years. But he, however, generally admitted only a few of the received principles of the deists; he then often repeated his ancient opinions, and seemed to be very anxious that people should comprehend him well. Some might, therefore, conclude that Frederic fluctuated very much in his religious opinions towards the close of his life, and that he was often in doubt whether he should not adopt others. But those who might judge in this manner would undoubtedly be deceived; for I well know that, though his majesty listened attentively to every objection made to him on this head, he remained always firm and unshaken in his sentiments. "I shall here relate, and in a few words, what is known to only a few persons. Frederic the Great never believed, not even at the moment of his death, in the Christian religion, or the immorality of the soul; though he was not, perhaps, always free from uneasiness, in this respect, in the latter part of his life. He shewed a great spirit of toleration towards those who thought differently from him, and who indulgent to enthusiasts, fanatics, and fools. Of this he gave a convincing proof, a little while before his death, in his behaviour towards a person who endeavoured to bring him within the pale of the church. Amongst the letters which had arrived one day, and which the king delivered into the hands of his cabinet secretaries, there was one without any signature, which surprised them so much that they brought it back to his majesty. The author, from conscientious motives, represented to the king, out of respect and love for him, that, though he had been incredulous all his lifetime, there was still room for him to amend, and return to his duty; but that, as he was on the brink of the grave, he had not a moment to lose, unless he wished to go to that place where there are gnashing of teeth and eternal wailings, and to be roasted in hell throughout all eternity. The same evening the king made a present of this letter to Luchesini; saying, You see how careful they are of my soul.' "Frederic often joked repecting death, when he had the glass in his hand. His letters to D'Alembert, at the time when that philosopher was approaching towards his end, contain sublime consolations, replete with the most stoic philosophy against the dread of ceasing to exist. "Count Luchesini asked me, however, one day, at Potsdam, in what manner his majesty's fears respecting death might be quieted; as he was not susceptible of that pleasing consolation which arises to those who believe in the immortality of the soul. Comfort him, said I, by representing to him the immortality of his name; the indelible remembrance of every thing great and sublime that he has done, and of all the good actions he has performed; and, lastly, by shewing him that all these will live a long time after him. The king, as he himself has often told me, is 'not afraid of death, and I believe it: but he hates and detests it, and would wish to oppose it if possible. Suffer him to deny, to the last, the immortality of the soul; for in this point you will never be able to convert him. But tell him boldly, and without ceasing, that he has done more than any king before him could do in a similar situation; and that all he has done has taken too deep root not to expand and flourish till the remotest period of futurity. Repeat to him, and even proclaim with a loud voice, in his latest moments, that the Prussian Eagle shall never be humbled. "Tender and sublime soul! thou wonder of the eighteenth century! at once philosopher, hero, legislator, and conquerormonarch whose name shall live to the end of ages, and from whose glory every thing has already been separated that jealousy or malevolence could throw upon it with a view to tarnish it-thy earthly frame, deposited at Potsdam, is not the only part which remains of thee. Placed in the abode of the immortals, thou art now near thy Marcus Aurelius; and this production is only the smallest of the flowers scattered over thy tomb. Thy name will be always engraven on my heart, as the soft and tender sound of thy last words Zimmermann, remember the good old man that you have seen here!" pp. 147–151. REMARKS ON MRS HEMANS'S POEMS. THERE can be no greater proof of the injury the public taste has sustained by the thirst for strong excitement, which we had occasion to reprobate in a former Number, than the apathy with which two very beautiful and classical poems by this author have been received. We allude to the poem on the Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy, and the other on Modern Greece. They have, no doubt, "fit audience found," though few ;but we ask, Why are they so few ? Nothing can be a greater proof of the predominant egotism, which is the disease (we had almost said the vice) of refinement, than the unquenchable thirst for story, so prevalent among all kinds of readers. We have been often told that extremes meet. This is well exemplified in the resemblance between the tastes and pursuits of people in a state of semi-barbarism and those advanced to a very high point of civilization, though influenced by different motives. The savage in the dawn of knowledge leads a life divided between violent exertion and inert languor. Eager in his pursuits, and ardent in his affections, rest with him is not apathy. When wearied with the chace, or enjoying a short and precarious interval of peace, he has no light amusements to diversify the heavy interval when the body reposes and the mind rests not. The tales in which war and hunting, faithful love, and kindred affections, were pourtrayed, soothed his short and pensive leisure with a picture of the vicissitudes to which his mode of life was hourly liable. Limited as his perceptions were to the changes of the elements without, and the great element Tales and Historic Scenes, in Verse. By Felicia Hemans. London, 1819. ary passions of the human mind within, these tales admitted of little variety. Yet still they were mirrors of life, such as he felt and saw it;and though, in process of time, much exaggeration took place, still the outline was true to nature. Sentiment, refined fancy, and increased intelligence, threw their varied colours over the poetry of later times. The Muse, whether her strains were moral or satirical, pathetic or ludicrous-whether she reflected, with Thomson, the face of Nature in her pure and faithful mirror-or, with Pope, caught the varying manners as they rose, and showed vice its own deformity, and folly its own absurdity-or, with Collins, called up the "shadowy tribes of mind" in visible and beautiful forms-she still afforded delight, and awakened interest. All this is gone by. We are become too indolent and too selfish to be easily excited or much interested, unless by mere story. We can identify ourselves with the hero or heroine of a tale. We think what we should have done, or how we should have felt, in such circumstances; and, while the dramatis persono suffer or mourn, we can congratulate ourselves on our own exemption from such suffering. We now return to our parallel.The heroes and hunters of primitive times, to whom no other source of intellectual entertainment was open, gazed unwearied on exaggerated pictures of their own mode of life, with all its perils and vicissitudes, because they had nothing else to engage their attention or excite their feelings. We to whom the pages of history and science are laid open, and all the rich stores of human genius revealed, take little interest in any thing but story, because we are satiated with pleasures of a su perior kind, and wish for a mirror in which to behold ourselves as we suppose we should act, suffer, or enjoy under certain circumstances. They dwelt on story, because they had nothing else to engage them. We, with a thousand sources of refined entertainment open to us, neglect them all, to indulge a voracious appetite for tales of wonder--for such those may be called which have of late not merely engaged but entirely engrossed the public mind. We can not, like our forefathers, have our attention kept awake by a poetical mir ror, in which our daily life is pourtrayed. Walking as we do in the shackles of custom, and in the appropriate path to which law and civilization have limited us, our pursuits are too frivolous in ordinary life, and our habits too monotonous to admit of a poetical dress. We must be kept wondering at the strange mixture of bold and generous virtues, with savage licence and no less savage revenge, in those ages when some sparkles of the dying spirit of chivalry still brightened the feuds and quenchless animosities of the ancient barons, and some gleams of faithful attachment and heroic bravery shed fitful light through the gloom of barbarity and ignorance among the moonlight chieftains and moss-troopers of the Border, while religion, debased by superstition, and learning confined to convents and colleges, poured a kind of dim twilight over the whole. This suits our taste exceedingly. We all like very well to sit in all the snugness of modern drawing-rooms, and, like Cowper and his friends on the arrival of a newspaper, "wheel in the sofa, and draw the curtains down." While surrounded with luxury, and in the bosom of ease and safety, we feed our imagina tions, at small expence, with the toils and hardships of those “who drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd," or the midnight plunge through the foaming stream of him Alike to whom was time or tide, It is very well to mount behind William of Doleraine, or some other stout Marchman, in idea, while all our effeminate habits and fire-side comforts are at the same time enhanced by the contrast. This, how ever, was a field of adventure in which we had some honour to win. It was walking in a gallery where the images of our warlike ancestors, drawn to the life, looked sternly down upon us, and seemed to reproach us with the neglected advantages which their iron age had never attained. We impute their faults to the lawless times in which they lived, and claim alliance with their pre-eminent, though imperfect, virtues. By the wonderful and much-abused powers of a noble wanderer over the East, we have been seduced into devouring, with still more poignant relish, tales of wonder over which the magic of his genius has shed more dangerous attractions. We have been lately induced to analyze some of those tales of crime and horror in our strictures on Mazeppa, and shall, therefore, simply repeat an opinion, from which few who bestow any serious thought on the subject will be found to differ, that the taste formed on the perusal of such poetry must produce a thirst for strong excitement, and a degree of indifference to all the softer graces of the most polished and classical Muse, unaccompanied by that stimulus which this vitiated appetite demands. That Mrs Hemans has been driven into this mode of engaging attention to poetry so rich in fancy, so pure and polished in diction, and bearing the very stamp and impress of original genius, is to be lamented, as narrative is not exactly her forte, and would not certainly have been her choice, were choice permitted to her. It may be thought hard that every production of female intellect seems to require to be introduced into the world with an apology, as if the field of competition for the laurels reaped by talents were not equally open to candidates of either sex; yet these fair conservators of domestic peace and human happiness should know their own place, and the importance of their peculiar duties, too well to murmur at an opinion, the universality of which affords some proof of its being founded on the common sense of mankind. There is a veil of delicacy which usually covers intellectual superiority, when it distinguishes a very young woman, and which, however transpa rent, we should not wish to see entirely thrown off. We do not desire to have those bashful charms of opening mind, that delight in the little circle of intimacy, laid early open to the public eye. When life advances, and judgment attains its full maturity, duties equally tender and important in the ordinary course of things often lay claim to the time, and employ the whole energies of the most powerful female mind; and it has thus happened that our most distinguished female writers, such as Mrs Carter, Miss Talbot, and Miss Baillie, were not bound down to those engrossing duties to which the time and intellect of |