Leipsic the origin of his own practice, which he says was a tendency he never could deviate from all his life: "namely, the tendency to transform into an image, a poem, everything which delighted or troubled me, or otherwise occupied me, and to come to some distinct understanding with myself upon it, to set my inward being at rest." The reason he gives for this tendency is very questionable. He attributes it to the isolation. in which he lived with respect to matters of taste, forcing him to look within for poetical subjects. But had not the tendency of his genius lain in that direction, no such circumstances could have directed it.

Young, curious, and excitable as he was, nothing is more natural than that he should somewhat shock the respectabilities by his pranks and extravagances. His constant companion was Behrisch, one of the most interesting figures among these Leipsic friends. With strongly marked features and a certain dry causticity of manner, always well dressed, and always preserving a most staid demeanour, Behrisch, then about thirty years of age, had an ineradicable love of fun and mystification. He could treat trifles with an air of immense importance. He would invent narratives about the perversity and absurdity of others, in order to con vulse his hearers with the unction of his philippics against such absurdity. He was fond of dissipation, into which he carried an air of supreme gravity. He rather affected the French style of politesse, and spoke the language well; and, above all, he had some shrewd good sense, as a buttress for all his follies. Behrisch introduced him to some damsels who were better than their reputation," and took him into scenes more useful to the future poet than advantageous to the repute of the young student. He also laughed him out of all respect for gods, goddesses, and other mythological inanities which still pressed their heavy dulness on his verse; would not let him commit the imprudence of

rushing into print, but calmed the author's longing, by beautifully copying his verses into a volume, adorning them with vignettes. Behrisch was, so to speak, the precursor of Merck; his influence not so great, but somewhat of the same kind. The friends were displeased to see young Goethe falling thus away from good society into such a disreputable course; but just as Lessing before him had neglected the elegant Leipsic-world for actors and authors of more wit than money, and preferred Mylius, with his shoes down at heel, to all that the best-dressed' society could offer; so did young Goethe neglect salon and lecture-hall for the many-coloured scene of life in less elegant circles. Enlightened by the result, we foresee that the poet will receive little injury from these sources: he is gaining experience; and experience even of the worst sides of human nature will be sublimated into noble uses, as carrion by the wise farmer is turned into excellent manure. In this great drama of life every theatre has its greenroom; and unless the poet know how it is behind the scenes he will never understand how actors speak and move.

Goethe had often been "behind the scenes," looking at the skeleton which stands in almost every house. His adventure with Gretchen, and its consequences, early opened his eyes to the strange gulfs which lie under the crust of society. "Religion, morals, law, rank, habits,” he says, "rule over the surface of social life. Streets of magnificent houses are kept clean; every one outwardly conducts himself with propriety; but the disorder within is often only the more desolate; and a polished exterior covers many a wall which totters, and falls with a crash during the night, all the more terrible because it falls during a calm. How many families had I not more or less distinctly known in which bankruptcy, divorce, seduction, murder, and robbery had wrought destruction! Young as I was, I

had often, in such cases, lent my succour; for as my frankness awakened confidence, and my discretion was known, and as my activity did not shun any sacrifice

indeed, rather preferred the most perilous occasions I had frequently to mediate, console, and try to avert the storm; in the course of which I could not help learning many sad and humiliating facts."

The

It was natural that such sad experience should at first lead him to view the whole social fabric with contempt. To relieve himself, he being then greatly captivated with Molière's works-sketched the plans of several dramas; but their plots were so uniformly unpleasant, and the catastrophes so tragic, that he did not work out these plans. "The Fellow Sinners" (Die Mitschuldigen) was sketched, though not completed till the next year during his convalescence at home. piece now printed among his works is no doubt greatly altered from the original; and since what we have is the piece rearranged for the Weimar stage in 1776, and no copy of the original is extant, we are entirely at a loss in forming a judgment of the amount of dramatic maturity and literary facility it may have exhibited as the production of a youth of eighteen. It can only be relied on as indicating the direction of his mind. The choice of the subject and the characters we must assign to this period, however little of the original treatment may remain. Few, in England at least, ever read it; yet such as we have it now, it is worth a rapid glance, is lively, and strong with effective situations and two happily sketched characters Söller, the scampish husband, and his father-in-law, the inquisitive landlord. The plot is briefly this: Söller's wife before she became his wife - loved a certain Alcest; and her husband's conduct is not such as to make her forget her former lover, who, at the opening of the play, is residing in her father's hotel. Alcest prevails upon her to grant him an interview in

his own room, while her husband Söller, is at the masquerade. Unluckily, Söller has determined to rob Alcest that very night. He enters the room by stealth opens the escritoire takes the money is alarmed by a noise hides himself in an alcove, and then sees his father-in-law, the landlord, enter the room! The old man, unable to resist a burning curiosity to know the contents of a letter which Alcest has received that day, has come to read it in secret. But he in turn is

alarmed by the appearance of his daughter, and, letting the candle fall, he escapes. Söller is now the exasper

ated witness of an interview between Alcest and his wife: a situation which, like the whole of the play, is a mixture of the ludicrous and the painful - very dramatic and very unpleasant.

On the following day the robbery is discovered. Sophie thinks the robber is her father: he returns her the compliment - nay, more, stimulated by his eager curiosity, he consents to inform Alcest of his suspicion in return for the permission to read the contents of the mysterious letter. A father sacrificing his daughter to gratify a paltry curiosity is too gross; it is the only trait of juvenility in the piece a piece otherwise prematurely old. Enraged at such an accusation, Sophie retorts the charge upon her father, and some unamiable altercations result. The piece winds up by the selfbetrayal of Söller, who, intimating to Alcest that he was present during a certain nocturnal interview, shields himself from punishment. The moral is"Forget and forgive among fellow sinners."

CHAPTER II.

MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS.

THE two dramatic works noticed toward the close of the last chapter may be said to begin the real poetic career of their author, because in them he drew from his actual experience. They will furnish us with a text for some remarks on his peculiar characteristics, the distinct recognition of which will facilitate the comprehension of his life and writings. We make a digression, but the reader will find that in thus swerving from the direct path, we are only tacking to fill our sails with wind.

Frederick Schlegel (and after him Coleridge) aptly said that every man was born either a Platonist or an Aristotelian. This distinction is often expressed in the terms subjective and objective intellects. Perhaps we shall best define these by calling the objective intellect one which is eminently impersonal, and the subjective intellect one which is eminently personal; the former disengaging itself as much as possible from its own prepossessions, striving to see and represent objects as they exist; the other viewing all objects in the light of its own feelings and preconceptions. It is needless to add that no mind can be exclusively objective, nor exclusively subjective; but every mind has a more or less dominant tendency in one of these directions. We see the contrast in Philosophy, as in Art. The realist argues from Nature upwards, starting from reality, and never long losing sight of it, but even in the adventurous flights of hypothesis and speculation