which shows what mastery over Latin was achieved in his eighth year.* We can never be quite certain that the hand of the master is not mingled with that of the child; but, in the first place, the very method of independence which the master throughout pursued is contrary to a supposition of his improving the exercises, and in the second place, the Latin contains too many Germanisms not to betray inexperience in the writer. Dr. Wisemann, of Frankfurt, to whom we are indebted for these exercises and compositions, written during Goethe's sixth, seventh, and eighth years, thinks there can be no doubt of their being the unassisted productions of the boy. In one of the dialogues there is a pun which proves that the dialogue was written in Latin first and then translated into German. It is this the child is making wax figures, his father asks him why he does not relinquish such trivialities. The word used is nuces, which, meaning trivialities in a metaphorical sense, is by the boy wilfully interpreted in its ordinary sense, as nuts —' cera nunc ludo non nucibus' I play with wax, not with nuts. The German word nüsse means nuts simply, and has no metaphorical meaning.

One of these dialogues† is amusingly humorous and characteristic. Maximilian, a play fellow, asks Wolfgang why his parents would not have him with other guests at the feast. 'I never trouble myself with seeking out the causes of what doesn't concern me,' replies Wolfgang. He proposes to occupy the time, till the master appears, with Comenius or some other book; but Maximilian rejects all such propositions.

Wolf. Well then, say what you propose.

Max. I hate all seriousness, and leave it to the dull dogs.

*See Appendix A.

Published by Döring in his Goethe in Frankfurt am Main.

Wolf. You are very long in saying what you want.
Max. Look here; we will knock our heads together.
Wolf. Far from it!

Max. What matter?

My head is not at all fitted for such sport. let's see which is the hardest.

Wolf. Let us leave that game to the goats with them it's natural. Max. We shall by such practice get hard heads.

Wolf. That would be no such honor! I prefer keeping mine soft. Max. How do you mean?

Wolf. I don't want to be pig-headed.

Max. There you're right; but I prize toughness in my limbs.

Wolf. If nothing but that, then knock your head boldly against the wall, as often as you like, you will see the most wonderful effects!'

Beside this let us place one of his moral reflections. 'Horatius and Cicero were indeed Heathens, yet more sensible than many Christians; for the one says silver is baser than gold, gold than virtue; and the other says nothing is so beautiful as virtue. Moreover, many Heathens have surpassed Christians in virtue. Who was truer in friendship than Damon ? more generous than Alexander? more just than Aristides? more abstinent than Diogenes? more patient than Socrates? more humane than Vespasian? more industrious than Apelles and Demosthenes?' Platitudes these, doubtless; but they are platitudes which serve many as the ripe maxims of age. They give us a notion of the boy being somewhat old-fashioned,' and they show great progress in culture. His progress in Greek was remarkable, as may be seen from the sample given elsewhere.* Italian he learned by listening to his father while teaching Cornelia. He pretended to be occupied with his own lesson, and caught up all that was said. French, too, he learned, as the exercises testify; and thus before he is eight, we find him writing German, French, Italian, Latin, and Greek.

*See Appendix B.

VOL. I.

He was in fact a precocious child. This will probably startle many readers, especially if they have adopted the current notion that precocity is a sign of disease, and that marvellous children are necessarily evanescent fruits which never ripen, early blossoms which wither early. Observatum fere est celerius occidere festinatam maturitatem, says Quintilian, in the mournful passage which records the loss of his darling son; and many a proud parent has seen his hopes frustrated by early death, or by matured mediocrity following the brilliant promise. It may help to do away with some confusion on this subject, if we bear in mind that men distinguish themselves by receptive capacity and by productive capacity: they learn, and they invent. In men of the highest class these two qualities are united. Shakespeare and Goethe are not less remarkable for the variety of their knowledge than for the potency of their invention. But as we call both the child ' clever' who learns his lessons rapidly, and the child 'clever' who shows wit, sagacity, and invention, this ambiguity of phrase has led to surprise when the child who was so clever' at school, turns out a mediocre man; or, inversely, when the child who was a 'dunce' at school, turns out a genius in art.

Goethe's precocity was nothing abnormal. It was the activity of a mind at once greatly receptive and greatly productive. Through life he manifested the same eager desire for knowledge, not in the least alarmed by that bugbear of knowledge stifling originality,' which alarms the ignorance of many questionable geniuses. He knew that if abundant fuel stifles miserable fires, it makes the great fire blaze.

'Ein Quidam sagt: "Ich bin von keiner Schule ;

Kein Meister lebt mit dem ich buhle;

In the summer of 1754 the old house was entirely rebuilt, Wolfgang officiating at the ceremony of laying the foundation, dressed as a little bricklayer. The quick, observant boy found much in this rebuilding of the paternal house to interest him; he chatted with the workmen, learning their domestic circumstances, and learning something of the builder's art, which in after years so greatly occupied him. This event, moreover, led to his being sent to a friend during the restoration of the upper part of the house for the family inhabited the house during its reconstruction, which was made story by story from the ground upwards - and the event also led to his being sent to school.

Viehoff thinks that Germany would have had a quite other Goethe had the child been kept at a public school till he went to the university; and quotes Gervinus to the effect that Goethe's home education prevented his ever thoroughly appreciating history, and the struggles of the masses. Not accepting the doctrine that Character is formed by Circumstance, I cannot accept the notion of school life affecting the poet to this extent. We have only to reflect how many men are educated at public schools

* An exquisite epigram, which may be rendered thus:

A Quidnunc boasting said: 'I follow none;

I owe my wisdom to myself alone;

To neither ancient nor to modern sage

Am I indebted for a single page.'

To place this boasting in its proper light :

The Quidnunc is - a Fool in his own Right!

without there imbibing a love of history and sympathy with the masses, to see that Goethe's peculiarities must have had some other source than home education. That source lay in his character.

One thing, however, he did learn at school, and that was disgust at schools. The boy carefully trained at home, morally as well as physically, had to mingle with schoolboys who were what most schoolboys are, dirty, rebellious, cruel, low in their tastes and habits. The contrast was very painful to him, and he was glad when the completion of his father's house once more enabled him to receive instruction at home.

One school anecdote he relates, well illustrates his power of self-command. Fighting during school time was always severely punished. One day the teacher did not arrive at the appointed time. The boys played together till the hour was nearly over, and then three of them, left alone with Wolfgang, resolved to drive him away. They cut up a broom, and re-appeared with the switches. 'I saw their design, but I at once resolved not to resist them till the clock struck. They began pitilessly lashing my legs. I did not stir, although the pain made the minutes terribly long. My wrath deepened with my endurance, and on the first stroke of the hour I grasped one of my assailants by the hair and hurled him to the ground, pressing my knee on his back; I drew the head of the second, who attacked me behind, under my arm and nearly throttled him; with a dexterous twist I threw the third flat on the ground. They bit, scratched and kicked. But my soul was swelling with one feeling of revenge, and I knocked their heads together without mercy. A shout of murder brought the household round But the scattered switches and my bleeding legs bore witness to my story.'

us.