long, to play fantastic tricks in abundance; and, at least, in his religious history, to set the world a-wondering. Conversion, not to Pope. but, if it so chanced, to Braminism, was a thing nowise to be thought impossible. Nevertheless, let his missionary zeal have justice from us! It does seem to have been grounded on no wicked or even illaudable motive: to all appearance, he not only believed what he professed, but thought it of the high to be admitted as an indestructible element in human nature, but nowise to be recognised as the highest; on the contrary, to be resisted and incessantly warred with, till it become obedi-ry, ent to love of God, which is only, in the truest sense, love of Goodness, and the germ of which lies deep in the inmost nature of man; of authority superior to all sensitive impulses; forming, in fact, the grand law of his being, as subjection to it forms the first and last condition of spiritual health. He thinks that to pro-est moment that others should believe it. And pose a reward for virtue is to render virtue impossible. He warmly seconds Schleiermacher in declaring that even the hope of Immortality is a consideration unfit to be introduced into religion, and tending only to pervert it, and impair its sacredness. Strange as this may seem, Werner is firmly convinced of its importance; and has even enforced it specifically in a passage of his Söhne des Thals, which he is at the pains to cite and expound in his correspond-looked his own merely temporal comfort. In ence with Hitzig. Here is another fraction of that wondrous dialogue between Robert d'Heredon and Adam of Valincourt, in the cavern of the Valley: ROBERT. And Death, so dawns it on me,-Death perhaps, That too must die ?-This shallow Self of ours, We can, we must be free of it, and then if the proselytizing spirit, which dwells in all men, be allowed exercise even when it only assaults what it reckons Errors, still more should this be so, when it proclaims what it reckons Truth, and fancies itself not taking from us what in our eyes may be good, but adding thereto what is better. Meanwhile, Werner was not so absorbed in spiritual schemes, that he altogether over contempt of former failures, he was now courting for himself a third wife, "a young Poless of the highest personal attractions;" and this under difficulties which would have appalled an ordinary wooer: for the two had no language in common; he not understanding three words of Polish, she not one of German. Nevertheless, nothing daunted by this circumstance, nay, perhaps discerning in it an assurance against many a sorrowful curtain lecture, he prosecuted his suit, we suppose by signs and dumb-show, with such ardour, that he quite gained the fair mute; wedded her in 1801; and soon after, in her company quitted Warsaw for Königsberg, where the helpless state of his mother re ADAM (calling joyfully into the interior of the Cavern.)quired immediate attention. It is from Königs Brethren, he has renounced! Himself has found it! Oh! praised be Light! He sees! The North is saved! Complete, complete the work! ADAM (embracing Robert.) Come to my heart!-&c. &c. berg that most of his missionary epistles to Hitzig are written; the latter, as we have hinted above, being now stationed, by his official appointment, in Berlin. The sad duty of watching over his crazed, forsaken, and dying mother, Werner appears to have discharged with true filial assiduity: for three years she lingered in the most painful state, under his nursing; and her death, in 1804, seems notwithstanding to have filled him with the deepest sorrow. This is an extract of his letter to Hitzig on that mournful occasion: Such was the spirit of that new Faith, which, symbolized under mythuses of Baffometus and Phosphoros, and "Saviours from the Waters," and Trinities of Art, Religion, and Love," "I know not whether thou hast heard that on and to be preached abroad by the aid of Schlei- the 24th of February, (the same day when our ermacher, and what was then called the New | excellent Mnioch died in Warsaw,) my mother Poetical School, Werner seriously purposed, like departed here, in my arms. My Friend! God another Luther, to cast forth, as good seed, knocks with an iron hammer at our hearts; among the ruins of decayed and down-trodden and we are duller than stone, if we do not feel Protestantism! Whether Hitzig was still young it; and madder than mad, if we think it shame enough to attempt executing his commission, to cast ourselves into the dust before the Alland applying to Schlegel and Tieck for help; powerful, and let our whole so highly miseraand if so, in what gestures of speechless asto-ble Self be annihilated in the sentiment of His nishment, or what peals of inextinguishable infinite greatness and long-suffering. I wish I laughter they answered him, we are not in- had words to paint how inexpressibly pitiful formed. One thing, however, is clear: that a my Söhne des Thals appeared to me in that hour, man with so unbridled an imagination, joined to when, after eighteen years of neglect, I again so weak an understanding, and so broken a voli- went to partake in the Communion! This tion, who had plunged so deep into Theoso-death of my mother, the pure, royal poet-andphy, and still hovered so near the surface in all practical knowledge of men and their affairs; who, shattered and degraded in his own private character, could meditate such apostolic enterprises, was a man likely, if he lived martyr spirit, who for eight years had lain continually on a sick-bed, and suffered unspeakable things,-affected me, (much as, for her sake and my own, I could not but wish it with altogether agonizing feelings.) Ah, Friend, how heavy do my youthful faults lie on me! How much would I give to have my mother-(though both I and my wife have of late times lived wholly for her, and had much to endure on her account)-how much would I give to have her back to me but one week, that I might disburden my heavy-laden heart with tears of repentance! My beloved Friend, give thou no grief to thy parents! ah, no earthly voice can awaken the dead! God and Parents, that is the first concern; all else is secondary." charm of his conversation: for Werner many times could be frank and simple; and the true humour and abandonment with which he often launched forth into bland satire on his friends, and still oftener on himself, atoned for many of his whims and weaknesses. Probably the two could not have lived together by themselves: but in a circle of common men, where these touchy elements were attempered by a fair addition of wholesome insensibilities and formalities, they even relished one another; and, indeed, the whole social union seems to have stood on no undesirable footing. For the rest, Warsaw itself was, at this time, a gay, pic This affection for his mother forms, as it were, a little island of light and verdure in Werner's history, where, amid so much that is dark and desolate, one feels it pleasant to lin-turesque, and stirring city; full of resources ger. Here was at least one duty, perhaps, in- for spending life in pleasant occupation, either deed, the only one, which, in a wayward, wisely or unwisely.* wasted life, he discharged with fidelity: from It was here, that, in 1805, Werner's Kreuz his conduct towards this one hapless being, we an der Ostsee (Cross on the Baltic) was writmay, perhaps, still learn that his heart, how-ten: a sort of half-operatic performance, for ever perverted by circumstances, was not in- which Hoffmann, who to his gifts as a writer capable of true, disinterested love. A rich heart added perhaps still higher attainments, both as by Nature; but unwisely squandering its riches, a musician and a painter, composed the acand attaining to a pure union only with this one companiment. He complains that, in this matneart; for it seems doubtful whether he ever ter, Werner was very ill to please. A ridiculoved another! His poor mother, while alive, lous scene, at the first reading of the piece, the was the haven of all his earthly voyagings; and, same shrewd wag has recorded in his Serain after years, from amid far scenes, and crush-pions-Brudér; Hitzig assures us that it is liteing perplexities, he often looks back to her grave with a feeling to which all bosoms must respond. The date of her decease became a memorable era in his mind; as may appear from the title which he gave, long afterwards, to one of his most popular and tragical productions, Die Vier-und-zwanzigste Februar (The Twenty-fourth of February.) rally true, and that Hoffmann himself was the main actor in the business. "Our Poet had invited a few friends, to read to them, in manuscript, his Kreuz an der Ostsee, of which they already knew some fragments that had raised their expectations to the highest stretch. Planted, as usual, in the middle of the circle, at a little miniature table, on which After this event, which left him in posses two clear lights, stuck in high candlesticks, sion of a small but competent fortune, Werner were burning, sat the poet: he had drawn the returned with his wife to his post at Warsaw. manuscript from his breast; the huge snuff-box, By this time, Hitzig, too, had been sent back, the blue-checked handkerchief, aptly reminding and to a higher post: he was now married you of Baltic muslin, as in use for petticoats and likewise; and the two wives, he says, soon be- other indispensable things, lay arranged in came as intimate as their husbands. In a lit-order before him.-Deep silence on all sides!— tle while Hoffmann joined them; a colleague in Hitzig's office, and by him ere long introduced to Werner, and the other circle of Prussian men of law, who, in this foreign capital, formed each other's chief society; and, of course, cleave to one another more closely than they might have done elsewhere. Hoffmann does not seem to have loved Werner; * Hitzig has thus described the first aspect it presented as, indeed, he was at all times rather shy in to Hoffmann: "Streets of stately breadth, formed of pa'his attachments; and, to his quick eye, and laces in the finest Italian style, and wooden huts which threatened every moment to rush down over the heads more rigid, fastidious feeling, the lofty theory of their inmates; in these edifices, Asiatic pomp comand low selfish practice, the general diffuse-bined in strange union with Greenland squalor. An ness, nay, incoherence of character, the pe- as in a perpetual masquerade: long-bearded Jews; ever-moving population, forming the sharpest contrasts, dantry and solemn affectation, too visible in monks in the garb of every order; here veiled and deepthe man, could nowise be hidden. Neverthe-ly-shrouded nuns of strictest discipline, walking, selfless, he feels and acknowledges the frequent *See, for example, the Preface to his Mutter der Makkabler, written at Vienna, in 1819. The tone of still, but deep and heartfelt sadness, which runs through the whole of this piece, cannot be communicated in extracts. We quote only a half stanza, which, except in prose, we ehall not venture to translate: Ich, dem der Liebe Kosen Und alle Freudenrosen, Beym ersten Schaufeltosen Am Muttergrab' entflohn. Not a breath heard!-The poet cuts one of those unparalleled, ever-memorable, altogether indescribable faces you have seen in him, and begins.-Now you recollect, at the rising of the curtain, the Prussians are assembled on the coast of the Baltic, fishing amber, and com secluded and apart: there flights of young Polesses, in silk mantles of the brightest colours, talking and promenading over broad squares. The venerable ancient Pored or yellow boots: the new generation equipt to the lish noble, with moustaches, caftan, girdle, sabre, and utmost pitch as Parisian Incroyables; with Turks, Greeks, Russians, Italians, Frenchmen, in ever-changing throng. Add to this a police of inconceivable tolerance, disturbing no popular sport; so that little puppettheatres, apes, camels, dancing bears, practised inces santly in open spaces and streets; while the most elegant equipages, and the poorest pedestrian bearers of burden, stood gazing at them. Further, a theatre in the national language; a good French company; an Italian opera; German players of at least a very passable sort; mask "I, for whom the caresses of love and all roses of joy ed-balls on a quite original but highly entertaining plan; withered away, as the first shovel with its mould sound-places for pleasure-excursions all round the city," &e. ed on the cothin of my mother." &c.-Hoffmann's Leben und Nachlass, b. i. p. 287. mence by calling on the god who presides over | gerations are softened into something which this vocation.-So-begins: Bangputtis! Bangputtis! Bangputtis! -Brief pause!-Incipient stare in the audience!-and from a fellow in the corner comes a small clear voice: 'My dearest, most valued friend! my best of poets! If thy whole dear opera is written in that cursed language, no soul of us knows a syllable of it; and I beg, in the Devil's name, thou wouldst rather have the goodness to translate it first!' "* at least resembles poetic harmony. We give this drama a high praise, when we say that more than once it has reminded us of Cal deron. The "Cross on the Baltic" had been bespoke by Iffland for the Berlin theatre; but the complex machinery of the piece, the "little flames" springing, at intervals, from the heads of certain characters, and the other supernatural ware with which it is replenished, were found to transcend the capabilities of any merely terrestrial stage. Ifland, the best actor in of talent, but in all points differing from WerGermany, was himself a dramatist, and a man ner, as a stage-machinist may differ from a man with the second-sight. Hoffmann chuckles in secret over the perplexities in which the have found himself, when he came to the shrewd prosaic manager and playwright must back a refusal, full of admiration and expostu"little flames." Nothing remained but to write and Iffland wrote one which, says Hoffmann, passes for a master-piece of theatrical diplomacy." Of this Kreuz an der Ostsee our limits will permit us to say but little. It is still a fragment; the Second Part, which was often promised, and, we believe, partly written, having never yet been published. In some respects, it appears to us the best of Werner's dramas: there is a decisive coherence in the plot, such as we seldom find with him; and a firmness, a rugged nervous brevity in the dialogue, which is equally rare. Here, too, the mystic dreamy agencies, which, as in most of his pieces, helation: 66 In this one respect, at least, Werner's next play was happier, for it actually crossed the and reached, though in a maimed state, the Stygian marsh" of green-room hesitations, Elysium of the boards; and this to the great joy, as it proved, both of Iffland and all other Parties interested. We allude to the Martin Luther, oder die Weihe der Kraft, (Martin Luther, or the Consecration of Strength,) Werner's Berlin in 1807, and soon spread over all Germost popular performance, which came out at has interwoven with the action, harmonize more than usually with the spirit of the whole. It is a wild subject, and this helps to give it a corresponding wildness of locality. The first planting of Christianity among the Prussians, by the Teutonic Knights, leads us back of itself into dim ages of antiquity, of superstitious barbarism, and stern apostolic zeal: it is a scene hanging, as it were, in half-ghastly chiaroscuro, on a ground of primeval Night: where the Cross and St. Adalbert come in contact with the Sacred Oak and the Idols of Romova, we are not surprised that spectral shapes peer forth on us from the gloom. In the constructing and depicting of charac-many, Catholic as well as protestant, being acted, it would seem, even in Vienna, to overters, Werner, indeed, is still little better than a mannerist: his persons, differing in external flowing and delighted audiences. figure, differ too slightly in inward nature; and no one of them comes forward on us with a rightly visible or living air. Yet, in scenes and incidents, in what may be called the general costume of his subject, he has here attained a really superior excellence. The savage Prussians, with their amber-fishing, their bearhunting, their bloody idolatry, and stormful untutored energy, are brought vividly into view; no less so the Polish Court of Plozk, and the German Crusaders, in their bridal-feasts and battles, as they live and move, here placed on the verge of Heathendom, as it were, the vanguard of Light in conflict with the kingdoms of Darkness. The nocturnal assault on Plozk If instant acceptance, therefore, were a rank high among that class of works. Nevermeasure of dramatic merit, this play should theless, to judge from our own impressions, the sober reader of Martin Luther will be far from finding in it such excellence. It cannot be named among the best dramas: it is not even the best of Werner's. There is, indeed, ment," as the newspapers have it; nay, with much scenic exhibition, many a "fervid sentiall its mixture of coarseness, here and there a glimpse of genuine dramatic inspiration; but, as a whole, the work sorely disappoints us; it is of so loose and mixed a structure and falls asunder in our thoughts, like the iron and by the Prussians, where the handful of Teuto-clay in the Chaldean's Dream. There is an nic Knights is overpowered, but the city saved in the First Act; but, unhappily, it goes on de interest, perhaps of no trivial sort, awakened from ruin by the miraculous interposition of the "Harper," who now proves to be the spirit of St. Adalbert; this, with the scene which follows it, on the Island of the Vistula, where the dawn slowly breaks over doings of wo and horrid cruelty, but of wo and cruelty atoned for by immortal hope,-belongs undoubtedly to Werner's most successful efforts. much that is questionable, much that is merely common, there are intermingled touches from the true Land of Wonders; indeed, the whole is overspread with a certain dim religious light, in which its many pettinesses and exag • Hoffmann's Serapions-Brüder, b. iv. s. 240. With clining, till, in the Fifth, an ill-natured critic wide for Werner's dramatic lens to gather into might almost say, it expires. The story is too a focus; besides, the reader brings with him an image of it, too fixed for being so boldly metamorphosed, and too high and august for being ornamented with tinsel and gilt pasteboard. Accordingly, the Diet of Worms, plentifully furnished as it is with sceptres and armorial shields, continues a much grander Neither, with regard to the persons of the play, scene in History, than it is here in Fiction. excepting those of Luther and Catharine, the Nun whom he weds, can we find much scope for praise. Nay, our praise even of these two half-ghosts and one whole ghost,-a little two must have many limitations. Catharine, fairy girl, Catharine's servant, who imperthough carefully enough depicted, is, in fact, sonates Faith; a little fairy youth, Luther's little more than a common tragedy-queen, with servant, who represents Art; and the "Spirit the storminess, the love, and other stage-hero- of Cotta's wife," an honest housekeeper, but ism, which belong prescriptively to that class defunct many years before, who stands for of dignitaries. With regard to Luther himself, Purity. These three supernaturals hover about it is evident that Werner has put forth his in very whimsical wise, cultivating flowers, whole strength in this delineation; and, trying playing on flutes, and singing dirge-like epithahim by common standards, we are far from lamiums over unsound sleepers: we cannot see saying that he has failed. Doubtless it is, in how aught of this is to "consecrate strength;" some respects, a significant and even sublime or, indeed, what such jack-o'-lantern persondelineation yet must we ask whether it is ages have in the least to do with so grave a Luther, the Luther of History, or even the business. If the author intended by such Luther proper for this drama; and not rather machinery to elevate his subject from the some ideal portraiture of Zacharias Werner Common, and unite it with the higher region himself? Is not this Luther, with his too as- of the Infinite and the Invisible, we cannot siduous flute-playing, his trances of three days, think that his contrivance has succeeded, or his visions of the Devil, (at whom, to the sor- was worthy to succeed. These half-allegorical, ! row of the housemaid, he resolutely throws his half-corporeal beings yield no contentment huge ink-bottle,) by much too spasmodic and anywhere: Abstract Ideas, however they may brainsick a personage? We cannot but ques-put on fleshly garments, are a class of charac tion the dramatic beauty, whatever it may be in history, of that three days' trance; the hero must before this have been in want of mere victuals; and there, as he sits deaf and dumb, with his eyes sightless, yet fixed and staring, are we not tempted less to admire, than to send in all haste for some officer of the Humane Society? Seriously, we cannot but regret that these and other such blemishes had not been avoided, and the character, worked into chasteness and purity, been presented to us in the simple grandeur which essentially belongs to it. For, censure as we may, it were blindness to deny that this figure of Luther has in it features of an austere loveliness, a mild, yet awful beauty: undoubtedly a figure rising from the depths of the poet's soul; and, marred as it is with such adhesions, piercing at times into the depths of ours! Among so many poetical sins, it forms the chief redeeming virtue, and truly were almost in itself a sort of atone ment. As for the other characters, they need not detain us long. Of Charles the Fifth, by far the most ambitious,-meant, indeed, as the counterpoise of Luther, we may say, without hesitation, that he is a failure. An empty Gascon this; bragging of his power, and honour, and the like, in a style which Charles, even in his nineteenth year, could never have used. "One God, one Charles," is no speech for an emperor; and, besides, is borrowed from some panegyrist of a Spanish opera-singer. Neither can we fall in with Charles, when he tells us, that "he fears nothing,-not even God." We humbly think he must be mistaken. With the old Miners, again, with Hans Luther and his Wife, the Reformer's parents, there is more reason to be satisfied; yet in Werner's hands simplicity is always apt, in such cases, to become too simple, and these honest peasants, like the honest Hugo in the "Sons of the Valley," are very garrulous. This drama of "Martin Luther" is named likewise the "Consecration of Strength;" that is, we suppose, the purifying of this great theologian from all remnants of earthly passion, into a clear heavenly zeal; an operation which is brought about, strangely enough, by ters whom we cannot sympathize with or delight in. Besides, how can this mere imbodyment of an allegory be supposed to act on the rugged materials of life, and elevate into ideal grandeur the doings of real men, that live and move amid the actual pressure of worldly things? At best, it can stand but like a hand in the margin: it is not performing the task proposed, but only telling us that it was meant to be performed. To our feelings, this entire episode runs like straggling bindweed through the whole growth of the piece, not so much uniting as encumbering and choking up what it meets with; in itself, perhaps, a green and rather pretty weed; yet here superfluous, and, like any other weed, deserving only to be altogether cut away. Our general opinion of "Martin Luther," it would seem, therefore, corresponds ill with that of the "overflowing and delighted audiences" over all Germany. We believe, however, that now, in its twentieth year, the work may be somewhat more calmly judged of even there. As a classical drama it could never pass with any critic; nor, on the other hand, shall we ourselves deny that, in the lower sphere of a popular spectacle, its attractions are manifold. We find it, what, more or less, we find all Werner's pieces to bè, a splendid, sparkling mass; yet not of pure metal, but of manycoloured scoria, not unmingled with metal; and must regret, as ever, that it had not been refined in a stronger furnace, and kept in the crucible till the true silver-gleam, glancing from it, had shown that the process was complete. Werner's dramatic popularity could not remain without influence on him, more espe cially as he was now in the very centre of its brilliancy, having changed his residence from Warsaw to Berlin, some time before his Weihe der Kraft was acted, or indeed written. Vor Schrötter, one of the state-ministers, a man harmonizing with Werner in his " zeal both for religion and freemasonry," had been persuaded by some friends to appoint him his secretary. Werner naturally rejoiced in such promotion; yet, combined with his theatrical success, it perhaps, in the long run, did him more harm than good. He might now, for the first time, be said to see the busy and influential world | Rigi, at sunrise, he became acquainted with with his own eyes: but to draw future instruc- the Crown-Prince, King of Bavaria; was by tion from it, or even to guide himself in its him introduced to the Swiss festival at Inpresent complexities, he was little qualified. terlacken, and to the most "intellectual lady He took a shorter method: "he plunged into of our time, the Baroness de Staël ;" and must the vortex of society," says Hitzig, with brief ex- beg to be credited when, after sufficient inpressiveness; became acquainted, indeed, with dividual experience, he can declare, that the Fichte, Johannes Müller and other excellent heart of this high and noble woman was at men, but united himself also, and with closer least as great as her genius. Coppet, for a partiality, to players, play-lovers, and a long while, was his head quarters, but he went to list of jovial, admiring, but highly unprofitable Paris, to Weimar, again to Switzerland; in companions. His religious schemes, perhaps, short, trudged and hurried hither and thither, rebutted by collision with actual life, lay dor- inconstant as an ignis fatuus, and restless as mant for the time, or mingled in strange union the Wandering Jew. with wine-vapours, and the "feast of reason, and the flow of soul." The result of all this might, in some measure, be foreseen. In eight weeks, for example, Werner had parted with his wife. It was not to be expected, he writes, that she should be happy with him. “I am no bad man," continues he, with considerable candour; "yet a weakling in many respects, (for God strengthens me also in several,) fretful, capricious, greedy, impure. Thou knowest me! Still, immersed in my fantasies, in my occupation: so that here, what with playhouses, what with social parties, she had no manner of enjoyment with me. She is innocent. I, too, perhaps, for can I pledge myself that I am so?" These repeated divorces of Werner's at length convinced him that he had no talent for managing wives; indeed, we subsequently find him, more than once, arguing in dissuasion of marriage altogether. To our readers one other consideration may occur: astonishment at the state of marriage-law, and the strange footing this "sacrament" must stand on throughout Protestant Germany. For a Christian man, at least not a Mohammedan, to leave three widows behind him, certainly wears a peculiar aspect. Perhaps it is saying much for German morality, that so absurd a system has not, by the orders resulting from it, already brought about its own abrogation. On his mood of mind during all this period, Werner gives us no direct information; but so unquiet an outward life betokens of itself no inward repose; and when we, from other lights, gain a transient glimpse into the wayfarer's thoughts, they seem still more fluctuating than his footsteps. His project of a New Religion we by this time abandoned: Hitzig thinks his closer survey of life at Berlin had taught him the impracticability of such chimeras. Nevertheless, the subject of Religion, in one shape or another, nay, of propagating it in new purity by teaching and preaching, had nowise vanished from his meditations. On the contrary, we can perceive that it still formed the master-principle of his soul, "the pillar of cloud by day, and the pillar of fire by night," which guided him, so far as he had any guidance, in the pathless desert of his now solitary, barren, and cheerless existence. What his special opinions or prospects on the matter had, at this period, become, we nowhere learn; except, indeed, negatively, for if he has not yet found the new, he still cordially enough detests the old. All his admiration of Luther cannot reconcile him to modern Lutheranism. This he regards but as another and more hidedis-ous impersonation of the Utilitarian spirit of the age, nay, as the last triumph of Infidelity, which has now dressed itself in priestly garb, and even mounted the pulpit, to preach, in heavenly symbols, a doctrine which is altogether of the earth. A curious passage from his preface to the "Cross on the Baltic" we may quote, by way of illustration. After speaking of St. Adalbert's miracles, and how his body, when purchased from the heathen for its weight in gold, became light as gossamer, he proceeds: 66 Though these things may be justly doubted; yet one miracle cannot be denied him, the miracle, namely, that after his death he has ex Of Werner's further proceedings in Berlin, except by implication, we have little notice. After the arrival of the French armies, his secretaryship ceased; and now wifeless and placeless, in the summer of 1807," he felt himself," he says, "authorized by Fate to indulge his taste for pilgriming." Indulge it accordingly he did; for he wandered to and fro many years, nay, we may almost say to the end of his life, like a perfect Bedouin. The various stages and occurrences of his travels, he has himself recorded in a paper, furnished by him for his own Nume, in some Biographical Dic-torted from this Spirit of Protestantism against tionary. Hitzig quotes great part of it, but it is too long and too meagre for being quoted here. Werner was at Prague, Vienna, Munich, -everywhere received with open arms; "saw at Jena, in December, 1807, for the first time, the most universal and the clearest man of his age, (the man whose like no one that has seen him will ever see again,) the great, nay, only GOETHE; and, under his introduction, the pattern of German princes," (the Duke of Weimar;) and then, "after three ever-memorable months in this society, beheld at Berlin the triumphant entry of the pattern of European yrarts" (Napoleon.) On the summit of the Strength in general,-which now replaced the old heathen and catholic Spirit of Persecution, and weighs almost as much as Adalbert's body, the admission, that he knew what he wanted; was what he wished to be; was so wholly; and therefore must have been a man, at all points diametrically opposite both to that Protestantism, and to the culture of our day." In a Note, he adds: "There is another Protestantism, It was here that Hitzig saw him, for the last time, in 1809, found admittance, through his means, to a court festival in honour of Bernadotte; and he still recollects, that sovereign standing front to front, engaged in the with gratification, "the lordly spectacle of Goethe and liveliest conversation." |