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pointed upwards-" See," said he, "there stand thy dew-drops gloriously re-set-a glittering jewelleryin the heavens; and the clownish foot tramples on them no more. By this, my child, thou art taught that what withers upon earth blooms

again in heaven." Thus the father spoke, and knew not that he spoke prefiguring words: for soon after the delicate child, with the morning brightness of his early wisdom, was exhaled, like a dew-drop, into hea

ven.

ON DEATH.

We should all think of death as a less hideous object, if it simply untenanted our bodies of a spirit, without corrupting them; secondly, if the grief which we experience at the spectacle of our friends' graves were not by some confusion of the mind blended with the image of our own: thirdly, if we had not in this life seated ourselves in a warm domestic nest, which we are unwilling to quit for the cold blue regions of the unfathomable heavens; finally, if death were denied to us.-Once in dreams I saw a human being of heavenly intellectual faculties, and his aspirations were heavenly; but he was chained (methought) eternally to the earth. The immortal old man had five great wounds in his happiness-five worms that gnawed for ever at his heart: he was unhappy in spring-time, because that is a season of hope-and rich with phantoms of far happier days than any which this aceldama of earth can realise. He was unhappy at the sound of music, which dilates the

heart of man into its whole capacity for the infinite, and he cried aloud"Away, away! Thou speakest of things which throughout my endless life I have found not, and shall not find!" He was unhappy at the remembrance of earthly affections and dissevered hearts: for love is a plant which may bud in this life, but it must flourish in another. He was unhappy under the glorious spectacle of the starry host, and ejaculated for ever in his heart-" So then I am parted from you to all eternity by an impassable abyss: the great universe of suns is above, below, and round about me: but I am chained to a little ball of dust and ashes." He was unhappy before the great ideas of Virtue-of Truth-and of God; because he knew how feeble are the approximations to them which a son of earth can make.But this was a dream: God be thanked, that in reality there is no such craving and asking eye directed upwards to heaven-to which death will not one day bring an answer!

IMAGINATION UNTAMED BY THE COARSER REALITIes of life.

Happy is every actor in the guilty drama of life, to whom the higher illusion within supplies or conceals the external illusion; to whom, in the tumult of his part and its intel

lectual interest, the bungling landscapes of the stage have the bloom and reality of nature, and whom the loud parting and shocking of the scenes disturb not in his dream!

SATIRICAL NOTICE OF REVIEWERS.

In Swabia, in Saxony, in Pomerania, are towns in which are stationed a strange sort of officers-valuers of authors' flesh, something like our old market-lookers in this town*. They are commonly called tasters (or Praegustatores) because they eat a mouthful of every book beforehand, and tell the people whether its flavour be good. We authors, in spite, call them reviewers: but I believe an action of defamation would

lie against us for such bad words. The tasters write no books themselves; consequently they have the more time to look over and tax those of other people. Or, if they do sometimes write books, they are bad ones: which again is very advantageous to them: for who can understand the theory of badness in other people's books so well as those who have learned it by practice in their own? They are reputed the guard

"Market-lookers" is a provincial term (I know not whether used in London) for the public officers who examine the quality of the provisions exposed for sale. By this town I suppose John Paul to mean Bayreuth-the place of his residence.

ians of literature and the literati for all who pass over them-viz. bethe same reason that St. Nepomuk cause he himself once lost his life is the patron saint of bridges and of from a bridge.

FEMALE TONGUES.

Hippel, the author of the book "Upon Marriage," says-"A woman, that does not talk, must be a stupid woman." But Hippel is an author whose opinions it is more safe to admire than to adopt. The most intelligent women are often silent amongst women; and again the most stupid and the most silent are often neither one nor the other except amongst men. In general the current remark upon men is valid also with respect to women-that those for the most part are the greatest

thinkers who are the least talkers; as frogs cease to croak when light is brought to the water edge.-However, in fact, the disproportionate talking of women arises out of the sedentariness of their labours: sedentary artisans,-as tailors, shoemakers, weavers, have this habit as well as hypochondriacal tendencies in common with women. Apes do not talk, as savages say, that they may not be set to work: but women often talk double their share-even because they work.

FORGIVENESS.

Nothing is more moving to man than the spectacle of reconciliation: our weaknesses are thus indemnified, and are not too costly-being the price we pay for the hour of forgiveness and the archangel, who has never felt anger, has reason to envy

The graves of the best men, of the noblest martyrs, are like the graves of the Herrnhuters (the Moravian brethren)-level, and undistinguishable from the universal earth: and, if the earth could give up her secrets, our whole globe would appear a Westminster Abbey laid flat. Ah! what a multitude of tears, what myriads of bloody drops have been shed in secrecy about the three corner-trees of earth-the tree of life, the tree of knowledge, and the tree of freedom,-shed, but never reckoned! It is only great periods of calamity that reveal to us our great men, as comets are revealed by total eclipses of the sun. Not merely upon the field of battle, but also

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the man who subdues it. When thou forgivest,-the man, who has pierced thy heart, stands to thee in the relation of the sea-worm that perforates the shell of the muscle, which straightway closes the wound with a pearl.

upon the consecrated soil of virtue— and upon the classic ground of truth, thousands of nameless heroes must fall and struggle to build up the foot-stool from which history surveys the one hero, whose name is embalmed, bleeding-conquering – and resplendent. The grandest of heroic deeds are those which are performed within four walls and in domestic privacy. And, because history records only the self-sacrifices of the male sex, and because she dips her pen only in blood,-therefore is it that in the eyes of the unseen spirit of the world our annals appear doubtless far more beautiful and noble than in our own.

THE GRANDEUR OF MAN IN HIS LITTLENESS.

Man upon this earth would be vanity and hollowness, dust and ashes, vapor and a bubble,--were it not that he felt himself to be so. That it is possible for him to harbour

such a feeling,-this, by implying a comparison of himself with something higher in himself, this is it which makes him the immortal creature that he is.

NIGHT.

The earth is every day overspread with the veil of night for the same reason as the cages of birds are darkened-viz. that we may the more

readily apprehend the higher harmonies of thought in the hush and quiet of darkness. Thoughts, which day turns into smoke and mist, stand

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TWO DIVISIONS OF PHILOSOPHIC MINDS.

There are two very different classes of philosophical heads-which, since Kant has introduced into philosophy the idea of positive and negative quantities, I shall willingly classify by means of that distinction. The positive intellect is, like the poet, in conjunction with the outer world the father of an inner world; and, like the poet also, holds up a transforming mirror in which the entangled and distorted members as they are seen in our actual experience enter into new combinations which compose a fair and luminous world: the hypothesis of Idealism (i. e. the Fichtéan system) the Monads and the Pre-established Harmony of Leibnitz and Spinozism are all births of a genial moment, and not

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the wooden carving of logical toil. Such men therefore as Leibnitz, Plato, Herder, &c. I call positive intellects; because they seek and yield the positive; and because their inner world, having raised itself higher out of the water than in others, thereby overlooks a larger prospect of islands and continents. A negative head, on the other hand, discovers by its acuteness-not any positive truths but the negative truths (i. e. the errors) of other people. Such an intellect, as for example Bayle, one of the greatest of that class,-appraises the funds of others, rather than brings any fresh funds of his own. In lieu of the obscure ideas which he finds he gives us clear ones: but in this there is no positive accession to our

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The older-the more tranquil-and pious a man is, so much the more holy does he esteem all that is innate, that is, feeling and power: whereas in the estimate of the multitude whatsoever is self-acquired, the ability of practice and science in general, has an undue pre-eminence; for the latter is universally appreciated and therefore even by those who have it not, but the former not at all. In the twilight and the moonshine the fixed stars, which are suns, retire and veil themselves in obscurity; whilst the planets, which are simply

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water distilled from roses, according to the old naturalists, lost its power exactly at the periodical blooming of the rose.

earths, preserve their borrowed light unobscured. The elder races of men, amongst whom man was more though he had not yet become so much, had a childlike feeling of sympathy with all the gifts of the Infinite-for example, with strength--beauty--and good fortune; and even the involuntary had a sanctity in their eyes, and was to them a prophecy and a revelation: hence the value they ascribed, and the art of interpretation they applied, to the speeches of childrenof madmen-of drunkards--and of dreamers.

but for slavery nothing of freedom: there are perhaps in this world many things which remain obscure to us for want of alternating with their opposites.

nons, &c. accompany the entrance into cities of princes and ministers, who are generally rather deaf, in order that they may the better hear the petitions and complaints of the people.

A WALK TO PAESTUM, LUCOSIA, &c.

"Of all the objects that lie within the compass of an excursion from Naples," says Mr. Eustace, " Paes tum, though the most distant, is, perhaps, the most curious and most interesting." We had long been intimately persuaded of the verity of this assertion; we had frequently had our curiosity and emulation excited by travellers returned thence; we had long been in the habit of saying to ourselves and friends, that it was a great shame we had not been to Paestum, and still we never girded ourselves up to get rid of this blot in our scutcheon. At length we resolved to go during the Easter festival; "all the world" will be at Rome, said we; it will be delightful walking weather: we accordingly furnished ourselves with passports, for, now, one can hardly move from the capital without them, and on a fine morning took to the road.

To get beyond the ken of the smart city in decent style, and to begin our journey with agio e commodità, we hired a shattered, springless country callesso, with a lame horse to carry us as far as the town of La Torre dell' Annunziata. This road, along the shores of the bay, we had very often passed, but no familiarity with it can deaden one to the sense of its beauty: the immediate vicinity of the scorched Vesuvius rising stark into the blue sky; the smoke emitted lazily from the crater, and rolling slowly down its sides, or floating away in long dull masses; the black stripes which, from the summit to the base, descend in every imaginable distortion; the strange lights and shades which checker the whole breadth and height of the mountain; the smiling green vineyards, and white towns, and villages, which are belted around its base; and the consciousness that those vineyards may be in flames, or those villages in ruins before to-morrow's sun flashes

across the bay; such objects, and such reflections inseparably united with them, can never entirely lose their hold on the heart. At the Torre there is a tolerable inn, tolerable at least for the kingdom of Naples; we secured beds for the night and dined there, and then walked on to Pompeii, which is about a mile distant, to spend again a few hours in its impressive solitude. It has always seemed to us very singular, that Pompeii should have remained undiscovered until so late a period, and that antiquaries should have so long erred about its situation, one supposing it to be buried under the roots of Vesuvius, another giving it a local habitation under the Torre dell' Annunziata; one putting it at the town of Scafati, on the modern banks of the Sarno, and another bringing it pretty near to Naples; for on looking at the long, abrupt, curious ridge of volcanic results that cover it, on reading the Peutinger table of roads; the passage in Seneca, lib. vi. in which its site is rather clearly fixed; on remembering that a little village, raised on the spot, was called La Cività; that in many places masses of ruins were not three feet below the level of the soil; that the labourers were continually digging up pieces of worked marble, and other ancient objects; and that in several places they had even laid open the walls; if, from being aware of the indifference of the government and nation to such objects,* we are not surprised that excavations were not begun centuries ago; yet we are still utterly at a loss to conceive how a local writer could be ignorant of its real situation. In 1689 some excavations were made in the eastern flank of Vesuvius, and various monuments and inscriptions were discovered; even then apparently no great curiosity was excited, and it was not until 1748, thirty-seven years

• Herculaneum for seventeen years following its discovery remained untouched; the memorable, the sublime ruins of Paestum remained for centuries in oblivion, or known only to the neighbouring peasant or passing fisherman; the laborious Cluverius visited them, and brought them into a little notice in 1610; but more than another century passed before a satisfactory description of them was given; this was done by Antonini in his "Lucania ;" but it was a French architect, and some English artists and men of letters, about 1750, that spread their fame.

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