sights and infectious mourning. Its natural as well as moral history is investigated, whether it arise from scorn or calumny, servitude or want; whether produced by loss of friends, loss of health, loss of liberty, loss of reputation, or loss of property. It is more specifically derived, from the indulgence of the passions of anger, fear, shame, rage, hatred, sorrow, discontent: or from excess in the gratification of laudable propensities, as the desire of glory, the accumulation of substance, manly pride, a temper disposed to enjoyment, the love of books and study, a disposition for repose and retirement. We may here introduce that fine passage on the poor scholar, which is one of the very best to be met with in the whole work. It is a sort of apologetic eulogium.

"Because they cannot ride an horse, which every clowne can doe; salute and court a gentlewoman, carve at table, cringe and make congies, which every common swasher can doe, kos populus ridet &c. they are laughed to scorne, and accompted silly fooles by our gallants. Yea, many times such is their misery they deserve it: a meere scholler, a meere asse. They goe about coinmonly meditating unto themselves, thus they sit, such is their action and gesture. Fugosus, lib. 8, cap. 7, makes mention how Th. Aquinas, supping with King Louis of France, upon a sudden knocked his fist upon the table and cryed, 'conclusum est contra Minichæos,' his wits were a wool-gathering, as they say, and his head busied about other matters, when he perceived his error, he was much abashed. Such a story there is of Archimedes in Vitruvius, that having found how much gold was mingled with the silver in King Hieron's crown, ran naked forth of the bath and cryed, Eureka, I have found: and was commonly so intent to his studies, that he never perceived what was done about him, when the city was taken, and the soldiers were ready to rifle his house, he took no notice of it. S. Bernard rode all day long by the Lemnian lake, and asked at last where he was. Marcullus, lib. 2, cap. 4. It was Democritus' carriage alone that made the Abderites suppose him to have been mad, and send for Hippocrates to cure him if he had been in any solemne company, hee would upon all occasions fall a laughing. Theophrastus saith as much of Heraclitus, for that he continually wept, and Laertius of Menedemus Lampsacus, because he ran about like a madman, saying he came from hell as a spy, to tell the divells what mortal men did. Your greatest students are commonly no better, silly, soft fellowes in their outward behaviour, absurd, ridiculous to others, and no whit experienced in worldly businesse; they can measure the heavens, range over the world, teach others wisdome, and yet in bargains and contracts they are circumvented by every base tradesman. not these men fooles? And how should they be otherwise? But as so many sots in schooles, when, (as has been observed) they neither hear nor see, such things as are practised abroad, how should they get experience, by what means? I knew in my time many schollers, saith Encas Sylvius (in an Epistle of his to Gaspar Seiticke Chancelour to the Emperoure) excellent well learned, but so rude, so silly, that they had no common civility, nor knew how to manage their domestique OT publique affaires. Paglarensis was amazed, and Said his farmer had surely cozened him, when hee heard him tell that his sow had eleven pigges, and

VOL. I. NO. II.

Are

9

his ass had but one foal. To say the best of this profession, I can give no other testimony of them in generall, than that of Pliny of Isæus;- Hee is yet a scholler, than which kind of men, there is nothing so simple, so sincere, none better, they are for the most part harmlesse, honest, upright, innocent, plain-dealing men.'"

The second partition is occupied with the cures of melancholy. By magic, by company, by music:

"In sweet music is such Art;

Killing care and grief of heart." Consolatory desires, the remedies of the Materia Medica and of surgical skill, air, and the numberless fantastic prescriptions Bacon and Sir Henelm Digby advise, and all the old writers, traditional, fabulous and poetical. As might naturally be supposed, this head includes much good sense, with abundance of absurdity and nonsense, set forth with no little pomp of reference and allusion.

The third partition is devoted entirely to the consideration of love melancholy and religious melancholy. Here, our author ranges at will in the boundless field of quotation and theory. He is far more minute than Shakspeare, who has described but a few prominent characteristics of this disease:"The scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; the musician's, which is fantastical; the courtier's, which is fraud; the soldier's, which is ambitious; the lawyer's, which is politick; the lady's, which is nice; the lover's, which is all of these." Every symptom of affection, or love-sickness, or frenzy, or jealousy, or disappointment; all the marks of superstition, remorse, hopelessness and despair are noted down with mathematical particularity.

Among a variety of topics, it is hard to select an example, but we have chanced upon this, of artificial allurements, and transcribe it: --

6

"When you have all done, veniunt a veste sagittæ, the greatest provocations of lust are from our apparell. God inakes, man shapes' they say, and there is no motive like unto it; a filthy knave, a deformed queane, a crooked carcass, a maukin, a witch, a rotten post, an hedge stake, may be so set out and tricked up, that it shall make as faire a show, as much enamour, as the rest: many a silly fellow is so taken. Primum luxuriæ aucupium' one calls it, the first suare of lust.' Bossus aucupium animarum; lethalem arundinem. -a fatall reede, the greatest bawde;'forte lenocinium, sanguineis lachrymis deplorandum,' saith Matenesius, and with tears of blood to be deplored! Not that comeliness of clothes is therefore to be condemned, and those usual ornaments, there is a decency and decorum to be observed in this, as well as in other things, fit to be used, becoming severall persons, and befitting their estates; he is only fantastical, that is not in fashion, and like an old image in Arras hangings, where a manner of attire is generally received: but when they are so new-fangled, so unstaid, so prodigious in their attires beyond their meanes and fortunes, unbefitting their age, place, quality, condition, what should we otherwise

think of them? Why do they adorne themselves with so many colours of hearbes, fictitious flowers, curious needle works, quaint devices, sweet smelling odors, with those inestimable riches of pretious stones, pearles, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, &c. Why doe they crowne themselves with golde and silver, use coronets and tires of severall fashions, decke themselves with pendants, bracelets, earerings, chaines, girdles, rings, pinnes, spangles, embroideries, shadows, rebatoes, versicolor ribbands; why doe they make such glorious shews with their scarfs, feathers, fannes, maskes, furres, laces, tiffanies, ruffles, falls, calls, cuffs, damasks, velvets, tinsels, cloth of gold, silver, tissue? with colors of heavens, stars, planets, the strength of metalls, stones, odors, flowers, birds, beasts, fishes, and whatever Afrike, Asia, America, sea, land, art and industry can afford? Why doe they use and covet such novelty of inventions; such new fangled tyres, and spend such inestimable sums on them? To what end are those crisped, false haires, painted faces, as the satyrist observes, such a composed gait, not a step awry? Why are they like so many Sybarites, or Neroe's Poppaa, Assuerus' concubines, so long a dressing, as Cesar was marshalling his army, or an hawke in pruning? Dum moliuntur, dum comuntur annus est. A gardiner takes not so much paines in his garden, an horseman to dress his horse, scour his armour, a mariner about his ship, a merchant his shop and shop booke, as they doe about their faces, and those other parts; such setting up with corkes, streightening with whalebone; why is it but as a day-net catcheth larkes to make young men stoupe unto them."

Burton concludes this complete map of the region Hypochondria, with his excursions into every quarter of it, by these words of mark and wisdom. "Bee not solitary, bee not idle." To which Johnson pertinently added, clenching the point; but if solitary, be not idle; and if idle, be not solitary. Sagacious Quarles discriminates justly; "Let not the sweetnesse of contemplation be so esteemed, that action be despis

ed; Rachel was more faire, Leah more fruitful; as contemplation is more delightful, so is it more dangerous. Lot was upright in the city, but wicked in the mountaine."

The portion of the volume with which we have been most gratified, is the Preface or Democritus to the reader. It is personal and characteristic. The poetical abstract prefixed to the preface, is very smooth and neatly turned. But the finest thing ever written upon melancholia, containing the romance and essence of the subject, is unquestionably that perfect poem, the Penseroso of Milton. Almost equally fine are the following beautiful lines from a play of Beaumont and Fletcher.

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly!
There's nought in this life sweete,
If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy;

Oh, sweetest melancholy!
Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,

A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up, without a sound!

Fountain heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks where all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls!
A midnight bell, a parting groan!

These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our hones in a still gloomy valley:
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

These dainty lines leave a sweet relish behind them after reading which, the reader will acknowledge the prudence of an immediate conclusion.

WACHT crossed the mountain in a highly excited state of feeling, such as he had never before experienced, and which he could almost imagine to be a temptation of the evil one, since many thoughts arose in his soul which the very next moment appeared even to himself most horrible. He could form no plan, much less come to any final conclusion. The sun had already declined when he reached the village of Buch. He turned into the inn, and ordered something to eat and a bottle of good beer.

"Ha! good evening; ha, what a singular incident, to see my dear Master Wacht here in fair Buch on a fine Sunday evening;truly I cannot believe my eyes.

Is there

a family more highly esteemed all over the country?"

Thus was Master Wacht saluted by a yelling, croaking voice. It was no other than Mr. Pickard Leberfink, by profession a lackerer and gilder, one of the drollest men in the world, who thus interrupted Master Wacht in his meditations.

The exterior appearance of Leberfink struck the eye as singular and extraordinary. He was short, stout, had a body rather long, and short slim legs; to this figure was added a round, good humored face, by no means ugly, with red cheeks, and grey, lively, and somewhat sparkling eyes. He appeared on common days with his hair highly dressed and powdered after the old French fashion, but on Sundays his costume was altogether remarkable. He wore, for example, a lilac and canary yellow striped silk coat, with immense silver woven buttons, a gaily embroidered vest, canary green satin inexpressibles, white and cerulean blue finely striped, silk stockings, and shining black polished shoes, on which sparkled large paste buckles. If one adds to this the delicate step of a dancing master, a certain cat-like agility of body, and a singular skill in the management of his legs in critical moments, for example, the power of performing an entrechat when jumping over a ditch, it will appear that the little lackerer was certainly in every respect a remarkable personage. The other parts of his character the gentle reader will soon become acquainted with.

It was not disagreeable to Master Wacht to have his melancholy meditations broken in upon in this way.

The lackerer and gilder, Mr. or rather Monsieur Pickard Leberfink, was not the

wisest of men, but one of the most faithful honest souls in the world, of the most liberal feelings, generous to the poor, and useful to his friends. He continued to work at his trade out of pure inclination to it, for it was no longer a matter of necessity.

He was rich;- his father had left him a handsome property, with a noble cellar. His estate was only separated from that of Master Wacht by a large garden.

Master Wacht was fond of the droll Leberfink on account of his uprightness and because he was a member of their little Protestant society, which had been established for the exercise of religious worship. With surprising readiness Leberfink accepted the proposal of Wacht to sit down with him and drink another bottle of rock ale. For a long time, Leberfink began, he had wished to visit Master Wacht at his own house, for there were two subjects near his heart, on which he desired to converse with him. Wacht remarked that he knew Leberfink well, and was certain, that whatever might be the subject, he should be glad to talk with him about it.

Leberfink now revealed to Master Wacht, in confidence, that the wine-dealer had secretly offered to sell him the beautiful garden which separated the estates of Wacht and Leberfink, with the tasteful gardenhouse belonging to it. He thought he recollected that Wacht had once told him, that the possession of this garden would be very agreeable to him, an occasion now offered, to gratify this wish, and he, Leberfink, offered to make himself the mediator in the affair, and arrange every thing in order.

Master Wacht had indeed long had a wish to add to his estate a fine garden, especially because Nanni had a great affection for the trees and flowers which arose in luxurious sweetness from this garden. At this moment it appeared a pleasant turn of fortune, that just at the moment, when poor Nanni was plunged into deep sorrow, an occasion unexpectedly offered to give her pleasure.

The Master immediately said the needful to the useful lackerer, who promised that Wacht on the next Sunday, should walk in the garden as his own property. "Now," said Master Wacht, "Now, friend Leberfink, out with it, whatever it may be, that weighs upon your mind."

Mr. Pickard Leberfink then began to sigh

in the most pitiable manner, to make the most remarkable faces, and to chatter the most unintelligible things, for which no one could possibly be the wiser. But Master Wacht understood him, shook him by the hand, and said "That may be arranged," while he inwardly smiled at the wonderful sympathy of congenial souls.

The whole episode with Leberfink had done Master Wacht good; he thought he had taken a resolution by which he might resist, perhaps even conquer the most terrible evil, or that which appeared so to his bewildered eyes. Only to the tribunal within was this known, and perhaps, very gentle reader, this tribunal was for the first time a little shaken. A little circumstance may be here mentioned which may not perhaps so conveniently afterward find a place. As on several other occasions, it once happened that old Barbara was teasing Master Wacht, and blaming the lovers because they were constantly reading worldly books together. She showed the Master a couple of volumes which she had found in possession of Nanni. It was a work of Goethe, farther it is not known what particular work it was. After he had turned over the leaves, he gave back the book to Barbara, directing her to put it back in the place whence she had secretly taken it. A single word never escaped him on the subject of Nanni's readings, only once at table he said, when some opportunity offered, "An uncommon spirit is rising up among us Germans, God give it success. My years are gone; my age, my mission is over. But you, Jonathan, I envy you what will spring up in the time which is to come."

The mystical words of Master Wacht were the more intelligible to Jonathan, because a few days before he had seen, half pushed beneath some papers, on Master Wacht's writing table, Goetz of Berlichingen. The great mind of Wacht had discovered the extraordinary spirit, but he also felt the impossibility of beginning a new flight.

The next day poor Nanni hung her head like a sick dove. "What is the matter, my dear child?" said Master Wacht, in the amiable tone so peculiar to himself, and which was altogether irresistible, "What is the matter, my darling, are you ill? I will not believe it, you are too little in the fresh air: see, I have long been wishing you would sometimes bring my supper out into the work-shop, do it to-day;- we have the promise of a fine evening. Shall it not be so, Nanni, dear child? —- you will do it, you will yourself prepare the butter, -it will relish finely."

Thereupon Master Wacht took the dear child in his arms, smoothed the brown locks

on her forehead, kissed her, and in short, gave all those little marks of affection in his power, and of which he well knew the irresistible charın.

A flood of tears poured from the eyes of Nanni, and it was only with difficulty that she uttered the words "Father, father."

"Now, now," said Wacht, and some embarrassment was apparent in his tone, "all will yet be well."

Eight days had passed-Jonathan, as was natural, had not shown himself, and the Master had not spoken a syllable about him. Sunday when the soup was smoking, and the family were about to seat themselves at table, Master Wacht said very gaily, "Where is our Jonathan?" Rettel answered in a low tone, in order to spare poor Nanni, "Do you not know, father, what has happened? Would not Jonathan be afraid to present himself to you?"

"See the monkey," said Wacht "let Christian run and bring him."

It will be supposed that the young advocate did not fail to present himself, and also, that for the first few moments succeeding his entrance, every thing floated before him like a dark, heavy storm cloud.

The easy, pleasant manner of Master Wacht, as well as Leberfink's droll remarks, succeeded meantime, in bringing about a certain tone, which, if it could not exactly be called gay, yet produced an entirely harmonious equilibrium. "Let us," said Master Wacht as they rose from the table, "go out for a little while into the fresh air, in my work yard." It was done.

Monsieur Pickard Leberfink devoted himself very constantly to the little Rettel, who was kindness itself, especially when the polite lackerer exhausted himself in praises of her dishes, and maintained that he had never eaten more delicate compounds even at the table of the spiritual Lord of Banz; and when Master Wacht, with a great bunch of keys in his hand hastened forward with long steps through the work yard, the young lawyer came into the neighborhood of Nanni. Stolen sighs, softly breathed love plaints, were all the lovers dared to risk.

Master Wacht stopped before a handsome, newly made door which had been cut in the wall separating his work yard from the garden of the merchant.

He opened the door and stepped in, while he invited the family to follow him. All, with the exception of Mr. Pickard Leberfink, who could hardly restrain his grins and cachinations, were entirely ignorant of the designs of the old man. In the middle of the beautiful garden stood a spacious pavillion. This was opened also by Master Wacht, who entered and remained standing in the middle of the hall, out of each window of which a new prospect was visible.