ence even of princes. The man of pleasure would find Weimar dull. The forenoon is devoted to business; even the straggling few who have nothing to do would be ashamed to show themselves idle, till the approach of an early dinner hour justifies a walk in the park, or a ride to Belvedere. At six o'clock every one hies to the theatre, which is just a large family meeting, excepting that the Grand Ducal personages sit in a separate box. The performance closes about nine o'clock, and it is expected that by ten, every household shall be sound asleep, or, at least, soberly within its own walls for the night. It is perhaps an evil that, in these small capitals, the court, like Aaron's serpent, swallows up every other species of society; but at Weimar this is less to be regretted, because the court parties have less parade and formality than are frequently to be found in those of private noblemen in London or Paris: it is merely the best bred, and best informed society of the place.

The Grand Duke* is the most popular prince in Europe, and no prince could better deserve the attachment which his people lavish upon him. We have long been accustomed to laugh at the pride and poverty of petty German princes; but nothing can give a bigher idea of the respectability which so small a people may assume, and the quantity of happiness which one of these insignificant monarchs may diffuse around him, than the example of this little state, with a prince like the present Grand Duke at its head. The mere pride of sovereignty, frequently most prominent where there is only the title to justify it, is unknown to him; he is the most affable man in his dominions, not simply with the condescension which any prince can learn to practise as a useful quality, but from goodness of heart. His talents are far above mediocrity; no prince could be less attached to the practices of arbitrary power, while his activity, and the conscientiousness with which he holds himself bound to watch over the welfare of his handful of subjects, have never allowed him to be blindly guided by ministers. Much of his reign has fallen in evil times. He saw his principality overrun with greater devastation than had visited it since the Thirty Years' War; but in every vicissitude he knew how to command the respect even of the conqueror, and to strengthen himself more firmly in the affections of his subjects. During the whole of his long reign, the conscientious administration of the public money, *Father of the distinguished visitor, who travelled in the United States dur ing the last year.

anxiety for the impartiality of justice, the instant and sincere attention given to every measure of public benefit, the ear and hand always open to relieve individual misfortune, the efforts which he has made to elevate the political character of his people, crowned by the voluntary introduction of a representative government, have rendered the Grand Duke of Weimar the most popular prince in Germany among his own subjects, and ought to make him rank among the most respectable in the eyes of foreigners, so far as respectability is to be measured by personal merit, not by square miles of territory, or millions of revenue.

His people, likewise, justly regard him as having raised their small state to an eminence from which its geographical and political insignificance seemed to have excluded it. Educated by Wieland, he grew up for the arts, just as the literature of Germany was beginning to triumph over the obstacles which the indifference of the people, and the naturalization of French literature, favored by such prejudices as those of Frederick the Great, had thrown in its way. He drew to his court the most distinguished among the rising geniuses of the country; he loved their arts, he could estimate their talents, and he lived among them as friends. In the middle of the last century, Germany could scarcely boast of possessing a national literature; her very language, reckoned unfit for the higher productions of genius, was banished from cultivated society, and elegant literature: at the beginning of the present, there were few departments in which Germany could not vie with her most polished neighbors. It was Weimar that took the lead in working out this great change. To say nothing of lesser worthies, Wieland and Schiller, Gothe and Herder, are names which have gained immortality for themselves, and founded the reputation of their country among foreigners. While they were still all alive, and celebrated in Weimar, their noctes cœnasque deorum, the court was a revival of that of Ferrara under Alphonso; and here, too, as there, a princely female was the centre round which the lights of literature revolved. The Dutchess Amelia, the mother of the present Grand Duke, found herself a widow almost at the opening of her youth. She devoted herself to the education of her two infant sons; she had sufficient taste and strength of mind to throw off the prejudices which were weighing down the native genius of the country, and she sought the consolation of her long widowhood in the intercourse of men of talent, and the cultivation of the arts. Wieland was invited to Weimar to conduct the education of her el

dest son, who, trained under such a tutor, and by the example of such a mother, early imbibed the same attachment to genius, and the enjoyments which it affords. If he could not render Weimar the seat of German politics, or German industry, he could render it the abode of German genius. While the treasures of more weighty potentates were insufficient to meet the necessity of their political relations, his confined revenues could give independence and careless leisure to the men who were gaining for Germany its intellectual reputation. The cultivated understanding and natural goodness of their protector secured them against the mortifications to which genius is so often exposed by the pride of patronage. Schiller would not have endured the caprices of Frederick for a day; Gothe would have pined at the court of an emperor who could publicly tell the teachers of a public seminary, "I want no learned men, I need no learned men." Napoleon conferred the cross of the Legion of Honor on Gothe and Wieland. He certainly has never read a syllable which either of them has written, but it was, at least, an honor paid to men of splendid and acknowledged genius.

It was fortunate for Weimar, that the talent assembled within it took a direction which threw off, at once, the long endured reproach, that Germany could produce minds only fitted to compile. dry chronicles, or plod on in the sciences. The wit and vanity of the French, aided by the melancholy blindness of some German princes, had spread this belief over Europe. It is not difficult to conceive that Voltaire should have treated Germany as the abode of common place learning, where the endless repetition of known facts or old doctrines, in new compends and compilations, seemed to argue an incapacity of original thinking; but it is more difficult to conceive that a monarch like Frederick, who possessed some literary talent himself, and affected a devoted attachment to literary merit, should have adopted so mistaken an opinion of a country which he must have known so much better than his Gallic retinue. Yet he had taken up this belief in its most prejudiced form. Instead of cherishing the German genius that was already preparing to give the lie to the wits of France, he amused himself with railing at her language, laughing at the gelehrte Dunkelheit, or "erudite obscurity" of her learned men, and proscribing from his conversation and his library every thing that was not French, except the reports of his ministers, and the muster-rolls of his army. The delirium spread to less important princes, and caught all the upper

ranks of society. The native genius of the country, scarcely venturing to claim toleration, wandered forth in exile to the mountains of Switzerland. On the banks of the lake of Zurich, where a small society of literati had assembled, Wieland followed, unknown and unnoticed, the pursuits which soon placed him among the foremost men of his age. The house of Baden gave its countenance to Klopstock, and Lessing had found protection in Brunswick; but it was Weimar that first embodied, as it were, the genius of the country, and. that genius speedily announced itself in a voice which, at once, recalled Germany from her error. The Parisians, who, a few years ago, would have reckoned it infidelity to the musés to open a German book, have condescended to translate Schiller, and translate him almost as successfully as they do Shakspeare or the Scottish Novels.

SELECTED FROM AN ENGLISH MAGAZINE.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MANSIE WAUCH, TAILOR.

I'LL never forget the first day that I got my regimentals on; and when I looked myself in the bit glass, just to think I was a sodger, wha never in my life could thole the smell of powder, and hadna fired onything but a penny cannon on a Fourth of June, when I was a haflins callant. I thocht my throat wad have been cuttit in the black corded stock; for, whenever I lookit down, without thinking like, my chaft blade played clank against it with sic a dunt, that I mostly chackit my tongue aff. And, as to the soaping of the hair, that beat cockfighting. It was really fearsome, but I could scarcely keep from laughing when I glee'd round ower my shouther, and saw a lang glazed leather queue hinging for half an ell down the braid of my back, and a pickle horse hair curling out like a rotten's tail at the far end o't. And then the worsted taissels on the shouthers-and the lead buttons-and the yellow facings,-oh but it was grand! I sometimes fancied mysell a general, and gieing the word of command. Then the pipe-clayed breeks—but that was a sair job; mony a weary arm did they gie me-bait, baiting campstane into them.

The pipe-claying of the breeks, I was saying, was the most fashious job, let alane courtship, that ever mortal man put his hand to. Indeed, there was no end to the rubbing, and scrubbing, and brushing, and foiling, and cleaning; for, to the like of me, wha was nae weel accustomed to the thing, the whitening was continually coming aff, and destroying my red coat, or my black leggins. I had

amaist forgot to speak of the birse for cleaning out the pan, and the piker for clearing the motion-hole. But time aneugh till we come to firing.

Big Sam, wha was a sergeant of the Fencibles, and aneugh to have putten five Frenchmen to flight ony day of the year, whiles cam to train us-and a hard battle he had with mair than me. I have already said that nature never intended me for the soldiering trade; and why should I hesitate about confessing, that Sam never got me out of the awkward squad? but I had twa three neibors to keep me in countenance. A weary wark we made with the right, left, left, right,-right-wheel, left-wheel,-to the right about, at ease, attention,-by sections, and all the rest o't. But then there is nothing in the course of nature that is useless; and what was to hinder me from acting as orderly, or being ane of the camp-colourmen, on head days?

We all cracked very crouse about fighting, when we heard of garments rolled in blood, only from abroad; but, ae dark night, we got a fleg in sober earnest.

There were signal-posts on the hills, up and down all the country, to make alarms, in case of needcessity; and I never gaed to my bed. without giving first a glee eastward to Falside-brae, and then anither westward to the Calton-hill, to see that all the country was quiet. I had just pappit in-it might be about nine o'clock,-after being gay hard drilled, and sair atween the shouthers, wi' keeping my head back, and playing the dumb bells; when lo! and behold, instead of getting my needful rest, in my ain bed, with my wife and weans, jow gaed the bell, and row-de-dow gaed the drums, and all, in a minute, was confusion and uproar. I was seized with a severe shaking of the knees, and a flaffing at the heart; but I hurried, with my night-cap on, up to the garret window, and there I too plainly saw that the French had landed-for all the signal posts were in a bleeze. This was in reality to be a soldier! I never got sic a fright since the day I was cleckit. Then sic a noise and hullabaloo, in the streets-men, women, and weans, all hurrying through ither, and crying with loud voices, amid the dark, as if the day of judgment had come, to find us all unprepared; and still the bells ringing, and the drums beating to arms. Poor Nanse was in a bad condition, and I was weil waur; she, at the fears of losing me, their bread-winner; and I, wi' the grief of parting frae her, the wife of my bosom, and going out to scenes of blood, bagonets, and gunpowder, nane of which I had the least stamach for. Our