the home with the measureless treasure of her loving services, he felt that he had entered the haven of rest as far as mortal can this side of the grave. In September the following year a little girl was born to them, increasing their joy and brightening still more their quiet home. With this fair work he coupled another, the last volume of Titan. The next year was marked by his removal to Coburg, the birth of a son, and the death of his friend Herder. The same year also, he published the Wild Oats. Longing to put himself still nearer the beloved Fichtelgebirge, he now removed to Bayreuth. Here he brought up his children, by this time two daughters and a son, and wrote the Introduction to Esthetics, the Freedom Pamphlet, and Levana-the last a work upon education. At the time of Germany's greatest despondency, when Napoleon's star was in the ascendant, the Circular Letter of Attila Schmaelzle and the BathJourney of Dr. Katzenburger were published to enliven the depressed public. When, however, Germany recovered spirit and began to arm against the invader, he changed the form of his patriotism and wrote his encouraging Dawning for Germany. At the close of the war his circumstances were embarrassed, and on his application to the munificent Prince von Dalberg, he was relieved by a pension of four hundred dollars. In 1812 he published The Life of Fibel, and, later, Nicholas Margraf, or the Cometboth works of purely humorous character. several cures which he worked through this medium. His soul possessing the passive state of serenity and the active energy of sympathy, it is not improbable that upon highly sensitive natures, susceptible to impressions from beings of intense but equable spiritual fervor, the steady influence of his will exerted such a potent spell as to compose nervous excitements and soothe into calm and repose. Such a power every one has seen in the touch of a father's hand or the sound of his voice by the sick bed of a feverish child. He also visited at Munchen his son Max, who had been placed in the gymnasium there. This poor boy, with a sensitive conscience and injudicious instructors, had already begun to be drawn into that course of mysticism and asceticism, which a few years later at Heidelberg, by prostrating his constitution, carried him to an early grave. He came home to die, and at the age of nineteen left Richter sonless. After the death of his son he visited his wife's kindred in Dresden. Becoming gradually blind, at the age of sixty he went to Nurnberg to visit a celebrated oculist residing there, but without avail. His last work -on which he was at this time engaged, but which was left unfinished-was Selina, a sequel to the Kampaner Thal. The journey to Nurnberg and back was his last. The end was fast drawing near. His friends, Emanuel and Otto, gathered about him in these last hours, and with the sympathy of those dearest to him smoothing the terrors of the darkness, and with the soft sounds of music ringing in his cars, he went down into that night which precedes the only lasting day. On the 14th of November, 1823, he passed away peacefully. So much for his life, sufferings, struggles, friends, helpers, and final triumph, blest with serene peace and the soft joys of a cherished home. He was a good and pure man, with a heart loyal to high aims, and he was dearly loved by very many of all ranks in society. In his works the chief and preeminent A little later occurred the sad incident of Maria Forster's death. This young girl of the mountains, a mere child in years, without ever having seen him, had conceived for him a mad passion, which ended in disordering her mind and causing her to drown herself in the Rhine. Though in no way responsible for this tragic event, he could not help feeling it deeply, as the girl's tendency to insanity had taken a direction which involved his own name and person in the net-work of her destiny so that he seemed to be in some measure the cause of her death. Between 1816 and 1821 he refreshed him-quality is humor, subtle, delicate, of exquisite self with travel, visiting at Regensburg the flavor. It is more poetic and gentler in its kind old primate, Prince von Dalberg, en- tone than Sterne's; it is more involved and joying at Heidelberg for the first time a sight intricate in expression than that of Cervanof the Rhine. At this time he found himself, tes; sweeter and purer in its relations to woas he believed, to be possessed of the power man than that of either of these masterof operating upon others by the agency of humorists. Where the humor consists in the animal magnetism, and himself tells of delineation of character, he approaches more they melt into the being with a soft power that few things else possess and tune it into assonance with supernal sounds. But the air of a lordly prodigality still hangs around the artist's form as he puts his rare conceptions into shape and figure before us. Like a prince of feudal days flinging silver pieces to the rabblement as they raise their hoarse bawl of "Largesse!" he scatters his diamonds, careless where they fall. Profuse in metaphors, in recondite allusions, in interjections and apostrophes, in solemn attestations, in epigrammatic veins that shoot their concentrated essence of wit into the mind perpetually, he glides on in his erratic course, bearing the reader with him in spite of him ing cliffs and dark with overhanging shade; now over roaring cataracts; now into some broad basin where the distant green that margins the stream melts softly into the shadowy blue of the sky that slopes down to meet it; now again in an even steady flow, with a faint rippling sound to lull the ear and a wide expanse of German land on either side to refresh the eye. Thorns and flowers, pearls and rude rocks, calm and storm, sunshine and shade, harsh sounds and soft symphonies, have an equal share in his realm of fancy, an equal place in the picture he paints. A wild luxuriance of poetic vegetation invests all. The beating of fairy wings and the whisper of fairy music are echoed by the clatter of hob-nailed shoes and the din of tradesmen chaffering for sordid gain. So wide the field of vision that any thing like the sense of incongruity escapes into thin air. nearly to Shakspeare than to any one else; and spiritual kindred of the speculative Hamlet, the melancholy Jaques, and others of a contemplative nature, are to be met with more than once in his works. As to the rest, a summary of the criticism of M. Henri Blaze will best express all that need be said. He describes Jean Paul as a reckless magician, who creates wonders at his will in wildest profusion, without troubling himself in the least to set them in order. His works, M. Blaze remarks, contain every thing, the false and the true, the sublime and the grotesque, the epic merged into the romantic, sweetest strains of ethereal philosophy blending with the simplest incidents of peasant life. The effect is like that produced by one of Rem-self; now in a narrow passage through frownbrandt's wonderful interior views, where, beyond black night and awful shades, one sees forms that show life and motion, all the confusion of mind engendered by vastness and chaos, not altogether hiding from the eye the points where the painter's genius had lingered most lovingly: such light as the opaque masses permit to glimmer from behind their monstrous gloom, all formless and void, has all the effect of enchantment; and we peer into the mysterious depths with that unquenchable reaching of the soul's light after the hidden expanse of thought, which is so inborn a quality of spiritual life. Again, he revels in digressions, giving himself up too readily to every thought or feeling that suggests itself. When the humor seizes him, he dashes aside from the highroad of his tale and makes wild excursions in all directions: farewell, then, to his people of the plot, farewell to logic, to good sense, to every rule a Frenchman tied to traditions of literary method considers indispensable, to all the decórum of intellectual coherency; his ideas twist and twine, cross and recross, intermingle and interlace at such a rate that it would take a new Ariadne's clue to show the way out of the labyrinth they make. But, meanwhile, they throw out such dazzling scintil-fering and resigned, devoted to sacrifice by lations, and breathe on the soul's atmosphere such sweet fragrances, that one is enchanted by their ravishing graces, and can not but follow them step by step through all their devious ways. Delicious in their strange harmonies, seeming so like discords when they first fall upon the ear, but felt to be wondrously true to the soul's perfect music as soon as their hidden relations to the best and highest chords of feeling are perceived, His men are oftenest dreamers, idealists of lofty tone and deep thought, but very Hamlets in action. To this last trait his wicked men, of whom Roquairol is the chief, are exceptions. They have a purpose, and do act with a vengeance. His women are soft, gentle souls, of white unspotted purity, natures suf hard destiny. The Titanide, Linda, is of an altogether different type. She has passion, force and will; but she also suffers, even more terribly than his beings of purity and tenderness. M. Blaze, closing his dissertation on the exuberance of ideas, the lavish prodigality in imagery, and the brilliant extravagances with which Richter astonished the world, sums up all with this remark, with which my crude sketch may also end: "Genius has its You don't like sensation novels, but to read them is-the fashion. You don't care about "Bel Demonio," but to admire it is-the fashion. You prefer an old-fashioned English dinner, full, substantial, abundant, and materialistic, to the lightness and insubstantiality of a diner à la Russe, but then-the fashion! The wearisome canter up and down Rotten Row perplexes you with an unutterable sensation of ennui, but-it is the fashion. Fashion makes you wear a hat that pinches your ample brow, and puts on Amanda's head a bonnet that does not become her. Fashion tempts you to live on a thousand a year when your income is only eight hundred. And Fashion-to be sparing of our instances-subscribed for the relief of wounded Danes, when English pluck and honesty no longer stood to the front in behalf of the weak and oppressed. FASHION is Society's Chancellor of the Ex- | spirits, wields, nevertheless, a scepter of iron. chequer, and fails not to tax the lieges with ingenuity and unrelenting sternness of purpose. Our readers will doubtless remember Sydney Smith's humorous illustration of the infinite varieties of taxation that beset the British taxpayer. Alas! he omitted from the terrible list—which, in a certain sense, may be said to be the English libro d'orothe assessments, direct and indirect, the contributions, voluntary and involuntary, that Fashion levies. These are literally numberless, and envelope us in a mesh from which there is no escape. The dresses of our wives and sisters, the folds of their petticoats, the dimensions of their bonnets, the arrangement of their curls; the hats with which we cover our aching heads, the boots in which we torture our aching feet, the waistcoats that cover the British bosom, the broadcloth that develops the British back; our horses and our carriages, our houses and our But perhaps the most personal and humilfurniture; the plays which we groan at, the iating of Fashion's provocations is its interbooks which we nod over; the wines that ference with our food. Not even the kitchen we drink ourselves, and the wines we give and the salle-à-manger are safe from its vexato our friends; the regiments in which we tious intrusion. As sternly as an Abernethy place our sons, the accomplishments which to a dyspeptic patient, it says to society, we teach our daughters; the hours of our "This thou shalt eat, and this thou shalt not rising and sleeping, dining and tea-ing; the eat. That dish is vulgar; yonder plût is obpowdered hair of our footmen, and the cauli- solete; none but the canaille partake of meltflower wigs of our coachmen; do we not re-ed butter; only the ignorant immerse their cognize thy finger on each and all of these, O Fashion? At home and abroad, Fashion foliows us closely, like a phantom fell; and though the most evanescent and volatile of souls in beer." And changeable as that sex which is supposed to worship it most humbly, Fashion proscribes in 1863 what it sanctioned in 1763; and approves now, what in the days when George III was king-consule (therefrom) alle pe (the) boonys pt (that) ye planes-it most sternly condemned. The maye, and p'wt (therewith) do hem ynto a meals which now do (too often) coldly fur- Foyle (shield or case) of gode paste, made nish forth the table were regarded with con- craftily yune pe lykenes of a byrde's body, tempt by our great-great-grandfathers. Fancy wt p lyavurs (livers) and hertys, ij. kydnies Sir Roger de Coverley examining a salmi des of shepe and jaryes (forced meats) and eyrin perdrix or a pâté de foie gras! In like man-(eggs) made ynto balles. Caste p'to (thereto) ner the Honorable Fitzplantagenet Smith would regard as "deuced low" the boar's head that delighted his cavalier ancestor, or the peacock pie that smoked upon Elizabethan boards. In the year 1272, the then Lord Mayor of London issued an edict which fixed the prices to be paid for certain articles of provisions at the pence; a goose for fivepence; a wild goose, fourpence; pigeons, three for one penny; mallards, three for a half-penny; a plover, one penny; a partridge, three-halfpence; a dozen of larks, one penny half penny; a pheasant, fourpence; a heron, sixpence; a swan, three shillings; a crane, three shillings; the best peacock, one penny; the best coney, with skin, fourpence; and the best lamb, from Christmas to Lent, sixpence, at other times of the year, fourpence. Now, out of the foregoing list of edibles, Fashion nowadays would strike the mallard, the heron, the swan, and the crane, and would look askant at the peacock. poudre of pepyr, salte, spice, eysell (vinegar,) and funges (mushrooms) pykled; and paune (then) take pe boonys and let hem seethe ynne a pot to make a gode brothe p'for (therefore-i. e., for it,) and do yt ynto pe foyle of paste, and close hit uppe faste, and brake yt wel, and so s've (serve) yt forthe: wt pe hede of oone of pe byrdes, stucke at pe oone ende of pe foyle, and a grete tayle at pe op' and dyvers of hys longe fedyrs sette ynne connynglye alle aboute hym." If any of our readers should attempt this choice game pastry, we shall thank him to make known to us the result of his experiment. A favorite dish of our ancestors was herring pie. In the town charter of Yarmouth it is provided that the burgesses shall send to the sheriff's of Norwich one hundred herrings, to be made into twenty-four pies, and these pies shall be delivered to the lord of the manor of East Carleton, who is to convey them to the king. Were these herrings fresh, or salted herrings? The latter was a popular edible with all classes of Englishmen, and have a historical importance from their connection with the famous Bataille de Harengs, one of the last victories won by the English in France. But the peacock was of old a right royal bird, that figured splendidly at the banquets of the great, and this is how the mediæval cooks dished up the medieval dainty: "Take and flay off the skin with the feathers, tail, and the neck and head thereon; then take the skin and all the feathThe origin of the red herring is traditioners and lay it on the table abroad, and strewally this: A Yarmouth fisherman had hung thereon ground cumin. Then take the peacock and roast him, and baste him with raw yolks of eggs; and when he is roasted, take him off and let him cool awhile; then take him and sew him in his skin, and gild his comb, and so serve him forth with the last course." Our ancesters were very fond of savory messes compounded on the gipsy's principle of putting every thing eatable into the same pot. A curious mixture must have been the following: up some salted herrings in his hut, where they remained for some days exposed to the smoke arising from a wood fire. His attention being then attracted to the forgotten dainties, he saw-ate-and wondered! The flavor so pleased his palate that, deeming what was good for a fisherman must be equally good for a king, he sent some of the smoke-cured fish to King John, who was then at or near Norwich. The monarch so much approved of them that he rewarded the purveyor by granting a charter of incorporation to the town of which he was a native. "For to make a mooste choyce paaste of bayms to be etin at ye Feste of Chrystemasse (A.D. 1394.) Fish, indeed, was a much commoner arti"Take Fesaunt, Haare, and Chykeune, or cle of diet with all classes of society in the Capounne, of eche oone; wt ij. Partruchis, "good old days" than at present. If it figij. Pygeonnes, and ij. Conynggys; and smyte ured at royal banquets as a dainty, it was hem on peces and pyke clene awaye p'fro | placed on the tables of the poor as a neces sity. Nothing is more astonishing than the | Shere Tuesday;" and at Shrovetide she was prejudice of the lower orders nowadays to have ready "twelve stubbe eles and nine against fish. We have lived in seaside towns, schaft eles." The regulation and manageand seen flung forth as offal by the half- ment for the sale of eels seems to have formstarving families of the fishermen, who would ed a prominent feature in the old ordinances thankfully accept, the next moment, a stran- of the Fishmonger's Company. There were ger's alms to purchase a fragment of rank artificial receptacles made for eels in our and unsavory meat. Our ancestors, on the rivers, called Anguilonea, constructed with other hand, were animated by a most lauda- rows of poles, that they migh be more easily ble icthyophagic zeal. Every monastery taken. The cruel custom of salting eels had its "stews" and fishponds, if it did not alive is mentioned by some old writers. happen to be planted in pleasant places on the bank of some fishful stream. Our kings preserved their fisheries as anxiously as a country squire preserves his game. Almost every kind of fish was good that came to our | forefathers' nets. Fashion sanctioned sturgeon and lampreys (Petromyzon fluviatilis)— every body knows that Henry I. surfeited himself with the latter, and died therebyJohn Dories and stockfish, carps and crabs, mullets, gurnets, burs, ling, pilchards, nearly every fish "Sporting with quick glance, Show to the sun their way'd coats dropp'd with gold." Even whales, if stranded on our coasts, were salted and eaten; and in the bill of fare of the Goldsmiths' Company, we find enumerated "blote, fish, fowls, and middles of sturgeons, salt lampreys, congers, pike, bream, bass, tench, chub, seal, and porpoise." In a fish-tariff issued by Edward I., mention is made of "congers, lampreys, and seahogs." Fancy Lady Mayfair inviting her guests to partake of a sea-hog! In the Earl of Northumberland's Household Book we find allowed for "my Lord and Ladie's table," "ij. pecys of salt fische, vj. pecys of salt fische, vj. becormed herryng, iiij. white herryng, or a dish of sproots (sprats)." Certes, a deep draught of Canary or Malvoisie would be needed to wash down so dry a repast! Mackerel, a fish now so popular, is not mentioned earlier than 1247; but its good qualities so soon became generally recognized, that we read of it as a London street cry in the ballad of "London Lickpenny." Eels were exceedingly popular, and the monks especially loved to feed upon them. The cellaress of Barking Abbey, Essex, in the ancient times of that foundation, was amongst other eatables, "to provide russ aulx in Lenton, and to bake with elys on Fashion did not set its seal upon turtle soups until a comparatively recent date. An entry in the "Gentleman's Magazine,” August 31, 1753, proves that "calipash and calipee" were still a rarity: “A turtle, weighing 350 lb., was ate at the King's Arms tavern, Pall Mall; the mouth of an oven was taken down to admit the part to be baked." Turtles have traveled eastward since then. One does not look nowadays for turtles in Belgravian hotels, but at the London Tavern or the Mansion House, and associate it as a thing of course with civic banquets and aldermanic paunches. The great ministers of Fashion, its agents in enforcing its decrees upon unhappy society, have been the cooks-always a potent, a conceited, and, sooth to say, an ignorant fraternity. From the days of Aristoxenes and Archestratus to those of Ude-Ude, who refused four hundred a year and a carriage when offered by the Duke of Richmond, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, because there was no Opera at Dublin-from the days of Archestratus to those of Ude, they have studied rather the display of their inventive powers than the laws of physiology and the stomachs of their patrons. Ben Jonson furnishes us with an admirable description of one of these gentry, who are more solicitous about the invention of wonderful novelties than the provision of a wholesome and sufficient dinner: "A master cook!" exclaims the poet : "Why, he's the man of men |