Soon another rose up, and also went inside the storeroom, where he threw himself down on the corn-heap. The fourth man remained in the porch, employed in mending the broken rein of a bridle. Presently he, too, got up, and walked into the building, where I could hear him asking for an awl. Just then I felt a quick beating at the heart, and a sudden flushing in my face, as a thought came across my brain that promised a plan of escape.

Although I felt cool and collected as ever in my life, I could hear my heart thumping against my ribs, like the strokes of a trip-hammer. My anxiety was extreme; for I knew every moment that passed lessened our chance of success. At any instant the Confederate lieutenant might start us to the road again.

The trooper who had been strap-mending, once more came out upon the porch, and walked off to where his horse stood at the rack.

Buckling on the mended rein, he returned to the house, and went straight into the store-room. Crossing to his comrades, he sat down on the bench beside them.

I looked at Totten, and then asked the guard, in a low voice, if we could not have a cabbage-leaf to place on the sprained ankle.

"Cabbage-leaf!" he replied; "where the h-l's there any cabbage about hyar?"

"Right there," said I, pointing to a corner of the enclosure, where I had observed a few miserable heads growing, in a sort of garden-patch.

"Oh!" answered he, with a laugh, "if you think them 'ere will do you any good, you kin take 'em, I s'pose." "Thank you, sir," said Totten: "won't you have some

tobacco?"

And the sergeant drew from his pocket a plug of the weed, which, by good luck, he happened to have about him. The Reb, stepping up, took it readily; and, cramming a quid into his jaw, drew off again.

As Totten wished it, the movement placed him several feet nearer us, than he had been before.

"I reckon a bit o' baccy air better than a cabbage-leaf," he remarked with a grin.

"Not to us now," replied Totten, with a glance given to me that, had the sentry seen, and been any thing of a physiognomist, would have done us damage..

"Rube!" he said, calling out to the other guard, who was about fifty paces off, and nearer the patch of cultivated ground, "pitch one o' them 'ere old heads of greens this way the Yank wants it for his crippled foot."

Reuben, propping his long rifle against the log he was seated on, and slowly rising up, walked toward the 'greens.'

I glanced at Totten. He was gathering his legs under him, and furiously rubbing the sprained ankle with one hand. Our sentry had turned half-way round, while speaking to the other; the butt of his gun rested on his boot, not more than a dozen feet from the sergeant's grasp. I was close to Totten, only a little outside, and in full view of the Confed. I saw that the sergeant was quite ready, and watching me with eager eyes.

The outside guard had reached the cabbage-patch, and was stooping to pluck the "greens." The time for action had at length arrived; and I raised my right hand.

With the spring of a catamount, Totten threw himself forward upon the unsuspecting sentry. As he did so, I rushed up the steps, caught hold of the heavy door, dashed it to, and drove home the shooting bolt- before the men inside could stir hand or foot!

There had not been a second to spare. By the time I had got the swinging bar into its place, the Rebs had thrown themselves against the door, uttering loud curses.

But the bolt was a strong one, and resisted all their efforts, until I had got the bar safe in its place, and secured it with the padlock. This done, I sprang out of the porch again, and ran for the rifle left leaning against the log.

All the while Totten and the sentry were engaged in a deathlike struggle. On first flinging himself on the latter, Totten had caught him round the legs, at the same time securing his gun, and bringing him to the ground. I knew that few men could equal the sergeant in rough strength;

and, satisfied he would soon have the mastery over his opponent, I left him to settle that matter for himself.

As I rushed to get possession of the rifle, its owner, bewildered by the sudden surprise, was now running towards it himself, making a loud outcry, and still holding the head of cabbage in his hand. Fortunately I was the swifter, and reached the log first; but, as I stooped to grasp the gun, the Reb threw himself impetuously upon me. Seizing the butt in one hand, with the other he struck me a violent blow in the face. But I had the barrel firmly grasped; and, exerting all my strength, I succeeded in becoming master of the weapon, drawing the man down upon his knees. Before he could recover himself, I dealt him a crushing blow with the butt, that felled him flat upon the earth.

To rush to the stable, and set free our comrades, Hill and Carey, was but the work of a few seconds. Then we all ran to where the sergeant and the big sentry were still engaged in their deadly wrestle.

Totten had his antagonist by the throat, and would, no doubt, have strangled him, but that the Confed was a very powerful man, and had got hold of the sergeant's wrist.

Our arrival put an end to the struggle; as the sentry, seeing himself outnumbered, with a rifle held close to his head, cried out, "Quarter!'

While all this was taking place, the party in the storeroom were making furious efforts to burst open the door. But as the oak was sound, and the bolts strong, we saw it would take them some time to make their way out.

Before they did this we were all four mounted, and galloping gayly away.

We knew we had little to fear from pursuit by those left at the log-house. On the tired horses that remained to them, and the start we had obtained, there would be no chance for the Confeds to overtake us.

Fortune proved friendly to us. Not a soul did we encounter, as we dashed along at a breakneck pace, until we fell in with a body of our own cavalry, several miles beyond where we had been captured in the morning; which at length put an end to our apprehensions.

I had some explanations to make, after rejoining my regiment, as to how I got the very handsome black eye I had brought from the other side of the Shenandoah.

CAROLINE SCHLEGEL.

THIRD PAPER.

IN the autumn of 1798, a young man of twenty-three had taken out his venia docendi at the Jena University, and began a course of lectures on philosophy by the very side of Fichte, who at that time and, indeed, for long afterwas looked upon as Kant's successor in the philosophical empire. This young man was Schelling, who was destined to exercise so great an influence over the German mind, and to fulfil in the ecclesia triumphans of the Romantiker that part which had been formerly sustained by Fichte in the period of their ecclesia militans.

Schelling came from a part of Germany eminently productive of strong, obstinate wills, speculative intellects, and fervent convictions. He was the countryman of Schubarth, Schiller, and Hegel. This pracox ingenium had made his appearance as an author by publishing some essays on Hebrew and Christian mythology, the germ of which may be sought in Herder, while their ulterior development is to be found in D. F. Strauss. Soon, however, he relinquished theology in favor of philosophy, and at the early age of nineteen wrote a remarkable treatise, in which Fichte's inspiring influence is still vividly felt. In this and several other essays of the kind, with more or less Fichtean or Spinozist tendencies, the amazed literary world scarcely knew what to wonder at most, whether at his depth of thought, his prodigious maturity for his age, or the arrogant, supercilious, conquering tone of the young thinker. Soon

*See EVERY SATURDAY, Nos. 18, 22.

we see him emancipating himself; and in 1797 he produces the first of that series of works in which he eventually exposed his own doctrine on the "Philosophy of Nature."

He had just begun to develop it in a second work, when he met with A. W. Schlegel and his wife in Dresden; the latter of whom was struck at first sight by his enthusiastic energy. They were absent from Jena on his arrival there, in the autumn of the same year (1798), to lecture as a Privat Docent; but on her return, Caroline received him with great cordiality, so that when her husband arrived he already found them on terms of very great intimacy, although of an entirely platonic nature. The rising, ambitious young philosopher, who was meditating a reform not only in science and poetry, but in the world itself, by an alliance between philosophy and poetry; this ardent, enthusiastic, dreamy nature, coupled with a tenacious will, had a strange fascination for Caroline, who for the first time in her life here found her master. What weakness, what affectations, what overstraining, had she not witnessed in all those who had come near her till now! Göthe alone might, in her eyes, have stood comparison advantageously with Schelling, as far as vigor, freshness, spontaneousness, and facility were concerned; but, then, Göthe was no longer young, and, moreover, held her at a distance. Schelling, who was drawn towards her like the iron to the magnet, possessed the one great attraction of youth, quite irresistible, indeed, for some women, who, born with a great natural disposition towards tenderness, have never either loved nor been loved passionately. The impression made upon her by this blunt, ardent nature betrays itself every moment in her letters. "He is more interesting personally than you will allow," she writes to Friedrich Schlegel. "His is a thoroughly genuine nature, something akin to what granite is among minerals." For a long while she strives to deceive herself as to the nature of her affection for him; but in this she only half succeeds. She even meditates a future alliance between Schelling and her daughter Augusta, at that time on a visit to the family of the painter Tischbein, at Dessau; and she entreats her not to be jealous "of her mamma." Schelling, less calm, soon begins to write her the most passionate verses, wherein science and religion, poetry and love, are strangely mixed up. They all read the Italian poets together, and make sonnets after the manner of Petrarca; soon Caroline becomes the Beatrice of this new Dante, who was at that time preparing a mystical epic poem. The peace with Dorothea and her husband was as yet unbroken, and "holy Father Fritz, fervent in God," was the interpreter of the divine poet.

Afterwards, when the households of the two Schlegel brothers began to be thoroughly disunited, when_August Wilhelm, attracted in a different direction, left Jena for months at a time, Schelling established his domicile in the house, and took his meals with Caroline, bringing back light and warmth to this somewhat chilly hearth. "He is the giver of joy; for he is mild, affectionate, and cheerful." And Caroline, though more enthusiastic for the philosopher than for his philosophy, - Caroline, the light-hearted woman of the world, insensibly and visibly becomes a Dio tima. She gradually acquires a taste for transcendent speculation. Schelling's obscure system has no obscurities for her, like that of Fichte, because "Schelling has poetry in his nature, while Fichte has none." She entirely adopted Schelling's worship for Nature. "Sole divinity, acknowledged by me," she writes later on, in a passage of her lover's " Clara," attributed to her; "sole divinity, whose strength I feel, good Mother Nature, let my tongue paint the images of thy words; never let the feeling within me, which is thy work, err; never allow my instinctive knowledge to become a learned one." There are some thoughts "which I cannot quite understand, yet I believe in them; and by faith and imagination I can easily be led wherever you like. Only the steps up the ladders, the demonstrations and consequences, are not made for me." It is clear that her "love had turned into philosophy, and her philosophy into love." And the stanzas addressed to her by Schelling at Christmas, 1799 about fifteen months after their first meeting - resemble the inspiration of the writer

of the "Divina Commedia," when he invokes the aid of the blessed friend of his youth to give him courage enough to terminate his great work.

Augusta, meanwhile, was gently and sweetly budding into womanhood; but Schelling remained insensible to her growing charms; for an attraction, which is by no means uncommon with young people, irresistibly drew him towards the maturer poetry of autumn, rather than that of spring. In the month of May, 1800, Caroline went with her daughter to Bocklet, a small watering-place near Bamberg, accompanied by Schelling, or rather in his suite; for he had to go to Bamberg, and she had not the heart to let him go there alone. Had she not vowed to herself that she would devote herself to him, watch over him, and, without requiring his love, at least claim the right of protecting him? This touching species of resignation is by no means rare in similar situations with tender-hearted women, nor is it the less admirable because accompanied by a strong dose of self-delusion. "You know that I shall follow you wherever you wish; for your life and your work are alike sacred to me, and ministering in the sanctuary in the divine sanctuary - -is reigning upon earth."

A terrible blow roused Caroline from her dream. Her daughter Augusta died at Bocklet during the temporary absence of Schelling. She was but fifteen years old. Caroline's grief nearly crushed her. She never entirely recovered from the shock it gave her; and the sad reco1lection of her dead child returned, even at the close of her life, when surrounded by peace and happiness. She came out of this supreme ordeal a changed being, hardly venturing to own to herself, that, in one respect at least, it was a release. It was the one great crisis of her life; from that time forward she was able to regain her serenity; for this seems to have been an indestructible element of her nature but she never again recovered the giddy lightheartedness of her youth. The nine closing years of her life seem, as it were, shrouded in a veil; yet they were years of happiness, nevertheless.

Caroline immediately tore herself away from the sad scene of her cruel bereavement, and sought a refuge and retreat in her married sister's house at Brunswick, where Schlegel joined her, whilst Schelling returned to Jena. The latter had been deeply shocked by Augusta's sudden death; being thus left alone with Caroline, and attempting to console and comfort her in her sorrows, he felt as can only great crises in life make one feel, how poor and inadequate platonic love is. He began to discover the real state of his feelings, which till then he had hidden from his own sight under an enthusiastic worship. As soon as he perceived it, he also became aware of the impediments which seemed to stand in the way of his ever possessing the being he so passionately loved. The letters of this young man, whose energy rendered him almost harsh, of this Titan, who shortly before was ready to scale the Olympus, — all at once take a tender, Wertherian tone. Thoughts of voluntarily terminating his existence present themselves to his mind; his letters are a series of hysterical sobs. Caroline, herself utterly bowed down by grief, is now obliged to use all her efforts to support her young friend; for, in capability of suffering, no man, however strong-minded or strong-willed, can compete with woman. She is quite inexhaustible in her protestations of a love which is not the less tender from being supposed henceforward to be of a purely maternal nature.

-

"My soul, my life, I love thee with my whole being. Do not doubt this under any circumstances. What a flash of exultation when Schlegel handed me your letter last night!. You love me; and even were the spasm of grief which is rending your bosom to lead you astray, and become hatred, you love me not the less. I deserve it too; and this universe would be but a mere trifle, if we had not indeed found one another forevermore."

She sends him to Göthe, the supreme comforter, to seek counsel and strength in "his clear eye."

In the pathetic affection felt by a maturer woman for a younger man, there always enters a touch of maternal feel

ing. It is just this desire to guard and protect, together with the constant unowned dread of losing their protégé, when youth and nature shall begin to assert their rights, which gives a love of this kind something which is inexpressibly touching.

Still, this maternal, or rather sisterly affection, which had so long served to deceive Schelling concerning the true nature of his own feelings, no longer sufficed to content him. He reproaches her with trying to avoid him, and she defends herself against his accusations:

"Even though I leave you, I do so differently from what you think. Never was I more strongly, more indissolubly attached to you than at present. . . . Take our singular alliance for what it is, and cease lamenting that which never could have been. I know full well that, with a nature like mine, and as a woman, this is far easier for me than for you. . . . Resignation has given me depth, and a first love a serenity altogether inexplicable, although this love itself hardly belonged to reality. You also are ready to resign if needful, but not without bitterness; while I do so with the whole treasure of my humility."

And again, on his persisting in his reproaches for what he calls her desertion of him, with the usual sophistry of the times, she explains how she never has ceased to be true to all those she loved, because her fidelity was "inward constancy;" because she knew "the eternal equilibrium of her heart." It would be impossible to give a preciser formula to the universal creed of that period, that religion of the heart, that reverence for the dictates of feeling, that Ecclesia invisibilis of sentiment. "I trust implicitly to my heart, were it to lead me to death and misery. This is my immediate science. I know this certitude to be certain; were this security ever to break down within me, it would be my end; nothingness would ensue." Thus does she cling to her idea of becoming a mother to her beloved one, and, like a true mother, incites him to active employment. "Here you are again on the battle-field, dear Achilles; and already the Trojans are in flight," she writes him, when he at last plucks up courage to recommence his lectures, at the time Friedrich Schlegel was making his first appearance as a lecturer also, an attempt which was to prove a signal failure. On this occasion the delicate, refined woman, usually so remarkable for her moderation and good taste, becomes utterly unrecognizable in her ecstasies of wild triumph. Love and interest in the object of it did for her what self-interest never would have accomplished: they made her coarse and violent, from sheer vehemence of feeling.

Like a good mother, she also takes bodily care of her charge she sends to London for a great-coat (in 1800!) instead of his German cloak, to keep him warm, and "leave his arms free to embrace her." For they are soon to meet again after this long, long winter (1800 to 1801); and in this hope Caroline revives.

Her husband, who had spent great part of the winter at Brunswick with her, had left for Berlin, and did not join her again at Jena. Her connection with Schelling was no secret to him, and, as he followed the moral creed of his generation, he found it quite natural; the more so, perhaps, as his own affection for Caroline had arrived at a sufficiently low ebb to allow him to view things calmly and collectedly. With the singular frankness peculiar to these times, Caroline had declared her intention of not ceasing to see her friend at Jena.

husband; "the least thing shows how weak she is." Still the tone of their correspondence is quite friendly on both sides at the beginning. Wilhelm had been greatly attached to little Augusta, and respected the mother's grief at her loss. Caroline, on her side, felt more than mere gratitude for Wilhelm, he was more even than a comrade to her she esteemed him as he deserved to be esteemed, and never ceased defending him against all his assailants, On his being reproached with want of sincerity, she says, "If any one ever was irreproachable in this respect it was Schlegel, and I am quite distressed to see him so badly rewarded for it. . . He does not care to be insincere, and is more honest than all of you put together." Nevertheless, by degrees Wilhelm's letters become scarcer : he only half answers Caroline's constant pressing invitations to Jena, or offers to join him at Berlin; evidently, he is on the search for pretexts. Had he really found more powerful attractions at the Prussian capital, as it was reported? Caroline ridicules these reports. On being informed that pretty Madame Unzelmann, the most admired actress in Berlin, is about to be divorced in order to marry August Wilhelm, she laughs at "the little fairy Unzeline," and threatens to "arrive in time to prevent the conjunction of the two luminaries;" and when she hears that her husband is unusually attentive to Madame Bernhardi, Tieck's sister, she advises him to cultivate this acquaintance. It is clear that she was free from all prejudice. Still, the tone of August Wilhelm's letters becomes more and more disagreeable; and as we already know that her friendship with Schelling was a matter of perfect indifference to him, there is every reason to believe that he was seeking a plausible pretext for regaining his liberty. Caroline continues indefatigable in her efforts to keep him in good humor; but it seems that she sometimes received serious rebuffs, to one of which she answers, "You take away a great deal of my simplicity and grace by intimidating me in this way, and you lose most by it." "If any more naughty letters come, I shall not answer them until a nice one appears." Never had she been more amiable, more caressingly friendly; never did she bring all the resources of fraternal coquetry better into play, for the tone of these charming letters never goes beyond this mark. Still, what deep interest she takes in his literary pursuits! She goes to Weimar on purpose to be present at the first representation of his "Ion:" she sits on the commoner's side of the theatre, of course; for at that time, even in Weimar, the nobility sat on one side and the burghers on the other, as there were bourgeois and noble evening parties. She espouses the author's cause to a vehement extent; she writes à review of the piece in the Elegante Zeitung, which, however favorable it might seem to others less interested, did not satisfy the vulnerable self-esteem of August Wilhelm Schlegel, who finds it, "Pretty and clever, but not at all to his taste.' She sides entirely with Göthe, "the invisible Apollo," who is the soul of the enterprise, and who is accused of tyranny for striking Schlegel's adversaries. She even returns to Weimar to insure success to the Ehrempforte, a satirical piece of doubtful taste, which her husband had directed against Kotzebue and his set. When he opened at Berlin his course of lectures upon dramatic literature, his most substantial title to glory after his translation of Shakspeare, She enshe is quite proud of him and his success. courages him in all ways:

"At the hour when you are holding forth, I am always espe cially near to you. Would that blue-eyed Caroline could only once in her life be changed into blue-eyed Minerva, and stand invisible by your side, placing divine discourse on your lips! As you are already charmingly perfumed and adorned, I should not be wanted in that direction, like that goddess."

Nothing, however, had the power to re-establish the lost harmony between them. Wilhelm continued silent and morose, in spite of all her pretty womanly devices. When, at length, he makes up his mind to visit Jena, he leaves it again immediately, to follow the constellations which are his attractions at Berlin, and his answers grow colder and colder. In vain she redoubles in grace and amiability dur

stars once more (per riveder le stelle). Implacable fate appeared to Caroline, as well as to all her contemporaries, under the features of Napoleon. "For me, he never was any thing but Destiny personified; which I neither love nor hate, but at whose hands I await the guidance of the world."

Germany's political transformation exercised a direct influence besides over the fate Schelling and his wife.

Shortly after the instalment of the elector-king at Würzburg, a scene described by Caroline with charming irony and a delicious humor, the philosopher was called to Munich, where those attempts at civilizing ancient Bavaria were beginning to be made which we can still witness in our own days. Caroline was alarmed as much as amused with the state of intellectual culture in which she found her new place of residence. The bare names of Lessing and Göthe were, indeed, hardly known in Munich society. The amusements of the best company there were primitive in their simplicity, the naïveté of which would make her laugh, were it not that its coarseness is such as to revolt the delicate tastes of this northern plant. The only man who apparently belonged to his age and his country, though transplanted to this inclement soil, was Jacobi, always the same "good, honest, but at the bottom vain," individual whom Göthe knew thirty years earlier at Pempelfort, "finding it convenient to have less wits and more complaisance than formerly" in that material world to which he had allowed himself to be attracted, letting himself be spoiled and petted by his two crabbed old-maid sisters.

The

If Caroline made but few new acquaintances, she came across a good many of her old friends in time, and not only met again with Theresa, but with her comrades of 1797 and 1798, the chiefs and champions of romanticism. Tiecks and Brentanos passed through Munich on their return from a pilgrimage to Rome, and related the words and deeds of those among their brethren whom they had left behind them in the Eternal City. From their description, these Germans living in Rome had run themselves into a perfectly "inextricable chaos of intrigues, folly, and adventures." Humboldt was at that time Prussian minister at Rome; and it may be easily imagined that neither he nor his wife entered into the extravagant eccentricities of the romantic set. There existed, indeed, two distinct factions, "the Pagan and Christian party," in which ladies played a very prominent part; Madame de Humboldt having declared herself in favor of the goddess Venus, while Madame Bernhardi (Tieck's sister) adhered to "the Virgin Mary." "It is true," Caroline maliciously adds, "the beauty of the one and the purity of mind of the other counterbalance each other pretty nearly. . . . . The piety and sanctity of all this parish is little more than mere form and outward manner. In the best of them (L. Tieck, for instance) they must only be taken in a poetical sense." It was reported that the Tiecks had gone over to Catholicism, as Friedrich and Dorothea Schlegel, Zacharias Werner, and so many others, were about to do. In Caroline's eye, this fact has but small importance. It would be but a form more; for in the main L. Tieck, the best and cleverest of the whole set, would remain what he was before, "a graceful, respectable vagabond." His sister, the Roman Madonna, had also returned to Germany, to plead in the divorce court against Bernhardi, for she was about to marry Herr von Knorring, another devotee; and the whole family, accompanied by Zacharias Werner, the pious renegade, gave themselves highly political airs. They pretended to see the salvation both of Germany and Christendom in the house of Hapsburg; but as Caroline observes, with her usual clear perception and good sense, "all these hopes, beliefs, and loves must be taken in a merely allegorical sense; for in reality they care very little about the powers above or the world below, provided they lead a jolly life, and have their purses well filled. I never saw people less pious, or less resigned to the will of Heaven, than these. These three brothers and their sister, each one possessing eminent talents, born in an artisan's hut among the sands of the Mark of Brandenburg, might form a splendid phenomenon, were it not for an immorality corruptive both

of body and soul, and an entire want of religious feeling; and in a very cutting sonnet, which of course remained unpublished, she ridiculed the whole school, which had become a brotherhood.

--

These tendencies, and the tone of this set, had become so general, that even young recruits, such as the Baron von Rumohr, the greatest art critic, by the way, whom Germany has brought forth in this century, adopted them. I know of no more distressing sight than this baron, without the smallest dignity. He did intend to settle here, to leave all his terrestrial goods, and to follow Christ; but I think he will soon take wing again, for there is no seafish to be had at Munich, and he does not like our cookery... What a pity that he should be so unreasonable, so tiresome, and play the fool to such a degree! for Heaven has bestowed upon him one sense, that of art, which no one else has in the same degree. It is true that the sense of eating and drinking is equally strongly developed in him, and that he never allows his culinary opinions to be disputed. But it is very disgusting to hear a man talk in exactly the same strain of a lobster and of a Madonna and Child." This singular mixture of sensuality and devotion, which formed the chief characteristic of Friedrich Schlegel himself, the head of the romantic school, seems to have communicated itself likewise to his followers. Zacharias Werner had it in the highest degree, nor were the Brentanos by any means free from it. They also came to Munich during the winter of 1808-9; Savigny, already famous as a writer, and brother-in-law to Clemens; Clemens himself, whom Caroline had nicknamed "Demens," with the young wife who carried him off, she whom he had carried off six years before having since died; finally, Bettina, "looking like a little Berlin Jewess, and racking her brain for wit. Not that she is by any means wanting in intelligence; tout au contraire. But it is so sad, to see how she strains, distends, and distorts that which she has." "All these Brentanos," she again says, are such thoroughly unnatural natures! Nevertheless,

Bettina was, of all the Brentano set, the one least distastetul to Caroline. She even likes the crazy pilgrim,* in spite of all her, freaks and eccentricities.

"She is a strange little creature," she writes; "a real Bettina,t by bodily suppleness and flexibility; inwardly sensible, outwardly crazy; decent, and yet beyond all decency. Unfortunately, she suffers from the family disease of the Brentanos: she is not quite natural in what she is or does, and still she cannot be otherwise; however, she pleases me better than the others."

She had come to take care of Tieck, already gouty, although but thirty-four, and the gossip to which this juvenile sicknurse gave rise may be easily imagined. She stood on no ceremony whatever with him,

'Coquetting with her invalid charge in word and gesture, using the familiar thou, kissing him, and then again harshly telling him unpleasant truths; for she has her eyes wide open to his failings, and is not in love with him."

She passes whole days in his company, quite alone, and several persons are afraid of going there on account of her; for she does not always succeed in being witty, and can at times become coarse and disagreeable. She is, moreover, oftener to be found under than upon the table, and never, by any chance, upon a chair. You are, I dare say, curious after all this, to know whether she be young and pretty; but there lies the point. She is neither young nor old, neither pretty nor ugly she looks neither like a man nor a woman."

Before her end, Caroline was to see some one again who had stood far nearer to her than the Tiecks and Brentanos, and all the rest. Madame de Staël and Benjamin Constant came to spend a fortnight at Munich, accompanied by August Wilhelm Schlegel. "He was well and cheerful, and our intercourse was quite friendly, and entirely without embarrassment. He and Schelling were inseparable."

Caroline allowed neither B. Constant, nor Madame de The title of one of Göthe's tales in Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahre.

In his Venetian Epigrams, written in 1791, Göthe gives the name of Bettina to the little gypsy girl who was to become the model of Mignon.