JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE.

JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE was the son of a poor peasant couple who resided at Rammeneau, in Upper Lusatia, Prussia, where he was born on the 19th of May, 1762. From his earliest infancy he gave indications of unusual mental capacity and great moral energy, for both of which he was afterward famous. He was a precocious child, and long before he was old enough to be sent to school had learned many things from his father, who taught him to read and to remember the pious songs and proverbs which formed his own simple stock of erudition. He was not much beyond his simple station, but he had traveled in Saxony and Franconia, and had observed the manners and customs of the people, and was especially well informed in their fables and romances. These he would recite to the little Johann as he sat in the warm sunshine listening with eagerness to all that was wonderful and strange. When left to himself he would wander in the fields, leaving his boisterous companions in order that he might turn over in his own mind all that he had heard. Probably he dreamed of unspeakable joys in roaming free and happy through the world, and seeing and remembering every thing. Whatever were his meditations, he loved sclitude, and would stand for hours gazing into the far distance, and dreaming methodically, like a young philosopher, of what might be. At home he read the family prayers with so much feeling and propriety, that his father fondly hoped he might one day see him in the pulpit. An event curious in itself, and very important in its influence on his subsequent career, soon occurred, which favored that hope, and went tar to realize it. But, before we relate it, we must give a touching anecdote, which exhibits Fichte's heroic self-command in a very interesting light

The first book which fell into his hands after the Bible and Catechism was the renowned history of Siegfried the Horned,” and it selaed so powerfully on his imagination that he lost all pleasure in any other employment, became careless and neglectful, and for the first time in his life was punished. Then, in the

spirit of the injunction which tells us to cut off our right hand if it cause us to offend, Fichte resolved to sacrifice the beloved book, and, taking it in his hand, walked slowly to a stream flowing past the house, with the intention of throwing it in. Long he lingered on the bank ere he could muster courage for this first selfconquest of his life; but at length, summoning all his resolution, he flung it into the water. His fortitude gave way as he saw the treasure, too dearly loved, floating away forever, and he burst into a passionate flood of tears. Just at this moment the father arrived on the spot, and the weeping child told what he had done, but, either from timidity or incapacity to explain his feelings, was silent as to his true motive. Irritated at this treatment of his present, Fichte's father inflicted upon him an unusually severe punishment; and this occurrence formed a fitting prelude to his after-life, in which he was so often misunderstood, and the actions springing from the purest convictions of duty were exactly those for which he had most to suffer. When a sufficient time had elapsed for the offense to be in some measure forgotten, the father brought home another of these seducing books; but Fichte dreaded being again exposed to the temptation, and begged that it might rather be given to some of the other children.

It was about this time that the other event before alluded to occurred. The clergyman of the village, who had taken a fancy to Gottlieb, and had often assisted in his instruction, happened one day to ask him how much he thought he could remember of the sermon of the preceding day. Fichte made the attempt, and, to the astonishment of the pastor, succeeded in giving a very tolerable account of the course of argument, as well as the texts quoted in its illustration. The circumstance was mentioned to the Count von Hoffmansegg, the lord of the village; and when one day another nobleman, the Baron von Mittie, who was on a visit to the castle, happened to express his regret at having been too late for the sermon on the Sunday morning, he was told, half in jest, that it was of little consequence, for that there was a boy in the village who could repeat it all from memory. Little Gottlieb was sent for, and soon arrived in a clean smock frock, and bearing a large nosegay, such as his mother was accustomed to send to the castle occasionally as a token of respect. He answered the first questions put to him with his accustomed quiet simplicity; but when asked to repeat as much as he could recollect of the morn

ing's sermon, his voice and manner became more animated, and, as he proceeded, entirely forgetting the presence of the formidable company, he became so fervid and abundant in his eloquence that the count thought it necessary to interrupt him, lest the playful tone of the circle should be destroyed by the serious subjects of the sermon. The young preacher had, however, made some impression on his auditory; the baron made inquiries concerning him; and the clergyman, wishing for nothing more than an opportunity to serve his favorite, gave such an account that the baron determined to undertake the charge of his education. The next day the young Gottlieb was on his way to the Castle of Siebeneichen, in Saxony, near Meissen, on the Elbe. One of his most ardent desires, namely, to travel, was about to be gratified. Like many other pleasures in this world, it was more of the imagination than experience. Visions of his own peaceful home, and of the kind friends he had left there, crowded upon him, and his heart sunk within him as the distance lengthened. The melancholy grandeur of the baronial halls to which he was transported did not add to his peace of mind. He became thoroughly wretched-so deeply dejected that his health began to fail. Fortunately, his noble patron was a man of sense and delicacy. He traced the cause of the boy's ailings to the right source, and in a kindly and liberal spirit removed him from the cold shadow of the castle to the domestic circle of a neighboring clergyman. Once more within the influence of moral precept and support, his spirits revived rapidly. Some of the happiest years of his life were passed beneath the roof of this estimable man and his admirable spouse, toward whom Fichte always preserved the warmest affection and gratitude. They treated him as if he were their son, and as such he remembered them.

It was here that he received his first instruction in the learned languages. When his kind preceptor could teach him no more, he was transferred to the High School at Meissen, and afterward to the seminary at Schulpforte. The monastic gloom of the latter establishment, added to many unpleasant customs which prevailed among the pupils, filled him once more with melancholy. He shed tears plentifully, and was jeered at contemptuously by his companions. Sensibility is not an ordinary weakness of schoolboys, and in a large public establishment where flogging prevails, it is brought down to its lowest standard. Fichte, who was yet but thirteen

years of age, felt every unkind word most acutely. It was in vain that he looked for a kindred spirit to pour balmy consolation into his bleeding wounds. It was natural, therefore, that the idea of escape should occur to his mind. The dread, however, of being retaken and brought back again in disgrace made him pause. While brooding over this project, it happened that he met with a copy of "Robinson Crusoe”—that thing of beauty, that joy forever to the youthful world. His enthusiasm was now unbounded. No longer would he hesitate. He would flee to the desert, and make it his dwelling-place-selecting the desert, probably, on account of the advantages it offered of seeing any one who might happen to be in pursuit. The manner in which he carried this curious idea into execution was remarkable. Nothing could have been easier than for him to have taken his departure unperceived on one of the days when the scholars were allowed to go to the playground, but he scorned to steal away in secret; he would have the matter appear as the result of necessity and calm determination. He therefore made a formal declaration to his superior, a tyrannous lad who had much abused his brief authority, that he would no longer endure the treatment he received, but would leave the place at the first opportunity. The announcement was of course received with jeers and laughter, which only added to Fichte's determination. He then procured a map, and carefully studied the route which he proposed to take. Having made himself master of this, he found his opportunity, and set off on foot in the direction of the town of Naumburg. As he walked, however, he bethought himself of a saying of his dear old pastor, that one should never begin an important undertaking without asking the blessing of Heaven. He dropped on his knees by the road side, and implored the Divine assistance with tears in his eyes. While thus engaged, the thought flashed across his mind that his absence would occasion much grief to his parents-that he might never, perhaps, see them more. He was so overcome with this terrible thought that he resolved to retrace his steps, and meet all the punishments that might be in store for him, " that he might look once more on the face of his mother." God had hearkened to the prayer of the innocent, and guided his footsteps.

The school was already in an uproar, and scouts were out in every direction in pursuit of the runaway. He was immediately carried before the rector, and at once confessed that he had intend

to subdue them. It was now determined to organize an army sufficiently powerful to act with vigor, and leave the rest with General Wayne, to whom the command was intrusted.

Wayne began his march from a camp near the site of the present town of Cincinnati, and on the 8th of August, 1794, reached the Indian settlements, the destruction of which formed the first object of the enterprise. On the 19th, after repeated attempts to bring the savages peaceably to terms, the army marched on to the position taken by the Indians, a strong one naturally and artificially, and protected with two thousand of their best fighting men. Wayne's advanced guard was briskly attacked from a thicket, made up of tall grass and underwood, and in a few minutes the action commenced. The Indians and Canadians were routed with great loss. "We remained," says General Wayne, in his dispatch, "three days and nights on the banks of the Miami, in front of the field of battle, during which time all the houses and corn were consumed, or otherwise destroyed for a considerable distance both above and below Fort Miami; and we were within pistol-shot of the garrison of that place, who were compelled to remain quiet spectators of this general devastation and conflagration." This severe but necessary treatment was pursued until the enemy sued for peace. A treaty was at once drawn up, and the war brought to a satisfactory termination. Complimentary resolutions were unanimously passed by the Congress then in session, and President and people alike vied in the cordial expression of their gratitude to a noble old warrior newly returned from the wars.

The last mark of confidence which General Wayne received from the government was his appointment as commissioner for treating with the Northwestern Indians, and as receiver of the military posts given up by the British government. The duties attached to these offices he discharged in his usual punctual manner, and proceeded from the West on his way homeward. While descending Lake Erie from Detroit, he was attacked by the gout with such severity that in a few days his life and his labors were brought to a sudden termination. His remains were temporarily buried on the shore of the lake, but in 1809 they were removed to the cemetery of St. David's Church, in Chester County, Pennsylvania. A monument recalling the patriotic achievements of his life was placed over the grave, and still marks the spot where lie the remains of a true warrior patriot.