'perennial contentment; my existence is settled in harmonious 'composure; not strained and impassioned, but peaceful and serene. I look to my future destiny with a cheerful heart; now, when 'standing at the wished-for goal, I wonder with myself how all has happened so far beyond my expectations. Fate has conquered the difficulties for me; it has, I may say, forced me to the mark. A few years, and I shall live in the full enjoyment of my spirit-nay, I think my very youth will be renewed; an inward poetic life will restore it to me again.'

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With Schiller's establishment as Professor of History at Jena, and his marriage, the first half of the history of his life may be said to close. We have dwelt upon it with more minuteness than we propose to do with the remainder; for in Schiller's life, as in those of most literary men, the period of probation, the period of the formation of the moral and intellectual character, is the most interesting. With him this had been a season stormy in its commencement, cheered by few gleams of hope in its progress, clouded and uncertain even to the close. Restraint had been succeeded by persecution; persecution by sickness, poverty, labour, disappointment;-twenty years of hard warfare with the evils of the world. Yet how gallantly had he borne up against them-uncomplaining, self-concentred, self-upheld! How his character had been refined by trial-as the fierce and bitter spirit of youth had softened, under the influence of experience and selfdiscipline, into the milder enthusiasm of the warm-hearted and loving man! What energies had he not put forth under the sure of his fate, as crushed flowers send out the richer fragrance; what strength and versatility of genius had his numerous and varied productions displayed! Four tragedies, all so distinct and original; the colossal outline of the Robbers,' now seen in the far distance of youth, haggard and massive, like some mysterious druidical pile; Court Intrigue and Love,' cast in a form impressive from the simplicity of its sombre and prison-like proportions; Fiesco,' a creation of poetical architecture, more varied in its details, lighted up by tints of southern sunshine, richer in picturesque contrasts and combination of parts;—and in the foreground, overtopping all, the more stately edifice of Don Carlos,' on which a maturer taste had expended its richest materials and more classic ornaments;-Lyric Poems, whose pathetic beauty or pregnant thought no German writer, except Goethe, had equalled, far less surpassed-Romances, like the 'Ghost Seer' and the Verbrecher aus Ehre, in which the deep psychological truth of the conception, and the clear and forcible rapidity of the narrative, fetter the reader like a spell-philosophical essays, and historical fragments of grave and simple dignity-the first part

of the Revolt of the Netherlands,' already before the world-the Thirty Years' War' in progress-a prose style attained, in which the demands of the imagination, the taste, and even the ear, were gratified;-and all this effected before thirty-two! These, taken together, form a contribution to literature, and an accession to the intellectual pleasures of men, of which the highest genius, however favoured by fortune, might well have been proud; but which, in Schiller's case, produced as they were under every discouragement, may well awaken our gratitude, our admiration, and our wonder.

Schiller commenced his Course of Lectures in Jena, in May 1799, to an audience of about four hundred students. We know little of the value of his prelections; probably they were defective enough; for in many parts of history, his own acquisitions had been too recent and too sudden to be complete. The matter of his Lectures does not seem to have been assisted by the manner. He lectured in a great measure extempore, and, as he says himself, with sufficient self-possession; but, as we learn from other sources, without that beautiful and simple precision of expression which distinguished his conversation in society; while his delivery-retaining something of the old leaven of exaggeration, which had nearly led to the condemnation of Fiesco'-was monotonously pathetic. Were we to judge of the lectures themselves from the splendid introduction On the Study of Universal History,' or the Glance over Europe at the Period of the First Crusade,' we should probably form too favourable an idea of them on the whole; but that they were animated by the finest philosophical spirit, and admirably calculated to awaken the interest and the sympathies of the young, we need not doubt. With the students of Jena, indeed, Schiller was almost an object of adoration. It had been a custom to receive a favourite professor with stormy testimonies of approbation; in Schiller's case, the numerous audience paid to his genius and worth the more grateful and rational homage of respectful silence and profound attention.

The two works which best display the talent of Schiller as a historian are, The Revolt of the Netherlands,' of which the first portion appeared in 1788, and The History of the Thirty • Years' War,' which was published in detached portions from 1791 to 1793. The first remains but a fragment; for it brings down the history of the revolution only to the entry of Alba into Brussels. Had it been completed, we have no hesitation in saying it would have been in all respects superior to its successor. The subject had become familiar to his mind while engaged with his Don Carlos;' the work was written during the happy days of his courtship at Rudolstadt and Laüchstadt; it breathes therefore, along with its philosophic breadth of view, the warmth

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and colouring of poetry-the enthusiastic spirit of excited feeling; it is such a history as his own Marquis Posa' might himself have written. Add to this, a masterly grouping of details into masses, forming general pictures that cannot be forgotten-vivid descriptions and striking reflections-and we shall admit that in few works has a rarer combination of the elements of historical excellence been displayed. The History of the Thirty Years' War' looks tame beside the animated' Revolt of the Netherlands.' The subject, no doubt, was of deep and general interest-the contest of the two religions which divided Europe, gradually terminating in the establishment of a general peace, and the recognition of the principle of the Balance of Power; the long and wavering series of moving accidents by flood and field,' by which their objects were accomplished; the characters of the actors, in which the darkest traits of the human mind are occasionally contrasted with the noblest exhibitions of virtue ;-these afforded extensive and magnificent materials for the pen of the historian. Schiller, however, has not availed himself of the picturesque of this history as he might have done. The Thirty Years' War' is overlaid with distinctions and balancings of opinion-with speculation and generalization. Gustavus and Wallenstein, indeed, are finely drawn and contrasted; but after their disappearance from the scene, when the warfare breaks up into portions, Schiller's interest in the ubject disappears; and the conclusion resembles that of Zadig,' where nothing is concluded. The philosophic spirit throughout, unduly predominates over the poetical; though some passages-such as Wallenstein's sombre splendour at Prague, the fearful sack of Magdeburg by Tilly, and the battle of Lutzen and death of Gustavus-stand out in pleasing relief from the somewhat flat and prosaic background on which they are raised.

But his historical labours and projects, of which we have enumerated but a few, were cut short for a time by another attack of sickness in 1791. He was now repaying, with fearful interest, the drafts he had made upon his health by nocturnal studies, acting on a frame never vigorous, and inhabited by a spirit that over informed its tenement of clay. A pulmonary attack of a very alarming kind reduced him to the brink of the grave; and, indeed, from its consequences he never entirely recovered. Painful spasms in the breast-nervousness, and sleeplessness, continued, more or less, to haunt him afterwards to the end of life. Unable to sleep till towards morning, he seldom rose before eleven; while the sleep which he had courted in vain, sometimes overtook him in the midst of society. His academical duties were suspended; and indeed, after this period, they never were personally resumed. The baths of Carlsbad in some measure restored his

health; while the munificence of the Duke of Holstein Augustenberg, and Count Schimmelman (whom his Danish friend Baggeseu had deeply interested in his fate), released him from the necessity of immediate literary labour, and secured him against want, by a pension of a thousand dollars for three years. The gift itself, however, almost reproduced the evil which it was intended to cure: Schiller was so overpowered by it, that a relapse of his complaint was the consequence.

Visits to Dresden, Heidelberg, Heilbronn, and Ludwigsburg, gradually recruited his strength. In Heidelberg, he met (with calm friendship on both sides) his first love; in Heilbronn, his parents, his sisters, and the friends of his youth, who crowded round him with tokens of respect and attachment; and, in Ludwigsburg, he first felt the joy of being a father. His delight on this occasion was almost childish. The endearing terms which his friend Conz describes him as applying to his first-born- Sei'nem Goldsohn, seinem herzenskarl,'-homely and touching in German, would only appear ludicrous in English. With all the zeal of Martinus Scriblerus, or Mr Shandy the elder, he forthwith betook himself to study Quinctilian, and to sketch out a course of education for The Stranger.'

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During a residence of some length at Stuttgard, Danneker modelled that beautiful bust of the poet, by which his mild and interesting personal appearance is best preserved. The improvement which had taken place in his whole look and bearing, struck his early acquaintances with surprise; the rough abruptness of his manner was gone-quiet self-possession had taken its place; his dress was no longer negligent; his features had settled into a milder and calmer expression, to which his paleness and emaciation added additional interest. The charm of his conversation, on subjects which interested him, in which an artless simplicity was united to so much warmth and imagination, was felt by his hearers to be irresistible.

No sooner was his health comparatively restored than he resumed his vocation. The Thirty Years' War' was completed, so far as he proposed to carry his design. He plunged into the study of the transcendental philosophy with his characteristic ardour; at least into that portion of it which regards the principles of the imitative arts and their moral influence; and a variety of critical and philosophical essays on Kantian principles-such as the essays on Grace and Dignity, on the Naïve and Sentimental, on Tragic Art, on the Pathetic-showed that he had not studied it in vain. Reviews of Goethe's Egmont,' and Matthison's Poems,' were made the means of expressing important general views as to the line of division between dramas of situation and action, and dramas of character and pas

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sion; and as to the true rank and position of descriptive poetry. He undertook, in common with Goethe, a new periodical work, The Horen,' which he enriched with numerous prose compositions; and a Musen-Almanach,' to which some of the best of his smaller poems were contributed. These occupations were often interrupted by pain and suffering; but his unconquerable energy of mind bore up against all even from his sick-room he sent the energies of his mind abroad, to realize fresh acquisitions in the field of literature. He resembled his own Wallenstein, conquering cities and commanding armies from his litter.

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With Wallenstein,' in fact, he was already busied. The love of poetry had returned—its return, perhaps, somewhat accelerated by the doubtful success of The Horen.' But his mind now required for it a more positive basis of objective reality. The narrative ballad (of which Goethe has set the example in his 'Bride of Corinth') now superseded the sentimental lyric. To this period we owe those beautiful compositions, so varied in their character, from the classic beauty of the Cranes' of Ibycus, or 'Hero and Leander,' to the high chivalrous feeling of the Fight ' with the Dragon; the pious inspiration of the Fridolin,' and the touching simplicity of the Toggenburg;' and in all of them the increased disposition to distinct external portraiture, in place of ideal abstractions, is obvious. On that epigrammatic dunciad the Xenien,' which on its first appearance excited such a commotion in Germany, we need not pause. It is rightly characterized by Hoffmeister as a grand critical auto-da-fe of bad literature. The Xenien' are pointed, vigorous, full of real wisdom as well as wit; but it is not on trifles like these that the fame of Schiller will rest. After this mad sally of the "Xenien,' Goethe writes to Schiller, 'greater and worthier works of art must occupy our attention. Our Protean nature must, to the confusion of our opponents, change itself into the shape ❝ of the noble and the good.' Such was the feeling of Schiller also. Instead of epigrams or ballads, he felt that he required a wider field, over which his imagination might expand itself, and. on which the whole of his intellectual armament could be brought into play; and, after long hesitation-sometimes thinking of an epic poem on Gustavus Adolphus or Frederick of Prussia-some-. times inclining to a dramatic representation of the spirit of the military and monastic orders in the Knights of Malta-he decided in favour of Wallenstein;' the idea of which had occurred to him even during the visit which he had paid to Carlsbad in search of health, and of which, from time to time, some small portions had been written.

Three years elapsed, however, between the time when Schiller recommenced his labours on this subject, and the final comple