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three o'clock, he returned to writing and other business. If his health permitted, during the latter part of the afternoon he took an excursion in the open air,—an excursion which he was unwilling to omit even in unfavorable weather, but which, to save time and shun observation, he often took in the evening. While at Wittemberg, after his marriage, when he had a carriage at command, he usually took a short ride with his friend Schöckh, in the open air, in the course of the afternoon. During the earlier part of his residence at Dresden, in compliance with the precepts of physicians and in obedience to the universal prescription so much extolled by Klopstock, he substituted riding on horseback for walking, being furnished with a surefooted horse out of the royal stables for this purpose, but after the breaking of his leg in 1803, he could never be induced to mount a horse again, though he was earnestly intreated to do so, especially by his beloved brotherin-law, Lieut.General Baron v.Thielmann, who promised to be his faithful guardian, and a compliance with the request would doubtless have prolonged his valuable life. He always found these excursions invigorating and refreshing, and well calculated to prepare him for the enjoyment, if not of a painless and undisturbed, yet of a tolerable night's


In the summer, which Reinhard generally spent at his residence in Wilsdruf one of the suburbs of Dresden, he used to walk for an hour about six or seven in the evening, up and down in his garden. Susceptible as he was of all the beauties of nature, he considered this a most delightful retreat. Here he was surrounded with the choicest of Flora's children, collected together from all climates, each in its proper place inviting him to silent contemplation, especially the pink, carnation and tulip, with whose ever varying beauties he was particularly delighted. In one part of it, there was a circular arch, formed of the thick foliage of leaves, in the midst of which there was a living spring. Here, beneath the cooling shade, during the warm evenings of summer, the tea-table was set, around which, a few confidential friends united in social intercourse. On the one hand, it was adorned with works of art, on the other with an apiary and its busy inmates.

Not far off, stood a green house, in which there was
a cabinet easy, to be warmed through, to which resort
was bad in the cold days of the season.*
Of course,
Reinhard was driven from this pleasant retreat in the
winter, but he found an excellent substitute for it in his
library, in the upper apartment of his official residence.
in the city, which was now nearer at hand. This he con-
sidered as his treasure-chamber, and going up to it and
returning from it furnished him with agreeable exercise.
It contained not a single useless production, was well
selected, received continual additions, and, together with
his papers, was always kept in the highest order.

When Reinhard had no guests to wait upon, he usually passed the evening in reading or writing in his study, almost always pursuing the same order, until about eight o'clock; when he was called to his frugal repast. During this time, he wrote his more important letters. Those of his letters relating merely to visits and the duties of his office, he dispatched in those fragments of time which others idle away.

Reinhard however had a great number of letters to write upon theological, literary, and other important subjects, which were altogether dry and unattractive, and yet required extensive preparatory investigation. Saxony, long distinguished for her men of learning and acuteness, had had more literary characters than any other German state, in whom had been awakened the desire of authorship. Called as he was by the station he occupied, to exercise a general superintendence over the institutions of the country, it was natural that his opinion should be sought for by all who carried this desire into effect. Hence, of almost every work great or small, in his department, published in Saxony, and of many published in foreign countries, during the last twenty years of his life, numerous as they were, he received a copy from the proprietor or author, with an earnest request for a preliminary notice or essay. With critical institutes, from the moment he became general superintendent, he refused to have any thing to do. To the re

A very minute description is given by Böttiger, of Reinhard's garden, which seems to have been an elegant one, and was occasionally honored with poetical descriptions in Latin.

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quests he thus received, however, he conscientiously attended, without respect to person, knowledge or country; for he made it an invariable rule to write a friendly letter to every author of such requests, in which he either approved of the work or kindly pointed out its errors; and many there are in Saxony and elsewhere, who must acknowledge themselves greatly indebted to his counsel and encouragement in this respect. Foreign sermons were the only things he was unwilling to meddle with, though, being censor for Dresden, it was his duty to do so, and he has often been accused of negligence with respect to these publications; but called upon to examine thousands of works as he was every year, it was natural that an occasional sermon should sometimes escape his notice. To all this, add the advice in cases of conscience, which was often required of him, especially by persons of rank; the numerous letters he received in consultation respecting ecclesiastical and literary affairs, to all which he gave detailed, conscientious replies, and often with the happiest results; and it will be easy to perceive that his correspondence was very extensive and required much time.

Reinhard's supper was as simple as his dinner. He drank nothing but a glass of wine mixed with some water and seldom eat of more than one dish, though several were set on the table. At tea, he usually met with friends, and strangers from a distance, who, passing through the place, had called upon him as a matter of old acquaintance or by letters of recommendation, with whom he indulged in lively conversation and pleasing turns and remarks. "Thanks to God," he used to say, on such occasions, "sanctify, and pleasing conversation adds spice to, every dish." After tea, if no visiters were present, he used to play a few tunes upon a harpsichord which always stood in his parlor, in doing which, he generally gave himself up to his own imagination. As he was very fond of sacred songs and by the selections he made of hymns for his sermons, showed that he knew when they were lyrical, and used frequently to play some fine choral song, always singing as he played, from the strain of his music it was in general easy to ascertain the discord or the harmony of the deep

est feelings of his soul, and the general character of the thoughts which occupied his mind. Often, when in writing or meditation, he found himself perplexed with a train of thought or unable to develop it with sufficient clearness, he ran out to his harpsichord in the parlor, and generally not in vain; for a few touches upon it reduced every thing to calmness and regularity. After preaching also, he used to refresh himself by playing some spiritual voluntary upon this instrument, giving himself up to the feelings which pervaded his heart. An accomplished musician or player he did not pretend to be. In his youth while at Regensburg, in private concerts, he had played the second violin, and under the instruction of the distinguished Küstner, had made considerable progress in playing upon the harpsichord. Afterwards, however, the serious business of life left him no time or desire for playing agreeably to the rules of art. He generally closed the evening by reading, or causing his wife to read for him, some easy, enlightening, soothing piece; this presenting him with the advantage of permitting all effort to cease, and agreeably preparing the way for sleep. Only when greatly pressed with business, and hence, in extraordinary cases, did he take up his pen after supper. By the rules of his harmonious and strictly regulated life, all study by the midnight lamp was wholly forbidden.


Reinhard never had any children of his own, but yet he showed himself in the tenderest sense, the child's friend. Several of his sermons, particularly those preached on fasts and the assembling of the Diet, treat expressly of the education of children, and contain genuine Christian rules for governing them in a proper manner, though, for reasons easy to be comprehended, he always laughed at the numerous pompous professions of modern pedagogics, and felt some distrust in Pestalozzi's method of instruction, at least in the universality of its application. He always embraced the diligent youth of the high school at Pforte in the arms of real paternal love and called them his sons. For many of the youth in the schools and universities of the country, he exhibited the assiduous and faithful care of a father. Like all men distinguished for their greatness and goodness, he delighted to

see the pure happiness and the simple plays of active little children. Only a few days before his death, he spent some time with a kind lad, one of his relatives, who had been brought up almost under his eye, in urging him to attend to pious instruction, as he was one year older. To those in want he was always very liberal. Many were the calls he received from the wretched who awaited for him in their places as he passed along the street, nor were they ever left unsatisfied. From the pecuniary aid thrown into charity boxes on particular days on which he preached, he had for good reasons as he thought, added to the amount of his spending money, until it enabled him to support one hundred and twenty poor people. The assistance, however, which he received in this way was very small, and he increased it by various extraordinary contributions. His name was to be found on every subscription list for a benevolent object, and in liberal terms. He did not confine his benevolence, however, to the poor with whom he was immediately surrounded. He sent forth his contributions in every quarter, for, from all quarters he received pressing solicitations for contributions. Many in urging their claims upon him, might degenerate into obtrusiveness, but he gave still. Ingratitude did not cause him to err, or withdraw his kindness. Respecting the worthiness or the unworthiness of the objects of his charity, he seldom entered into any very minute or extensive examination. The man needs it now! that satisfied Reinhard; for though he honored ice calculations and inquiries in booksellers and the stewards of public institu⚫tions of benevolence, he did not in the giver. Whenever contributions were called for to meet wants created by some great and sudden calamity, whether at home or abroad, he always came forward among the first and most generous. The fire at Regensburg in 1809, and the powder explosion at Eisenach in 1810, excited his most tender sympathy. To Luther's monument, however, he contributed very unwillingly and only a single piece of money; for,' said he, every new reformation festival and every verse of his translation of the Bible, renders this superfluous.' Indeed, he foretold the fate of this contribution with almost prophetical certainty, for it

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