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His ideas, it may be supposed, as to his real relation to God, are of a kind the most crude and romantic. Regarding life as "a vast institution of the Creator for leading individuals, and the whole human race, to an ever-increasing perfection" he does not believe in evil, since every occurrence is only fitted to improve us. And he writes:-"I frequently believe that I can say with deep conviction, and with honesty, that, in the struggle after perfection, I have made some progress. Often have I had bright hours, when, conscious of my dignity as a human being, and meditating on the perfection of God and of His works, I enjoyed a foretaste of my destiny." But, not seldom, a dark shadow disturbs this pleasant dream. "My principles," he writes to his uncle, "are so interwoven with my whole being, that I have no power to think of myself as without them; but, as to allowing them to actuate my life, that is quite another matter. I should be a hypocrite, if I were to tell you that they had been the never-failing guide of my conduct. Now passion triumphs; now habit; again a constitutional levity, which is quite at variance with the results of my reflection; and then I find that perfection cannot be reached by a bound, but must be slowly and painfully worked out."

Mounting the hill Difficulty without having first got rid of his burden, no wonder he finds the task a painful one. "I must, indeed, struggle hard," he writes, "if I am to expel from my heart all that disturbs my peace; for, alas! when I feel tranquil,

it is but the sleep of evil inclinations, which are gathering strength for a more violent outburst. Ah! my want of firmness, and my hot blood, often destroy in one hour what it has been the labor of weeks to build up; and then I am the victim of a remorse, which is not soon succeeded by the unreproaching self-possession of a heart at peace with itself." And he adds:-"How often have I, with tears, deplored my perverseness, when, after some steadfast resolution to cling to the good, I have fallen, because too weak to overcome some passion!"

But this disquiet is not a heart-piercing thing. "You see, dear uncle," he will write, as if sporting with these convictions, "that I have made a good beginning; for the being dissatisfied with myself is a sure proof of this." And the methods he takes of calming his disquietude indicate the same fact. There is a void, and it caused him discomfort; but he is content to fill it with the creature. "The most earnest wish of my heart," we find him writing, “is to have a friend to whom I might freely unbosom myself, who would strengthen me when I am weak, and encourage me when I begin to despair: but, alas! I find no such friend, and yet I feel an irresistible necessity to unburden my heart; and so overpowering is this longing, that I could press every man to my breast, and say, 'Thou, too, art God's image.'" There is a heart into which all his longings, and aspirations, and sorrows may be pouredthe heart of HIM who, when here on earth, never cut

short one tale of woe, or blighted with a cold frown one rising hope; but that heart Perthes does not yet know, nor is he earnest enough as yet to seek it.

To various lower fellowships his frank open nature successively clings. One is the sprightly, joyous girl, who so often has cheered him in his lonely hours. "She is still most kind to me," he writes; "she knows how, by a few words, to comfort me when I am troubled and depressed." Another is, the intimacy formed at this period with seven young Swabians-young men of great mental activity and high moral character, in whose society he now spends all his leisure hours, giving him his first enjoyment of youth's springy activities. "Never," says he, "have I had such pleasant, heart-quickening hours, as now in the society of my beloved new friends. The moment I enter, I read my welcome in their eyes." And another attraction which these Swabians have for him, is the introduction they give him to the friendship of such men as Goethe, Herder, and Schiller.

To Frederick's intellect these latter fellowships are like the morning sun rising on the closed petals of the flowers. "When I saw other young men of my own age," he writes, "setting about everything with a sort of sprightliness which I never could command -I was grieved at heart, because I was convinced that nothing great or noble could be accomplished without ardor or vivacity. But now I feel that there And, as he is leaving Leip

is enthusiasm in me."

zig, he adds :—“I am astonished at the transformation I have undergone. I have had seasons of trial, but they have brought forth much good. My mind has here begun to develope itself, and to apprehend the greatness of humanity."

But there is nothing in all this to subdue the guilty sinner. "How highly," we find him writing, with a kind of pagan searedness of conscience, "is man still favored by the gods! how love exudes from me at every pore!" And again :—“I have just returned from a solitary walk, which has done me much good; I was penetrated by the glory of Nature; certainly I never was better in soul than now. Dearest brother, be it what it may that now inspires me God, Nature, Heart-do not grudge it me, but rather rejoice with me."

earthly kind, in Working at his

And the joys he seeks are of the which only such a heart can rest. business the half of each alternate Sunday, the remainder is devoted to the most trivial and unholy engagements. "Thirty of us," he writes, describing one of his Sunday pleasure-trips, "ladies and gentlemen-some old, some young-floated yesterday down the Elbe, to the sound of kettle-drums and trumpets, and enjoyed ourselves to the full." And, on holidays, the theatre, concerts, and masquerades, present to him the most pleasurable attractions.

A gracious Lord, however, does not suffer him to go wholly to sleep. "I have tasted," he writes, two years after he had settled in Hamburgh, "the in

toxicating pleasures of a world, in which all is collision and opposition: I have had my experiences; but I am not the better for them, and not to become better is to become worse."

Once and again, he repeats the endeavor to find a resting-place in intellectual joys. "My heart," he says, "yearns for the society of cultivated men. Such society is a necessity for me; and I must compass it, unless I am to sink entirely." And Hamburgh affords not a little of such society; his rising energy in the publishing trade gradually opening it up to him. "I am now," he writes, for example, "enjoying to the uttermost all that a quick and ardent sensibility can enjoy. I have found three friends, full of talent and heart, of pure and upright minds, and distinguished by great and varied culture. When they saw my striving after the good, and my love for the beautiful-when they perceived how I sought and endeavored-they gave me their friendship; and oh, how happy I now am! I am like a fish thrown from the dry land into the water." And, at these moments, he will write in self-complacency, thus:"It does one so much good when one can come before God and say, 'Thou, O God, knowest that I am good."

But, at other moments, the illusion vanishes. "I am still too often," he will write, "the slave of passion and of habit. And again: "Every frail old man, whose appearance indicates inward tranquillity, object of envy to me; a thousand times a day I wish

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