tenderness and manliness,--qualities, which are seldom found united
in so high a degree as in him. Over all he sees, over all he writes,
are spread the sunbeams of a cheerful spirit,--the light of
inexhaustible human love. Every sound of human joy and of human
sorrow finds a deep-resoundingecho in his bosom. In every man, he
loves his humanity only, not his superiority. The avowed object of
all his literary labors was to raise up again the down-sunken faith
in God, virtue, and immortality; and, in an egotistical,
revolutionary age, to warm again our human sympathies, which have
now grown cold. And not less boundless is his love for nature,--for
this outward, beautiful world. He embraces it all in his arms."

"Yes," answered Flemming, almost taking the words out of the
stranger's mouth, "for in his mind all things become idealized. He
seems to describe himself when he describes the hero of his Titan,
as a child, rocking in a high wind upon the branches of a
full-blossomed apple-tree, and, as its summit, blown abroad by the
wind, now sunk him in deep green, and now tossed him aloft in deep
blue and glancing sunshine,--in his imagination stood that tree
gigantic;--it grew alone in the universe, as if it were the tree of
eternal life; its roots struck down into the abyss; the white and
red clouds hung as blossoms upon it; the moon asfruit; the little
stars sparkled like dew, and Albano reposed in its measureless
summit; and a storm swayed the summit out of Day into Night, and out
of Night into Day."

"Yet the spirit of love," interrupted the Franconian, "was not
weakness, but strength. It was united in him with great manliness.
The sword of his spirit had been forged and beaten by poverty. Its
temper had been tried by a thirty years' war. It was not broken, not