even blunted; but rather strengthened and sharpened by the blows it
gave and received. And, possessing this noble spirit of humanity,
endurance, and self-denial, he made literature his profession; as if
he had been divinely commissioned to write. He seems to have cared
for nothing else, to have thought of nothing else, than living
quietly and making books. He says, that he felt it his duty, not to
enjoy, nor to acquire, but to write; and boasted, that he had made
as many books as he had lived years."

"And what do you Germans consider the prominent characteristics
of his genius?"

"Most undoubtedly his wild imagination and his playfulness. He
throws over all things a strange and magic coloring. You are
startled at the boldness and beauty of his figures and
illustrations, which are scattered everywhere with a reckless
prodigality;--multitudinous, like the blossoms of early summer,--and
as fragrant and beautiful. With a thousand extravagances are mingled
ten thousand beauties of thought and expression, which kindle the
reader's imagination, and lead it onward in a bold flight, through
the glow of sunrise and sunset, and the dewy coldness and starlight
of summer nights. He is difficult to understand,--intricate,--
strange,--drawing his illustrations from every by-corner of science,
art, and nature,--a comet, among the bright stars of German
literature. When you read his works, it is as if you were climbing a
high mountain, in merry company, to see the sun rise. At times you
are enveloped in mist,--the morning wind sweeps by you with a
shout,--you hear the far-off muttering thunders. Wide beneath you
spreads the landscape,--field, meadow, town, and winding river. The
ringing of distant church-bells, or the sound of solemn village