leaving the corpse for hours uncared for? The day of burial came, and the coffin which was to enclose all that remained of the conqueror was too small, but his servants forced the corpse in readily, for it had become loathsome. To crown all, as they were about to hide this disgusting mass in a grave prepared for it, a poor man forbade the burial there, for that was the burialplace of his own ancestors; and this mighty man was indebted for a decent burial to the pity of a country knight, more generous to him than his own unnatural sons.--Turner's History of William the Conqueror.

In a certain quiet village, one mansion was remarkable for its splendor. The grounds surrounding it were laid out and decorated in the most tasteful manner. In the large and elegant park were to be seen herds of deer; whilst within the mansion thousands had been lavished to beautify it, and make the whole magnificent enough for a family of immense wealth. It was a family of unbounded pride, looking down contemptuously upon all beneath them in property, and associating only with those who aspired to the same style of magnificence with themselves. Ay, and so filled were they with the ideas of their own greatness, that the retired and beautiful graveyard by the side of the village church was not good enough to be the resting-place for their dead, and in their own splendid grounds was erected for themselves a mausoleum.

At length, one by one, this family disappeared, and, enclosed in decorated coffins, they were placed in that splendid mausoleum. By this time wealth, which once seemed inexhaustible, had disappeared, and the beautiful mansion passed into the hands of strangers. And now see the end of human greatness. The strange successor of this proud family wished to use for other purposes the ground occupied by the family-vault-and what then? Look at those unfeeling workmen placing the contents of that vault in a rough cart, shovelling together the remains of decayed coffins and the scattered ashes of the dead, and then casting the whole into a common grave prepared in a village churchyard! And this is the end of a great and proud family, once revelling in wealth, sporting their coach-and-four, almost disdaining the earth upon which they dwelt, too great even to repose in death by the side of common mortals! The remains of common men are sacred, because enclosed in sacred ground; but the remains of those who were too great for this, borne along by a rough cart like common

agitated with political strife. Not a nerve was unstrung in the contest, for great principles and interests were at stake. The agitation was as when a continent is convulsed by the heavings of subterranean fires. Upon one man were fixed ten thousand eyes, as the only one capable of clustering about himself the affections of a great people, and leading them on to their own rescue from ruin. Wherever this man went he was welcomed with wondrous applause, and he was, indeed, the idolized favorite of great multitudes.

At length the contest was decided in favor of this popular favorite, under circumstances most flattering to human vanity. Such a majority had never before been given to any of his predecessors. Amid the gratulations of a happy nation the great man took his place at the helm of government, and a thousand hearts throbbed with the confident hopes of prosperity which such a man must give.

Scarce a moment had passed before fearful, but unsatisfactory reports, began to go abroad that death was paralyzing the powers of the elevated favorite; and then, the too certain news that the great man slept in death. To be sure, he was the nation's great man, elevated to their highest gift, standing upon the threshold of an administration apparently auspicious, sustained by friends ready and able to execute the darling purposes of his heart; and yet now all that remained of him was a lifeless and decaying corpse! The highest visions of heated enthusiasm were blighted, and a nation wept as they belreld their own hopes entombed with. their own favorite!

After all, human greatness-what is it? A bubble resplendent with brilliant hues, dancing before the eye-a creation beautiful enough to bewilder the most fruitful fancy, but grasped, and it varishes. What is human greatness? A rainbow, magnificent to behold, and attracting a thousand eyes, and kindling the desires of a thousand hearts. But, as the sun sinks to rest, the beautiful vision fades, and the thoughtful one is left to mourn that nothing on earth, beautiful though it may be, is abiding. What is human greatness? Alexander, the dying debauchee-the insulted remains of the great conqueror-the ashes of the wealthy aristocrat treated as base dust-all unite to pronounce it a delusive phantom, sporting along the pathway of life, and deceiving them to their death.

32

LICHTWEHR, THE GERMAN FABLE-POET.

BY REV. E. H. GILLETT.

LICHTWEIR, the celebrated Fable-poet of Germany, was born at Wurtzen, not far from Leip. sie, on the thirtieth day of January, 1719. His father, a civil functionary in the service of the Elector of Saxony, and a man of wealth and high standing, resolved to give his son a thorough and careful education, but death took him away before he could complete his purpose. Lichtwehr studied law at Leipsic. At the same time he devoted his attention to modern languages, while a large share of his time was also given to the reading of the Roman and Greek poets. Carefully also did he labor to fit himself for the sphere of an educated and able statesman. He spared no effort to acquire whatever would serve his purpose, and make him known and esteemed by the world around him. He moved only in the most polished society, and was perfect in all the accomplishments that could fit him to adorn it. In 1741, at the age of twenty-two, he left the university to seek some publie employment at Dresden. Failing in this, he turned his steps to Wittenberg, and diligently resumed his study of the law. Here the honor of a degree as Doctor of Laws and Philosophy was conferred on him. From Wittenberg he was called away to Quedlinburg to arrange matters that concerned claims on his paternal inheritance, and for several years his presence was required at this place or at Halberstadt, between which places his time was divided.

It was during this period that his fables were composed. They were first published at Leipsic in 1748, but without the author's name. On leaving Quedlinburg, Lichtwehr made another effort to find a place of public state employ. But Berlin gave no more favorable ear to his project than Dresden had done. After several failures he relinquished his attempt, and found a place of quiet retirement at Halberstadt, where he married, and remained at leisure for several years. But such a life of comparative indolence was by no means to his taste. Again he repeated his former effort, and this time, through the influence of some of his friends, he was successful. He was, first, reporter for the Prussian government, and soon after was made a Councillor.

It was in 1757 that Lichtwehr republished his poems, and presented them to the world in a revised and improved form. Their anonymous publication had attracted to them but little notice, but now, with the name of their author on the title-page, and accompanied by Gottsched's

commendation, they found a large sale and were widely read. They were somewhat sharply criticised by the elder Mendelssohn, but the criticism only extended their fame, and made them more than ever the favorites of the people. Ramler, who aimed to be the German Horace, and whose songs in praise of Frederic teem with obscure allusions to the ancient mythology, published a work in which he sought to decry the merit of the fables, and expose their faults, but it only provoked the indignation of the mass of readers against him, and excited Lichtwehr's indignation to such a degree that a quarrel ensued. Lessing, as Ramler's friend, engaged in his defence, and the controversy which ensued contributed not a little to the still wider celebri ty of Lichtwehr's poems.

In 1760, the poet with his family visited Brunswick and Wolfenbüttel, but carefully avoided meeting Zacharia, Ebert, Gärtner, Schmidt, and others then eminent in the poetic ranks, whose acquaintance his journey gave him so favorable an opportunity to cultivate. Even Gleim, who has been called the German Anacreon, and who, as secretary of the Grand Chapter of Halberstadt, was his fellow-citizen and neighbor, was treated by him as a stranger. His manner was reserved and perhaps haughty. The visits of those whose acquaintance was unwelcome were often declined under the pretext that his time was occu pied by the duties of his office.

To these duties he now devoted himself with untiring a-siduity. He relinquished poetry for the more prosaic employ ments of his public station. For whole nights he would sit at his desk surrounded by acts and documents, on which he labored even to exhaustion. His health at length gave way, and an unfortunate circumstance, a reprimand from his superior, the Grand Chancellor Karner, in the presence of the whole college, embracing those who were Lichtwehr's subalterns-a reprimand which he brought upon himself by a prolixity too great for Karner's patience--proved to him, already sorely enfeebled, the nail of his coffin. His death soon followed in his own house at Halberstadt, on the seventh of July, 1783. His burial place is in the tomb of one of the churches of Halberstadt. A marble slab marks the spot where his ashes rest.

Lichtwehr's character, with all its weaknesses, was that of a man of honor and principle. In all his domestic relations he was deservedly beloved. His poems show at least that the elements of a pure and even Christian morality were not strangers to his thoughts. He was of middle stature, spare, of pleasing appearance, and always

neatly, often, perhaps, too ornately dressed. His ambition was unquestionably too much devoted to the attainment of outward good and worldly honors. To strangers he appeared stiff, haughty, cold, and reserved. In later years he became the business man, completely devoted to his office, and his manners now more than ever forbade familiarity. He was lacking in that courtesy towards his subalterns which he supposed could not consist with the proper dignity of his station. His integrity was never questioned. His word once given, he held sacred, and for this was more sparing in his promises; but under all his stiffness and appearance of proud reserve, he must still be accounted a right-thinking, worthy man.

The school of poetry to which Lichtwehr belonged was that of Gellert. Gottsched, by whom the fables were commended, had labored with commendable diligence to withstand the romantic taste which was fast creeping into German poetry. He caused the German Hanswurst, (Harlequin,) the representative of the old romantic comedy, to be solemnly burnt at Leipsic. He occupied himself no less with the history of the elder German poetry than with the establishment of rules for the modern. But all his inclinations favored the French taste, and led to a reaction. It was now that the noble Gellert of Leipsic appeared, not indeed going to the old extreme, but still paying just homage to its claims. His "fables" are spoken of by Menzel as "the first classical masterpiece of modern poetry in the eighteenth century," unfolding the hidden flexibility and grace discoverable in the high German written language, "in a style that could scarcely have been imagined before."

Lichtwehr followed in the footsteps of Gellert; but his familiarity with the poetic literature of Greece and Rome, which he had acquired by years of careful study, gave him a great advantage, which enables him fairly to rival, and sometimes to excel his master. He sought to remain more faithful to the antique model, and to become the German Esop. His fables are many of them characterized by an almost inimitable beauty and grace, while the moral is one that we always approve if we do not even admire. The attempt to translate his fables into another language must be admitted to be hazardous, the beauties are so inwoven with the style and idioms of the original tongue; but notwith. standing the risk, we are willing to make the attempt for the gratification of the curiosity and taste of our readers. The first we select is entitled

THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE ALCHEMIST.

Healthful and happy, without gold,

Lived a wise man in times of old.

There came one day to his humble cot

A stranger, whose choice was a wanderer's lot. "I have heard of thy wisdom," the stranger said; 44 Thy fame far over the world is spread. Without a compeer on its broad stage, I declare thee the phoenix of our age.

But one thing is wanting, one thing alone

Thine own thou shouldst make the Philosopher's Stone.
In this I can aid thee: the Trismagist I,

To whose piercing ken nature's secrets are nigh;
The heart of those secrets I read and I learn;
The base lead to pure gold I am able to turn.
Such skill, O Philosopher, I have made mine,
And if thou learn of me, I will soon make it thine."
"O Trismagist, thrice great and high,"
Was the Philosopher's reply.

"Thou mayst travel on, for no wise man is he
By whom perishing gold so prized can be.
By content, without gold, the wise man is shown;
Such content is the true l'hilosopher's Stone."

The fable of "The Young Linnet" is beautifully conceived and sweetly told. Its moral reminds us of the prayer of Agur.

THE YOUNG LINNET.

A linnet in the parent nest,

Scarce fledged, was not content to rest.
It soared aloft the grove to view,
And gazing round it as it flew,
Resolved aloft its home to build,
Where its proud hopes might be fulfilled.
A noble impulse! One's own hearth
Has, says the proverb, golden worth.

The glowing pride of its young breast Led it to seek the oak tree's crest. "Here may I dwell," it said, "a king;

Few homes such joy as mine will bring." Scarce built the nest-the lightning came And cindered it with blasting flame.

Well was it for the feeble bird
That far away the crash was heard.
It came, and found the very oak
Half splintered by the lightning stroke.
With humbled hope it saw 'twas vain
To try a refuge here to gain.

Taught by the lesson, it forsook
The lofty oak for humbler nook;
And, frighted by the thunder's sound,
Built now its nest upon the ground.
But dust and worms disturbed its rest,
And forced to seek another nest.

A third time now, its home to rear,
It seeks a dark shrub standing near-
Not near the clouds, as first before,
Nor on earth's dusty, worm-strewn floor.
A quiet place at last it found,

And lives there still, unharmed and sound.

The eldest spake : "O Father, mine

Is justly now that ring of thine.
A stranger gave to me in trust
His precious pile of golden dust,
Without a pledge of its return;
I gave it back,-the prize I earn."
"Ah no! my son, the deed was just,
But Duty bids return thy trust."
The second spake: "I saw a child,
Heedless of danger, reckless, wild,
Fall in the sea-I rushed to save,
And snatch it from a watery grave.
I risked my life. A thousand eyes
Beheld the deed that wins the prize."

"Ah no! my son," the old man said:
"Although your deed was kindly sped,
You only did to virtue true

What we as men are bound to do." The third one came: "I saw," he said, "My foe asleep where dangers dread

Yawned in the gaping gulf beneath;

I waked, and drew him back from death."

"Well done, my son! the prize is thine. The deed was noble, 'twas divine !"

We will give but another specimen of the Fables. It shows equally with the others the ingenuity and skill of the author. It is entitled

FORTUNE AND THE DREAM.

Fortune, worn Fortune in a shepherd's bower
Lay through the long, long night in slumber deep:
To seize him, had the hero known his hour,
He had not failed with thousands watch to keep.

A Dream flew by and broke him of his rest. Half-wakened, Fortune called to him aloud, "To my worn spirit thou'rt a welcome guest.

But why so late, thou shadow of a cloud?"

"I came on the wings of the morning wind,"
Said the shade; " and the city I left behind,
Where I, with visions of beauty and light,
For a fair young maiden have shortened the night."

Then Fortune smiled, and bade the Dream declare,
If so it pleased him, what the image fair
He had presented, by its magic spell

To make night's weary hours flect by so well.

"I came," said the Dream, "with my coach and four,
And at my bidding sprang open the door;

An army of servants, in gold livery dressed,
My footsteps did follow, and around me they pressed.
A Baron was I, of no modern sort;

Gold had I in plenty; my will was to court.

Glad welcome, Sir Baron, Sir wooer,' she said: Through bone and through marrow the happy words sped

"Gifts followed each glance; and well do you know The work that a gift is full able to do;

And this sort of language, you well are aware,
Good Fortune, is welcome addressed to the fair.
At last at her feet in entreaties I fell,

And her promise I gained by my magical spell.
She gave me her hand, which I took with a kiss,
And then broke the day with an end to the bliss.

"And still my fair lady is certainly pleased;

For although unto no one she tell The dream of the night, yet her heart has it seized: She smiles, and enjoyeth it well."

"Ah," said worn Fortune, in a mournful tone, "I cannot claim such favors for my own.

A short time since, into a merchant's dwelling

I entered. Soon his heart with pride was swelling.

I made him a noble rich in pelf;
Half a count did he deem himself;

But I chose to leave him yesterday,

And he hung himself, that I went away.

How strange that your fortune so different should seem From mire! art thou not like myself a dream ?"

There are many other of Lichtwehr's fables that would well repay the labor of a translation. They are all characterized by a pecu`iar grace of thought and language, as well as an excellent moral.

HINTS FOR WIVES.

“OBEDIENCE is a very small part of conjugal duty, and in most cases easily performed. Much of the comfort of a married life depends upon the lady; a great deal more, perhaps, than she is aware of. She scarcely knows her own influence; how much she may do by persuasion-how much by sympathy-how much by unremitted kindness and little attentions. To acquire and retain such influence, she must, however, make her conjugal duties her first object. She must not think that any thing will do for her husband-that any wine is good enough for her husband-that it is not worth while to be agreeable when there is only her husband by-that she may close her piano, or lay aside her brush, for why should she play or paint merely to amuse her husband! No; she must consider all these little arts of pleasing chiefly valuable on his account-as means of perpetuating her attractions, and giving permanence to his affection; she must remember that her duty consists not so much in great and solitary acts-in display of the sublime virtues to which she will only be occasionally called, but in trifles,—in a cheerful smile, or a minute attention naturally rendered, and proceeding from a heart full of kindness, and a temper full of amiability."

In looking over a late paper, I met with the above valuable hints on the duties of wives to their lords, pointing out the mode in which they were to secure, in the husband, the chivalric devotion which had characterized the lover. The most infallible specific, or the one most strongly insisted upon in rules of this kind, is a "smiling countenance." No matter what a wife's annoyances may have been during the day, her countenance must be always wreathed in smiles on the approach of her husband.

Being one of those fortunate individuals who have hitherto escaped the noose, I have had leisure to give these subjects that profound reflection which characterizes those situated like myself.

For if there's any thing in which I shine,
"Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs,
Not having of my own domestic cares.

It has often occurred to me, therefore, that it was rather singular that all this good advice should always come from one side. How is it that there are so few guide-posts to point the way to innocent young gentlemen who have recently submitted their neck to "the noose and the halter?" Why is it not oftener insisted upon,

55

There is many an unfortunate Mrs. Rogers among my acquaintance, with "nine small children and one at the breast," who needs all the

soothing tenderness erst bestowed by the lover, to enable her to forget the troubles so wearing to the nerves: by the way, it has sometimes occurred to me whether it was not Mrs. Rogers who was the martyr, and honest John a most fortunate individual, to get so well "out of the scrape" of being obliged to make adequate provision for the filling those ten small mouths, and the clothing those ten small bodies.

Compare for a moment the lot of husband and wife, in what is called a "well-regulated family." The former takes his seat at the breakfast table, where his taste and comfort has been silently consulted, so far as practicable; on his wife devolves the care of preparing the "nine small children" to take their seats there also, and in some degree of regulating their conduct. Breakfast ended, the husband goes forth to his workshop, his counter, his counting house, or his office; greets pleasantly his acquaintances by the way, and passes the day among the ever-varying scenes of every-day business life. The wife, meanwhile, amid incessant clamor, must renew the treadmill task of yesterday-must wash the same faces, make the same beds, sweep the same rooms; must give directions for the succeeding meals, and perhaps assist in preparing them; must settle disputes in the kitchen, and quarrels among the nine fallen little sons and daughters of her Adam,--and amid all these occupations must find occasional moments to 'stitch-stitch-stitch' the innumerable garments needed in a family.

Let her look to it, according to the sapient and oft-reiterated advice above alluded to, that she gets through all this in time to clothe her harassed and care-worn visage in those "wreathed smiles" so indispensable towards maintaining the goodhumor of her liege lord. He too has had troubles to encounter, for from trouble no one is exempt, but not of that petty, harassing kind, that are wearing away the spirits and the life of the partner he has chosen.

Night comes; the husband finds the repose so much needed to enable him to meet the unavoidable cares of to-morrow, and sleeps as quietly as "the babes in the wood," while the wife starts at the slightest noise, to minister to the comfort of