No. 28.]

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SCHILLER. POETRY and imaginative literature must always suffer from translation; and thus it is impossible duly to estimate their merit, where we cannot read them in their proper tongue. But no poets and imaginative writers have suffered so deeply in the estimation of our countrymen, as those of Germany. This, at first, appears paradoxical; since the German language is exactly that, of all others, (unless we except the kindred dialects,) which is most easily transferred into our own, and the spirit of which has the closest affinity with the English. But the cause is external to the nature of the subject. Prejudice was early excited against German literature, and on two very distinct grounds, moral and literary. About the time of the first French revolution, anarchical and immoral publications were imported from Germany no less than from France. German poetry, indeed, was born at a period when all departments of literature were more or less tainted with revolutionary

principles, which were too hastily identified with the temper of the people; and, as it was from translations of lax writings that the idea of German literature was mainly collected by the English public, it was concluded that all German fiction must be anarchical and immoral. It seems needless seriously to rebut such a conclusion. From the literature of our own country, probably the purest in the world, it would be easy to export an equivalent for our imported German impurities. It is to be admitted, however, that most of the noblest productions of German imagination have appeared since the period alluded to. Another objection was, that the literature of Germany was not modelled on the principles of those of Greece and Rome, which were supposed to be the casting-moulds of the English mind; though, in reality, a French caricature was the standard, and the reader of Racine flattered himself that he understood Sophocles. It was forgotten that the great charm of the Greek literature was its originality and freshness; and that thus the qualities condemned in

the German were really the very same which those in consistent censors admired in the Greek.

These prejudices are not wholly passed away; but a better and a juster spirit is awakening. The German writers gave an impulse to the poetry of our own country, and sent our language to its native resources. Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Scott, among the foremost all more or less influenced by German literature-have rescued us from being mere imitators. We have, accordingly, revised our condemnation of our German brethren, and sought to be better acquainted with them. The result has been that we have found our judgment as erroneous as it was rash. We find the imaginative lite rature of Germany perhaps the noblest and most splendid in the world, next to our own, and even more copious. It must be remembered that it is only of the imaginative part of German literature that we are here treating. With its refinements in metaphysics, and its melancholy wanderings in theology, we are not now concerned. That portion which we have here been considering, is not only little affected by these things, but favourable and conducive to worthier objects. We are not unaware that the case of Goethe, the most conspicuous of German imaginative writers, may be cited as an example against us. Yet, eminent as he is, he is but one; and from his voluminous writings much might be selected which would even strengthen our position.

Our present purpose, however, is to apply these remarks to the compositions of Schiller, a writer who disputes with Goethe himself the throne of German imagination, but whose imaginative writings, with little more than one early well-known exception, are conducive to pure amusement or elevated instruction. It is not, of course, our intention to present formal criticism on compositions so varied and so numerous as Schiller's. We shall prefer illustrating, in broad outline, his more celebrated pieces, in connexion with a biographical sketch, which will, with our brief extracts and criticisms, serve the purpose of mutual illustration. Our source will be chiefly a memoir, written in the year 1812, by his friend Körner of Dresden, father of the youthful patriot whose biography we have sketched in a former number. From the year 1785, he was one of Schiller's most intimate friends, and wrote from personal knowledge chiefly; and, when this was not the case, from the most authentic information. This sketch we shall illustrate, where convenient, from the lives of Schiller, by Mr. Carlyle and Sir Bulwer Lytton; the latter of whom is not only an able biographer, but an abbreviator of those who had the best opportunities for the successful prosecution of the task.

John Christopher Frederick Schiller, best known by the last of his Christian names, was born November 10, 1759, at Marbach, on the Neckar, in the duchy of Württemburg. His father, John Caspar Schiller, was originally an army surgeon, who afterwards entered the army itself, and ended his days as manager of a very extensive nursery plantation at Ludwigsburg, belonging to the duke. Though not a well-educated man, he strove to compensate this defect by diligent labour; and a thanksgiving praver of his is still extant, written after his son had attained celebrity, in which he commemorates the fact, that, from the birth of his son, he had not ceased to pray that the deficiencies of his boy's educational means might in some way be supplied to him. He appears to have been a good parent and a good man nor were the excellencies of his wife inferior. She was affectionately attached to her husband and her children, and mutually and deeply beloved. Although of slender education, she could relish the religious poetry of Utz and Gellert. The early characteristics of young Schiller, as described by Körner, were piety, gentleness, and tenderness of conscience. He received the rudiments of his education at Lorch, a frontier village of the Wärttemburg territory, where his parents were residing from 1765 to 1768. His tutor here was a parochial minister, named Moser, after whom, perhaps, he drew

the character of Pastor Moser, in "The Robbers." The son of this tutor was his earliest friend, and is thought to have excited the desire which he long felt of entering the ministry.

Schiller's poetical temperament was early developed. When scarcely past the period of infancy, it is said. he was missed during a thunderstorm. His father sought him, and found him in a solitary place, on a branch of a tree, gazing on the scene. On being reprimanded, he is said to have replied, "The lightning was very beautiful, and I wished to see whence it came." Another anecdote of his childhood is better authenticated. At the age of nine years, he, and a friend of the like age, received two kreutzers apiece for repetition of their catechism in church. This money they resolved to invest in a dish of curds and cream at Harteneck; but here the young adventurers failed to obtain the desired delicacy, while the whole four kreutzers were demanded for a quarter cake of cheese, without bread! Thus foiled, they proceeded to Neckarweihingen, where they accomplished their object for three kreutzers, having one to spare for a bunch of grapes. On this, young Schiller ascended an eminence which overlooks both places, and uttered a grave poetical anathema on the barren land, and a like benediction on the region of cream.

On his father's return to Ludwigsburg, young Schiller, then nine years old, first saw the interior of a theatre. This circumstance seemed at once to disclose his genius. From that moment, all his boyish sports had reference to the drama; and he began to forecast plans for tragedies. Not that his inclination to the profession of his early choice diminished. He only regarded dramatie literature and exhibitions as amusements and relaxations from severer pursuits. He now continued his studies in a school at Ludwigsburg, where he was conspicuous for energy, diligence, and activity of mind and body. The testimonials which he here received induced the duke to offer him a higher education, in a seminary at Stuttgart, which he had lately founded. His father, who felt his obligations to the duke, and not least the favour which was now offered him, reluctantly aban doned his original intention of indulging his son with the profession of his wishes; and young Schiller, still more reluctantly, in 1773, surrendered the Church for the bar. In the following year, when each scholar of the establishment was called on to delineate his own character, he openly avowed “that he should deem himself much happier if he could serve his country as a divine." And he found legal studies so little attractive, that, on the addition of a medical school to the esta blishment, in 1775, he availed himself of the duke's permission to enrol himself a member.

During this period, Schiller was not inattentive to the revolution, or rather, creation, then working in the poetry of Germany. The immense resources of the German language were, in great measure, unknown to the Germans themselves. They studied and composed in the classical tongues, and, finding their own so far removed from those which they contemplated as the only models, regarded it as barbarous; or, if they coudescended to use it, endeavoured to cast both words and sentiments in a classical mould. But there were minds among them who were beginning to perceive that the defects of German literature were not inherent, but the natural result of endeavouring to bind a singularly free and original language to rules and imagery foreiga to its genius. Klopstock, Utz, Lessing, Goethe, and Gerstenberg, were, in different manners and degrees, of this order. From the study of these, Schiller caught the spirit of a German originality, which he afterwards so remarkably contributed to advance. Becoming, about the same time, acquainted (through Wieland's translation) with the writings of Shakspeare, he studied them with avidity and delight; though, as he acknowledges, with an imperfect comprehension of their depth. During his residence at Stuttgart, he had composed an epic, entitled "Moses," and a tragedy called “Cosmo de'

Medici," part of which was afterwards worked up in "The Robbers." But he had no sooner decided on the medical profession, than he resolved to abandon poetry for two years. He wrote a Latin treatise "On the Philosophy of Physiology," and defended a thesis "On the Connexion of the Animal and Spiritual Natures in Man." He afterwards received an appointment as a military surgeon, and was esteemed able in his profession. On the expiration of his probational course, he held himself free to prosecute his favourite study. Accordingly, in the year 1780, the famous play of "The Robbers' saw the light. It was published at his own expense, no bookseller venturing to undertake it.

Of the genius displayed in this work there can be but one opinion. The language of Coleridge concerning it is very remarkable:

"Schiller! that hour I would have wished to die, If through the shuddering midnight I had sent From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent That fearful voice, a famish'd father's cry! That in no after-moment aught less vast Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout From the more withering scene diminish'd past. Ah! bard tremendous in sublimity! Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood, Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye, Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood! Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood, Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!" Nevertheless, the defects of this work are not less glaring than its power is unquestionable; nor are these defects literary only. The sympathies of the reader are in part enlisted on the side of crime; while the whole spirit of the play but too well coincides with the tumultuous character of that period. And yet, we believe it is not less truly than finely said by Sir Bulwer Lytton, "Nothing could be further from the mind of the boy from whose unpractised hand came this rough Titan sketch, than to unsettle virtue, in his delineations of crime. Virtue was then, as it continued to the last, his ideal; and if at the first he shook the statue on its pedestal, it was but from the rudeness of the caress that sought to warm it into life." Schiller's religious and virtuous feelings had, however, unconsciously to himself, been deteriorated by the French sceptical writers. Voltaire moved his scorn and disgust; but abhorrence of filth will not save us from pollution, if we permit its contact. Rousseau, insidious and visionary, harmonized but too well with the temperament of the earnest and contemplative youth; we know from the painful evidence of a little poem of Schiller's, bearing the name of that subtle anarch, that the influence had been but too effective; and we trace the fact even more distinctly in the "Philosophical Letters." But it would seem from his own testimony, no less than from general evidence, that the military despotism which was the constitution of the seminary at Stuttgart was the real creative principle of the Robbers." It furnished Schiller's idea of order and government, while his own restlessness beneath that rigid coercion supplied his notion of liberty. It was from a translation of the" Robbers," that the general tendency of German literature, and of the drama particularly, was estimated in England. The "Robbers" could not long be a stranger to the stage. The Freiherr von Dalberg, manager of the theatre at Mannheim, produced it on his boards in 1782. Schiller was present at the two first representations in January and May of that year. His absence, however, was known to the duke, and he was placed under arrest for a fortnight.

1

But his misfortunes did not end here. A passage in the "Robbers" gave offence to the Grisons, who complained to the duke against his subject. The result was that Schiller was prohibited from all but professional writing, and commanded to abandon all connexion with other states. But Körner informs us

(1) He had called their country "the thief's Athens."

that, however exasperated at the time, he spoke in cooler moments kindly of the duke, and even justified his proceeding, which was not directed against the poet's genius, but his ill-taste. He, indeed, even dwelt warmly on the duke's paternal conduct, who gave him salutary advice and warning, and asked to see all his poetry. This was resolutely refused; and the refusal, as might be expected, was not inoffensive. Yet the duke seems not to have renounced his interest in his young favourite, for no measures were taken against him or his family on his subsequent departure from Stuttgart, and Schiller even paid a visit to them during the duke's life, without any molestation. For this departure he wished the duke's permission, and endeavoured, through his friend Dalberg, to obtain it; but, impatient at the tediousness of the negotiations, he took advantage of the festivities occasioned by the visit of the Archduke Paul of Russia, in October, 1782, and left Stuttgart unperceived.

His mother and sister were in the secret; his father had not been informed, lest loyalty and military subordi nation should compel disclosure to the duke. There was another person left behind, in whom rumour attributes an interest to Schiller, though we are not informed whether she was apprised of his flight. This was the widow of a military officer, to whom, it is said, Schiller had paid his addresses, and who is by some supposed to be the "Laura" of his early poems. A youth named Streicher was the companion of his wanderings. All Schiller's fortune lay in his tragedy, "The Conspiracy of Fiesco at Genoa," which he had, for the most part, composed when under arrest. Arrived at Mannheim, he recited his play to the stage-manager, Meier, (for Dalberg was at StuttHis Swabian dialect, and gart,) with little success. unmelodious declamation, drove away all his audience save Iffland, to whose personation his "Francis Moor" in "the Robbers" had been deeply indebted. But, ona perusal. Meier acknowledged the real merit of "Fiesco," and agreed to produce it on the stage, if Schiller would make the requisite alterations. Meanwhile, Schiller and his friend were warned, by letters from Stuttgart, that their position at Mannheim was perilous. They accordingly once more took flight, and, after many hardships, took up their quarters at an inn at Oggersheim, where

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Fiesco" was completed, and "Cabal and Love" begun. While at this place, Schiller was offered an asylum at Bauerbach, near Meinungen, an estate of Madame von Wollzogen, with whose sons he had studied at Stuttgart. Fiesco" to a bookseller, he Having disposed of his with alacrity accepted the generous offer, and Streicher pursued his way to Hamburg. At Bauerbach, Schiller found repose and appliances for study; finished "Cabal and Love," and sketched "Don Carlos." Of the two

first of these works our limits will not permit us to speak. They are not without evidence of their author's genius; but they are not less evidential of a taste which he lived to correct, and which, even at this period, he was correcting.

"Don Carlos" is an immeasurable advance into the regions of taste and order. The wild irregular prose of the previous dramas is exchanged for rich and melothe crude imaginations of an undisciplined ardour, but dious blank heroic verse: the characters are no longer finished studies from nature, in historical prototypes; no longer bold distorted sketches, but richly, yet chastely, coloured pictures; no longer flung together in heedless and disorderly profusion, but grouped with consummate art and sense of harmony. Yet it is probable that the historian has in this work encroached upon the poet, and rendered it in parts obscure, and lucid than the great dramatic writings which formed the connexion not always palpable. It is far less the labours of Schiller's later days. A considerable interval elapsed between the composition of the first and last portions; and, as the former was printed, the drama could not well be rewritten, to make it harmonize with Schiller's altered feelings and opinions; but it spoke a great promise, and gave earnest of a faithful performance.

It has been ably translated by Francis Herbert Cottrell, Esq.

In 1785, Schiller took up his residence at Mannheim, where he occupied himself with theatrical projects. From this place he wrote to Madame von Wollzogen, soliciting the hand of her daughter Charlotte; but it appears that the attachment was not mutual, though Schiller always continued to be received in the most friendly manner by Madame von Wollzogen and her daughters. Perhaps the young lady herself regarded Schiller's as rather a preference than an affection, which she seems to have been justified in doing, as, not long after, he formed an attachment to Margaret, daughter of his friend Schwann the bookseller; a lady whom some suppose to have been his "Laura." During this period he wrote essays on dramatic subjects, edited a periodical called "The Rhenish Thalia," composed a poem called "Conrad of Swabia," and a second part of the "Robbers," to harmonize the incongruities of the first. Some scenes of his "Don Carlos," appearing in the "Thalia," attracted the notice of the reigning Duke of Saxe Weimar, who was then on a visit to the court of the Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt. The duke was a lover of literature, and a poet, and he appointed Schiller a member of his council. In March, 1785, Schiller removed to Leipzig, where his poetry had prepared him many friends, and from this year commenced what is called "the second period" of Schiller's life. He spent the summer at a village in the neighbourhood, named Golis, surrounded by warm and affectionate hearts. It was during this time that he wrote his "Ode to Joy." But his joy was fated to be overclouded. He wrote to Schwann soliciting an union with his daughter; a request to which he had no anticipation of refusal, as he and the young lady had corresponded; and, had his destiny rested in her hands, there can be little doubt that he would not have been doomed to disappointment. The father, however, had apparently seen enough of Schiller's habits to infer that his wealth was not likely to equal his fame, and the poet was once more met with a refusal.

From the friendly circle at Leipzig he removed to Dresden the same year. Here he completed his "Don Carlos," which he recast, as far as was practicable; and is thought to have assimilated his princess Eboli to a certain Fräulein A——, a great beauty of that city. Here, too, he sketched the plan of a drama which he named "The Misanthrope;" collected materials for a history of the revolt of the Netherlands, under Philip II.; and wrote his strange romance of "The Ghost Seer;" a work suggested by the quackeries of Cagliostro. At this period, also, were written the " Philosophical Letters," before alluded to. In 1787 he repaired to Weimar, where he was received with great enthusiasm by Herder and Wieland. Here he undertook the management of a periodical called "The German Mercury," which he enriched with several contributions in verse and prose, and to which he imparted new life and vigour. In the same year he received an invitation from Madame von Wollzogen to visit her at Meinungen. On his return thence he made a brief sojourn at Rudolstadt, but a memorable one, as it was here that he saw the Fraulein von Langefeld. This event called forth the following observations in a letter

to a friend:

"I require a medium through which to enjoy other pleasures. Friendship, taste, truth, and beauty would operate on me more powerfully, if an unbroken train of refined, beneficent, domestic sentiments attuned me to joy, and renewed the warmth of my torpid being. Hitherto I have been an isolated stranger wandering about amid nature, and have possessed nothing of my own. I yearn for a political and domestic existence. For many years I have known no perfect happiness, not so much for want of opportunities, as because I rather tasted pleasures than enjoyed them, and wanted that even, equable, and gentle susceptibility which only the quiet of domestic life bestows."

It may be well imagined that Schiller repaired to Rudolstadt again, as early as possible. He spent the following summer there, and partly at Volkstädt, in

the same neighbourhood. Here he cultivated the friendship of the Langefeld family, and extended the circle of his friends; and during this sojourn he made his first acquaintance with Goethe. His first impressions of the great master of German imagination are thus detailed :

"On the whole, my truly high idea of Goethe has not been diminished by this personal intercourse; but I doubt whether we shall ever approach very closely. Much which is yet interesting to me, much which is yet among my wishes and my hopes, has with him lived out its period. His whole being is, from the first, very differently constituted from mine; his world is not mine. Our modes of imagination are essentially distinct. How. ever, no certain and well-grounded intimacy can result from such a meeting. Time will teach further.”

And the lesson was soon imparted: especially when it is considered that all Goethe's prejudices were revolted by " The Robbers," and that he had actually avoided an interview as long as possible. But in a few months Goethe's interest in Schiller, and high estimate of his abilities, were practically exemplified. The Revolt of the Netherlands" had in part seen the light, and obtained high reputation for Schiller as a historian. By the efforts of Goethe, he was now appointed to the Chair of History in the University of Jena.

In this situation Schiller laboured diligently, not only in reading and writing history, but also in the con tinued cultivation of poetry. He was at all times, as such a mind might be expected to be, devoted to clas sical literature. But, at this period, he imposed on himself a course of this study with a direct view to the purification of taste and style. He studied Homer profoundly, and with great delight. He translated into German the "Iphigenia in Aulis" (with the exception of the last seene), and a part of the "Phoenissæ" of Euripides. His freedom, yet accuracy, particularly in the former of these translations, can scarcely be sufficiently admired. He projected a version of the "Agamemnon' of Eschylus, a play in which he much delighted. Bürger visited him at Weimar, in 1789, and the friends agreed to translate the same passage of Virgil, each in a metre of his own selection. These studies had a perceptible influence on his poetry, particularly his dramas.

Schiller's inaugural lecture at Jena was attended by an audience of more than 400; nor did it disappoint the high expectation which had been formed of it. His pen was now a ready and certain source of emolument; a "History of the Thirty Years' War," and a "German Plutarch," among various minor literary en- |terprises, were put in preparation. He was admired and caressed by the great; a pension was assigned him by the Duke of Saxe Weimar, and there was now no obstacle to the fulfilment of his dearest wishes. In February, 1790, he had the happiness to obtain the hand of the Fraulein von Langefeld. We here cast together, from several of his letters, as selected by Körner, passages descriptive of his enjoyment:-" It is quite another life. by the side of a beloved woman, from that which I led before, so desolate and solitary; even in summer, I now, for the first time, enjoy beautiful Nature entirely, and live in her. All around me is arrayed in poetic forms, and within me, too, they are oft stirring. What a beautiful life am I now leading! I gaze around me with joyful spirit, and my heart finds an everduring gentle satisfaction from without! my soul experiences such sweet support and refreshment! My being mores in harmonious evenness; not overstrained by passion, but calm and bright are the days which I pass. forward on my destiny with cheerful spirit; standing at the goal of my desires, I am myself astonished to think how all has succeeded beyond my expectations. Destiny has overcome my difficulties, and brought me smoothly to the end of my career. From the future have every thing to hope. A few years, and I shall live in the full enjoyment of my mind; nay, I even hope to return to youth; the poet-life within me will restore it.

look

This language, while it proves the writer's affection,

f

purity, and clevation of mind, conveys a painful impression that his worldly happiness had rendered him insensible, at least for a time, to considerations which are not less needful in such moments than amid the darkest sorrows; but of which our ingratitude then most loses sight, when the love which would awaken them is most conspicuous. How little do we know our real happiness, when we envy the sunshine of Schiller's heart, or repine in the night of solitude and abandonment! In that sunshine he had lost sight of the pole-star whereby alone his voyage could be directed, and which is ever clearest when other lights are away. In his prosperity, like the Psalmist, he had said, "I shall never be moved:1" and, too probably, even without the pious acknowledgment which qualified that presumption, "Lord, by thy favour Thou hast made my mountain to stand strong." For though Schiller, under all circumstances, had never lost the first fresh devotional feelings of his boyhood, and had admitted doubts with pain, and desired to escape from them, yet he could not be as one whose faith was stedfastly grounded on the sure rock of Revelation. Like the Psalmist, however, he could add, "Thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled." Mercy and chastisement, each involved in the other, overtook him in the beginning of the following year. He was afflicted with a severe attack of disease of the chest, from which, though "fifteen years were added to his life," he never recovered. His whole frame was shattered; and repeated relapses left him incapable of public lectures and every other laborious exertion. The diminution of income consequent on this calamity added much to its severity. But this was not long to be a part of his distress. The Crown Prince of Denmark, and the Count von Schimmelmann, offered him a salary of 1000 thalers for three years, with a delicacy and kindness, as he informs us, not less gratifying than the boon itself. Unembarrassed now by narrow circumstances and public duties, he gave himself to the study of metaphysics. He had formed, at Jena, the friendship of Paulus, Schütz, Hufeland, and Reinhold; and by them he was initiated in the philosophy of Kant, which he has exemplified in some of his prose writings. To this Sir Bulwer Lytton attributes the Christian conviction and religious tone which, after this period (so marked as to be called "the third" in Schiller's Life), pervades his compositions. We would rather ascribe it to the teaching of sickness, before the revelations of which the mists of sophistry and self-confidence vanish as in daylight. The thirtieth Psalm will still afford illustration. When David was troubled, his testimony was, "I cried unto thee, O Lord; and unto the Lord I made supplication." It is impossible to doubt that Schiller did likewise; or that he experienced a like return from Him who is unchangeable.

(To be continued.)

THE STILE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE MAGI AND THE STAR."

To the poet and the moralist, the most trifling object may afford an occasion of serious musing. A Cowper can write beautiful poetry "on finding the heel of a shoe," and a Leigh Hunt can instruct and amuse by meditations "on a stone." Let us try if something amusing or instructive cannot be said about a stile.

These useful entrances to the fields have now in many places been made to give way to gates. Against this improvement we at least vehemently protest. Go on, ye improvers, if ye will, to perforate rocks, fell trees, and devastate estates,-bring, if you will, the clatter and shriek of steam-engines into our most lovely rural retreats-turn the beautiful cottages, with their picturesque

(1) Psalm xxx. 6.

roofs, and the mantles of jessamine, honeysuckle, or roses, into edifices without shape or name; but, we entreat you, leave us our stiles. The male part of the community most certainly must wish their retention and if any of the gentler sex desire their destruction, surely they cannot be the beautiful and the young. Where does a man find so befitting and easy an opportunity of exhibiting his agility and tenderness, as at a stile? There are now no longer any dragons or lions from which distressed damsels are to be delivered; enchanted castles and amorous giants have now all disappeared even from the nursery; but in some fortunate places, there still remain stiles. Gates, the modern substitutes, are strongly to be deprecated, for they forbid any exhibition of courtesy. Try it not, O enamoured reader! for most assuredly, instead of expediting the passage of your beloved by opening for her the gate, you will only awkwardly contrive to force it against her side, and put her out of temper for the rest of the walk. But let us see how much better things are managed where the stiles have been suffered to remain.

Let us, in fancy, follow for a few moments the couple who have just passed into yonder fields. With light, joyous step, lost in earnest conversation, they go trippingly over the grass, till their progress is stopped by the stile. The gentleman, pleased at the opportunity of displaying his legs and his nimbleness, steps gaily across but the lady looks towards the barrier with trepidation. She declares that it will be impossible for her to cross. She has always disliked stiles, she says, and this is one of the worst she ever saw; they had better return and go some other way. The cavalier gently insinuates, that, by a little exertion, he thinks it might be passed: a transverse piece of wood will greatly assist the descent; and, besides, the other way is far less pleasant, and he is not certain whether by going in that direction they should not have to climb a fivebarred gate. "And then," he adds, "am I not here to help you?" The last two arguments are conclusive, and mentally ejaculating "anywhere with him!" she places her foot on the lowest bar of the stile, Her innamorato then takes her hand: it is necessary that he should grasp it firmly, for the terror of the lady might induce her to let go her hold: it is also necessary that she should lean on his shoulder when she has gained the top of the stile; but was it necessary that she should remain so long in that position, or that he should place his arm around her as she descended? However, she is now safely landed on the other side: and the frank familiarity with which she presses his arm may be caused by her grateful recollections of the perils from which he has just rescued her. But let us follow them a little further. The next stile is less lofty; the top is broad and smooth; a board beneath forms a convenient resting-place for the feet and the prospect around is delightful. Can they do otherwise than sit down upon it for a short time? The space is limited; it is necessary, therefore, that they should sit close to each other: there is no support for the back; the gentleman, therefore, cannot do otherwise than form one for his companion

by placing his arm round her waist and should he also grasp one of her hands, the circumstance may be attriButed to his anxiety to save her from the slightest danger of a fall. There, then, they sit, side by side, thinking of course of nothing but the prospect: and there we must be contented to leave them, merely observing, that there are many worse situations in the world, than that of sharing with an amiable and virtuous woman the top

of a stile.

But there are other uses to which the stile is applied. Some unfortunate invalid totters out for a walk, accompanied by his anxious wife. When he has walked some little distance, his strength begins to fail, and he becomes anxious to return. "Try, my dear," says the wife, encouragingly, "try to walk at least to the stile, and there you will be able to rest." The sufferer does so, and finds in the friendly stile a pleasant resting