railway, in the carriage, in the heat, in the dust; we had such a horrid luncheon, in such a horrid hotel. We were to have returned to the same hotel at seven o'clock to dine, and then take the train back to Paris, but dinner here will be really much nicer. You won't say no? Ah! how good you are, Suzie!" She embraced her sister fondly.

"Come," said Jean, "quick, Pauline, two more plates; I will help you."

"And so will I," said Bettina; "I will help, too. Oh! do let me; it will be so amusing."

In a moment she had taken off her mantle, and Jean could admire, in all its exquisite perfection, a figure marvellous for suppleness and grace. Miss Percival then removed her hat, but wi'n a little too much haste, for this was the signal for a chaiming catastrophe. A whole avalanche descended in torrents, in long cascades, over Bettina's shoulders. She was standing before a window flooded by the rays of the sun, and this golden light, falling full on this golden hair, formed a delicious frame for the sparkling beauty of the young girl. Confused and blushing, Bettina was obliged to call her sister to her aid, and Mrs. Scott had much trouble in introducing order into this disorder.

When this disaster was at length repaired, nothing could prevent Bettina from rushing on plates, knives, and forks.

"Oh! indeed," said she to Jean, "I know very well how to lay the cloth. Ask my sister. Suzie, when I was a little girl in New York, didn't I use to lay the cloth very well?” "Very well, indeed," said Mrs. Scott.

And then, while begging the Curé to excuse Bettina's want of thought, she, too, took off her hat and mantle, so that Jean had again the very agreeable spectacle of a charming figure and beautiful hair; but, to Jean's great regret, the catastrophe had not a second representation.

In a few minutes, Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, the Curé, and Jean were seated round the little vicarage table; then, thanks partly to the impromptu and original nature of the entertainment, partly to Bettina's good humor and perhaps slightly audacious gayety, the conversation took a turn of the frankest and most cordial familiarity.

GERMAN LITERATURE.

PERIOD VI.

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

T the opening of the nineteenth century all Germany was roused to resist the terrific Napoleonic invasion. The unity of the German race was felt in the presence of imminent destruction. A patriotic fervor pervaded all classes, and became

binding religion. War-songs were quickly composed and widely sung by the people. But when the war ended in victory for the old regime, and the old rulers were restored to their thrones, a system of repression was inaugurated. Freedom of speech, which had prevailed among the Romanticists, was stifled by the harshest measures. Goethe, whose genius rose superior to local limitations, and whose acknowledged aim was individual self-culture, was able to work on, and even to produce some of his greatest works. But the minor poets, whose inspiration sprung from love of the Fatherland, were reduced to silence or sought refuge in foreign lands. The philosopher Hegel submitted to the reaction and worshipped the powers that be. But Schopenhauer, despairing of the world, developed pessimism.

Heine, the greatest writer of the succeeding period, was, by his Jewish birth, placed in a certain antagonism to the ideals of the German people. He felt and acknowledged that Napoleon had been not only a liberator of the Jews from the mediæval servitude, but an inspiring force to all the oppressed. Exiled in Paris, and crippled with physical ills, Heine continued to write beautiful poetry and satirical prose. But

while the world admired his genius, the German people refused to recognize him as one of themselves. They were content with minor poets and inferior prose-writers, or went for higher entertainment to Goethe and Schiller.

The brief and abortive Revolution of 1848 showed that the spirit of the French Revolution was not extinct. Again a swarm of poets gave vent to the old feelings, but were quickly suppressed. Prussia had seemed to give promise of leadership for the united race, and this was eventually fulfilled in 1870. But the movement is not so plainly discerned in literature as in other departments of human activity. Freytag has perhaps done more to represent the national tendency than any other single writer. In his "Pictures of German Life" there is a panoramic view of the progress of the race from century to century. Auerbach and others have given partial views, as of the Black Forest; while Ebers has found inspiration for romance in ancient Egypt, and Dahn in the wars of the Germans with the Romans.

In the latter half of the nineteenth century there has been a bewildering, social, political and intellectual unrest, and a marked progress in liberalism. It is seen in criticism and philosophy, in theology and Biblical criticism even more plainly than in literature proper. The individualism which Goethe exemplified has been opposed by collectivism and socialism. There is a wide-spread longing for the reconstruction of society, but the agitators are by no means agreed as to the new form to be desired. Karl Gutzkow (1811-1878), in his great drama "Uriel Acosta," pleaded for freedom of thought. He has been succeeded by the dramatists Ernst von Wildenbuch (born in 1845), Hermann Sudermann (1859), and the poet Gerart Hauptmann (1862), who all advocate individual freedom from conventional and social restraints.

1813) may be regarded as the chief, for his laurels were sanctified by the blood of martyrdom. In the bright morning of love, happiness, and dawning fame he rode out with that romantic band of Lützow volunteer students of the academies and universities, and composed his stormy battle-songs (afterward published as "Lyre and Sword") to be sung by his soldiers in camp. On the morning of his death-at Gadebusch in Mecklenburg when he was only twenty-two years old-he wrote the rapturous bridal "Song to his Sword." He had just finished reading aloud the last verse when the signal for action was given. Other stirring battle songs of his are "Lützow's Wild Chase," "Father, I Call Thee!" "Heart, let thyself not break!" and his "Farewell to life," written as he lay wounded after a sharp action.

With Körner may be mentioned the kindred spirits Friedrich Förster, his army comrade, Ernst Moritz Arndt (17691860), Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866), and Max von Schenkendorf (1783-1817). These all contributed war lyrics, expressing the national enthusiasm of those years of struggle with the overwhelming Napoleonic empire. Schenkendorf in sweet, melodious strains foretells a new realm of poetry and freedom. Rückert's bold and fiery spirit fiercely denounces the oppressors of his country. Professor Francke styles Arndt "the Blücher of German lyrics." Arndt hymned "The God who let the iron grow," and also sang the glorious hymns of German unity. His most inspiring song is "What is the German's Fatherland ?"

Heinrich von Kleist (1777-1811) was regarded by Goethe as "a human form beautifully planned by nature, but infected with an incurable disease." His "Hermannsschlacht"-the lineal sequel of Klopstock's "Hermann and Thusnelda"-has been described as "the glorification of the first great rising of Germanic yeomen against foreign tyranny." It is "like one long-drawn breath of exultant joy that the hour of action has come." Kleist's Hermann is the embodiment of the spirit which Fichte in his "Addresses to the German Nation" had sought to evoke. With Fichtean inspiration Kleist also penned his indignant "Catechism for Germans," and after the crushing blow of Wagram his hate for the French invaders burst forth again in the bitterness of his drama, "Prince Frederick of Hamburg," himself depicted against the background of the Brandenburg of the Great Elector. But this son of a noble old Prussian officer was not destined to die a martyr on the battle-field. The neglect of his genius by his contemporaries, and the loss of even his sister's friendship, led Kleist to exclaim: "Hell gave me my half-talents." Together with Henriette Vogel, he committed suicide. His most popular work in Germany to-day is "Kitty of Heilbronn," a love-romance of a Suabian village.

SWORD-SONG.

(By Theodor Körner.)

"SWORD at my left side gleaming!
Why is thy keen glance beaming

So fondly bent on mine?

I love that smile of thine! Hurrah!"

"Borne by a trooper daring,

My looks his fire-glance wearing,

I arm a freeman's hand:

This well delights thy brand! Hurrah!"

"Ay, good sword! Free I wear thee;

And, true heart's love, I bear thee,
Betrothed one, at my side,

As my dear, chosen bride! Hurrah!"