Then all the comets loos'd their tails, And tacked for Goole, to bless thee here!' p. 217. There are two dramatic compositions in this volume, which have in them much of poetry and of passion; yet we doubt the author's vocation to the drama. The transmigration of souls is more easily believed in than practised; and the difficulty is not vanquishable in exact proportion to the general power of the poetic spirit. It is in lyric poetry that Elliott breathes; and while he may, doubtless, overcome the difficulties of the drama, it is for more lyrics that we, and the world, are longing. Heinrich Stilling. Part I. His Childhood, Youthful Years, and Wanderings. Translated from the German of Johann Heinrich JungStilling. By Samuel Jackson. 1835. It re We are told that in Germany the autobiography of Stilling is read by all ranks, from the palace to the cottage.' Heartily do we wish that it were likely to be so here, for the book is one of that species, the enjoyment of which both implies and produces good in the reader. sembles those simple scenes in nature, the charm of which is sent home to the heart by the universal power of nature, and fixes itself there more firmly than can all the violence of torrent, precipice, and tempest. We are too busy in England for such books as this. Give us politics, history, and travels; let us see man as he is, viz., in a bustle, the external man in the whirl of his social movements; that is something to the purpose, life's reality, and none of your German dreaminess. Or let us have sound practical science, which will turn to account in manufacture, trade, or commerce, that is useful knowledge. Or if some relief be needed for the jaded mind, serve up the coarse stimulus of exag. gerated fiction and preposterous melodrama. All such readers may be warned that this is no book for them. They are not initiated, if we may apply that term when the only mysteries in question are the mysteries of humanity. This is a book for those who, in an exhibition of paintings, turn away from the battle piece, or the thundering storm scene, around which the crowds gather, to gaze on some unobtrusive sketch, some head such as Guido loved to paint, fascinated by its truth and moral beauty, till they look themselves into acquaintanceship and sympathy with the subject, as if its original were a friend of many years. Here are no records of marvellous adventure, no ‘hairbreadth 'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach,' no great doings to recount of political or scientific importance, no extraordinary personages (save a brief glimpse at Goëthe) to dignify the scene: we have only a plain tale of the homely trials of a parish schoolmaster, the son of a crippled tailor, and grandson of a charcoal burner. He is a religionist also of a not very attractive class; his faith being not much different from that which, done into the vulgar tongue, is exhibited in the specimens of the sinner-saved Huntington. But the book is full of human truth; that is to say, it is rich in poetry and philosophy; it is a psychological narrative, and the subject a worthy one, though not the sort of character which most readily wins popularity; however, Wisdom is justified of all her children,' and Heinrich Stilling belongs to her family. An indescribable interest pervades the volume, of which we can give no better account than that it is the result of simplicity, fidelity, and minuteness of detail in describing the mental formation of a human being who is true to his own nature. Every such description has its charm. Almost the only quality of style of which we are ever made conscious is a very quiet humour, or something vibrating between humour and naiveté, which moves not the lips to laughter, but produces a smile of the heart. The work is fortunate in a translator who, in the spirit of his original, has aimed only at truthfulness. It is all the better that he undertook the translation from a religious motive. The harmony is thus entire. In how many hands would the effect have been marred and the unity sacrificed! ་ The first portion of the autobiography is entitled 'Heinrich Stilling's Childhood.' It opens with a dialogue between his grandfather and another peasant, who has some of those traits of character, independent of station and the same in all stations, that make their truth felt and enjoyed at once by a reader of any class of society, or of any country. There is in Westphalia a diocess, which lies in a very mountainous district, whose summits overlook many little provinces and principalities. The village in which the church is situate is called Florenburg; for the inhabitants have long had a disgust at the name of a village, and therefore, although compelled to live by farming and grazing, have always sought to maintain a superiority over their neighbours, who are mere peasants; and who say of them that they have gradually expelled the name of Florendorf, and introduced that of Florenburg in its stead. But, be that as it may, it certainly possesses a magistracy, the head of which, in my time, was Johannes Henricus Scultetus. Rude and ignorant people called him, out of the townhouse, Maister Hans; but honest towns-people were also wont to say Mister Schulde. A league from this place, towards the south-west, lies the little village of Tiefenbach, so called from its situation between hills, at the feet of which the houses overhung the water on both sides, which, flowing from the valleys to the south and north, meets just in the deep and narrow part, where it forms a river. The eastern hill is called the Giller; towards the west, is thickly covered with beech trees. From thence there is a prospect over fields and meadows, which is bounded, on both sides, by lofty and connected mountains. They are entirely planted with oak and beech trees, and no opening is visible, except where a boy may be frequently seen driving an ox, and gathering firewood on his half-trodden path. 'Below the northern hill, called the Giesenberg, which ascends towards the clouds like a sugar-loaf, and on whose summit lie the ruins of an ancient castle, stands a house in which Stilling's parents and forefathers dwelt. 'About thirty years ago there lived in it an old man, named Eberhard Stilling, a peasant and burner of charcoal. During the whole of the summer he remained in the woods and made charcoal, but went home once a week, to look after his family, and to furnish himself with provisions for another week. He generally came home on Saturday evening, in order that on Sunday he might go to church at Florenburg, where he was one of the churchwardens. In this consisted the chief business of his life. He had six grown-up children, of whom the two eldest were sons, and the four youngest daughters. Önce as Eberhard was descending the hill, and contemplating, with the utmost composure, the setting sun, whilst whistling the tune of the hymn, "The sun its glorious course has run," and reflecting upon the subject, he was overtaken by his neighbour Stähler, who was walking a little quicker, and probably did not trouble himself much about the setting sun. After being awhile close behind him, and hemming several times in vain, Stähler commenced a conversation, which I must here insert verbatim. 'Stähler. Good evening, Ebert! Stilling. Thank you, Stähler! (continuing to whistle.) Stähler. If the weather continues thus, we shall soon be ready with our woods. I think we shall finish in three weeks. 'Stilling. May be, (whistling again.) 'Stähler. I am no longer so able as I was, lad! I am already sixty-eight years old and thou art near seventy. • Stilling. That's very likely. There sets the sun behind the hill: I cannot sufficiently rejoice at the goodness and love of God. I was just thinking about it; it is likewise evening with us neighbour Stähler! The shades of Death rise daily nearer us: he will surprise us before we are aware. I must thank eternal goodness, which has sustained, preserved, and provided for me so bountifully, not only to-day, but all my life long. 'Stähler. That's probable! Stilling. I wait also, really without fear, for the important moment when I shall be delivered from this cumbersome, old, and stiffening body, and be able to associate with the souls of my forefathers, and other holy men, in a state of eternal rest. There I shall find Doctor Luther, Calvin, Ecolampadius, Bucer, and others, in whose praise our late pastor, Mr. Winterburg, has often spoken to me, and said that, next to the Apostles, they were the most pious of men. 'Stähler. That's possible! But tell me, Ebert, hast thou known the people thou hast just mentioned? Stilling. How foolishly thou talkest! They have been dead above two hundred years. Stähler. So that's surprising! 'Stilling. Besides all my children are grown up, they have learned to read and write, they are able to earn their bread, and will soon need neither me nor my Margaret. 'Stähler. Need !-that's easily said! How soon may a girl or boy go astray, attach themselves, perhaps, to poor people, and cause a slur upon their family, when their parents can no longer attend to them! 'Stilling. I am not afraid of all that. God be thanked that my attention to them is not necessary. By my instruction and example I have, through God's blessing, implanted in my children such an abhorrence of that which is evil, that I have no further occasion to fear. 'Stähler laughed heartily-just as a fox would laugh, if he could, that had carried off a pullet, in spite of the watchful chanticleer-and continued, "Ebert, thou hast much confidence in thy children, but I think thou wilt change thy mind when I tell thee all that I know." Stilling turned about, stood still, leaned upon his axe, smiled with the most contented and confidential countenance, and said-" What dost thou know, Stähler, that would so pain me to the soul?" 'Stähler. Hast thou heard neighbour Stilling, that thy son Wilhelm, the schoolmaster, is about to marry?" 'Stilling. No, I know nothing of it yet. 'Stähler. Then I will tell thee that he intends to have the daughter of the ejected preacher, Moritz, of Lichtausen, and that they are already betrothed? Stilling. That they are betrothed is not true; but it may be that he intends to have her. They now went on further. 'Stähler. Can that be, Ebert? Canst thou suffer that? Canst thou give thy son to a beggar woman, that has nothing? Stilling. The honest man's children have never begged; and if they had? But which daughter is it? Moritz has two daughters. • Stähler. Doris. Stilling. I am willing to end my days with Doris. I shall never forget it. She came to me one Sunday afternoon, saluted me and Margaret from her father, sat down, and was silent. I saw in her eyes what she wanted, but I read from her cheeks that she could not tell it. I asked her if she needed anything. She was silent and sighed. I went and fetched her four rix dollars. "There!" said I, "I will lend you this till you can pay me again." Stähler. Thou mightest as well have given her them; thou wilt never have them again as long as thou livest. Stilling. It was, in fact, my intention to give her the money; but if I had told her so, the girl would have been still more ashamed. "Ah," said she, "kindest, dearest father Stilling! (the good girl wept bloody tears :) when I see how my old papa mumbles his dry bread in his mouth, and cannot chew it, my heart bleeds." My Margaret ran and fetched a large jug of sweet milk, and she has ever since sent them sweet milk two or three times a week. 'Stähler. And thou canst suffer thy son Wilhelm to have the girl? Stilling. If he will have her, with all my heart. Healthy people can earn something; rich people may lose what they have. Stähler. Thou saidst before that thou didst not know anything of it. Yet thou knowest, as thou sayest, that they are not yet betrothed. Stilling. That I know! He will certainly ask me first. Stähler. Hear! hear! He ask thee? Yes, thou mayest wait long enough for that. Stilling. Stähler! I know my Wilhelm. I have always told my children they might marry as rich or as poor as they would or they could, and that they should only have regard to industry and piety. My Margaret had nothing, and I a farm burdened with debt. God has blessed me, so that I can give each of them a hundred gilders, cash down. • Stähler. I am not a Mr. Indifferent like thee. I must know what I do, and my children shall marry as I find best. "Every one makes his shoe according to his own last," said Stilling. He was now before his house-door. Margaret Stilling had already sent her daughters to bed. A piece of pancake stood for her Ebert in an earthen dish, on the hot ashes; she had also added a little butter to it. A pitcher of milk and bread stood on the bench, and she began to be anxious about her busband's long delay. Meanwhile the latch of the door rattled, and he entered. She took his linen wallet from his shoulder, spread the table, and brought him his supper. "Gemini !" said Margaret, Wilhelm is not here yet. I hope no misfortune has happened to him. Are there any wolves about?" "What of that?" said father Stilling, and laughed, for so he was wont; he often laughed loudly when he was quite alone. p. 3—9. Gracious is their state who have ever known such a noble of nature as Eberhard Stilling, the old charcoal-burner. The few bold strokes of outline in the above dialogue are matured into a sketch in the first four chapters; and the thoughtful, independent, high-minded, tender-hearted, cheerful, devout peasant; the MAN, in whom neither inevitable ignorance, nor confined observation, nor lowliness of condition, nor ceaseless toil, nor his restricted sphere of action, nor advancing age, can obscure the attributes of true wisdom and greatness, is just displayed to us and then withdrawn from the story and the world, leaving his memory honoured and blessed in the mind of the reader as in that of the author. We had purposed to make several extracts, but there is scarcely a passage which would not suffer materially by being taken from its connexion in the narrative. The above must, therefore, suffice. The work is understood to be the veritable autobiography of Jung, or, as he was called in consequence of its publication, Jung-Stilling, late professor of the universities of Heidelberg and Marburg,' and author of several theological and moral works, one of which has been published in English by the translator of the present volume; namely, a Theory of Pneumatology; or the Question concerning Presentiments, Visions, and Apparitions, investigated according to Nature, Reason, and Religion.' Only the first part of the autobiography is contained in this volume; it consists of the Childhood of Heinrich Stilling,' his Youthful Years,' and his Wanderings.' We trust the translator will speedily favour us with the remainder. · Cage Birds; their Natural History, Management, Habits, Food, Diseases, Treatment, Breeding, and the Methods of catching them. By J. M. Bechstein, M.D. DR. BECHSTEIN loves birds as a Turk loves women; and shows his affection by the accommodations of his seraglio. He is very severe upon amateurs who allow their birds to become diseased from the dirtiness of their cages. We love birds,' they say. No,' I reply; you love yourselves, not them, if you neglect to keep them clean.” O! Doctor, Doctor! de te fabula narratur. If you do not love yourself much better than the birds, why all this catching and caging? Why that precious remark that, although all birds are less at ease in a cage than in a room, yet that some never sing unless confined within narrow limits, being obliged, as it would appear, to solace themselves for the want of liberty with their song,' We could find in our hearts to cage the Doctor, that he might solace himself for his want of liberty by writing books for our amusement, Those that are confined that we may better enjoy the beauty of their song, should have a cage proportioned to their natural vivacity: a lark, for example, requires a larger cage than a chaffinch, No. 101. 2 D |