both points of view, take this to heart: every man must, by all means, stand in a position of moral companionship; he must have one or more human beings with whom he can share his innermost being, heart, and conduct; nothing must be possible to him which he cannot somewhere share outside of himself. All this lies in the Divine expression, 'It is not good for man to be alone." " - Vol. I. pp. 214, et seq. Schleiermacher in after life often speaks of the Moravians with affection, and acknowledges the happy influence which their teachings had upon him early in life. To these influences in a great part, indeed, may have been due much of the fervor of his after-writings. As late as 1817, he writes thus, after visiting a community, to his wife: "I have always a very peculiar feeling when I visit the Moravians; a great part of my youth, and the decisive moment for the whole development of my life, stand before me. This transition point, however incidental it may appear on one side, on all others seems of such importance to me, that I can scarcely think of myself without it. And, little as it would suit me to live within the timid limitations of a Moravian community, yet its simple, quiet life floats toward me, in opposition to the frivolous, noisy world, in such a way that I think and feel that, remodelled in a measure to suit the spirit of the time, it might become something noble, and worthy of envy." — Vol. II. p. 326. His sister, in her quiet community, anxious for his marriage, which she believed necessary to his complete happiness, appears to have disliked his friendships with married women. In this, too, he frequently defends himself. In speaking of his friendship for Madame Herz, the wife of a physician in Berlin, he says: "It is a friendship truly intimate and cordial, in which the question of man and woman does not enter. Is not this easily imagined? Why it has not been mixed up in our friendship, and why it will not be, indeed, is another question; but one not difficult to answer. She has never made such an impression on me as would disturb the peace of my heart; and whoever understands the expression of his feelings, easily recognizes in them anything of a passionate nature. And if I gave play to external influences, I should find she had no fascinating power over me there. Her face is indeed incontestably beautiful, while her grand and queenly figure is so sorely the opposite of mine, that, if I could figure to myself that we should ever both be free, and should love each other, and might marry each other, I should always find so much that is laughable and distasteful to me on this side, that I could disregard it only on very weighty grounds. Of our intercourse together I must have said quite enough to you; but if you would know more of it, ask me; for I am anxious that you should understand it all completely." Vol. I. p. 273. At this period Schleiermacher entered into a close friendship with Friedrich Schlegel, which continued through many years; an intimacy (as we are told in the Preface to the second part of the first volume) that, "more from internal reasons than from outward circumstances, if not wholly dissolved, passed at last far in the background." We quote the account that Schleiermacher gives his sister of the manner in which they "set up housekeeping" with each other. He had previously thus described Schlegel : "He is a young man of twenty-five years, of knowledge so broad that it is hard to understand how it is possible, with so much youth, to know so much, of an original mind, which even here, where there is already so much mind and talent, yet surpasses all, and with manners of peculiar unaffectedness, openness, and childlike youthfulness, whose harmony with each other is perhaps the most remarkable part of all. "Nota bene, he bears my Christian name; he is called Friedrich; he is like me in many natural defects; he is not musical, does not draw, does not like French, and has weak eyes.” — Vol. I. pp. 169, et seq. "A glorious change in my existence does Schlegel's living with me make! How new it is for me that I need only open my door in order to speak to a reasonable being, that I can give and receive a 'goodmorning' as soon as I wake, that somebody sits opposite me at dinner, and that I can have some one with whom to share the good spirits that I am accustomed to rejoice in, in the evening. Schlegel gets up usually an hour earlier than I do, because, on account of my eyes, I do not venture to burn a light in the morning; and my hours are such that I do not get my full sleep before half past eight. But he lies in bed and reads. I wake commonly at the tinkling of his coffee-cup. From his bed, he can open the door that separates his room from my sleeping-chamber, and so we begin our morning talk. When I have breakfasted, we work some hours without regard to each other; but usually there is a little pause before dinner, for eating an apple, (of which we have a fine common stock of the choicest kinds,) when we talk generally of the objects of our several studies. Then comes the second period of labor till dinner-time, at half past two. I have meals, as you know, from the Charité.' Schlegel has his brought from a restaurant. Whichever comes first is consumed, then the other, after which we drink a couple of glasses of wine; so that we pass nearly an hour at our dinner. I cannot speak so definitely of the afternoon; . alas! I must confess that I am usually the first to take flight and the last to come home. Still, the half of the day is not wholly consecrated to social enjoyment. I have lectures once or twice a week, and read sometimes, let it be understood privatissime, only to one or two good friends, and then I go where my pleasure leads me. When I come home in the evening, between ten and eleven, I find Schlegel still up; he appears to have waited only to bid me good-night, and then to go to bed. I then seat myself, and work usually till two o'clock, for from then till half past eight one gets sleep enough. Our friends have pleased themselves with calling our living together a marriage, and have generally decided that I must be the wife. Fun and earnest in plenty have come out of it." — Vol. I. pp. 176, 177. This volume also contains the history of a romance in Schleiermacher's life, his friendship and love for Eleanore Grunow. We quote again from the Preface to this part of the work: - "Eleanore G. lived in a childless marriage, in a connection which, according to Schleiermacher's opinion, did not deserve to be called a marriage, because it failed in the essential closer requirements of a true marriage. "This view, which coincided closely with his whole manner of thought at the time, as well as with the intellectual views of the period in which he moved, and which by no means arose from his own personal position on this occasion, attracted Schleiermacher with the most ardent inclination toward Eleanore G. And although he held the breaking off of her marriage as a moral duty in and for itself, and for this reason by no means dependent upon such an event, yet he had declared that, later, if she should become free, he would unite himself with her. But Eleanore G. could never reconcile herself completely to this view, and after a long struggle and much hesitation between different conclusions, which appeared to Schleiermacher as a weakness, she resolved to renounce him completely, and from that time the whole intercourse was dissolved, "Fourteen years later, so a living witness relates, as Schleiermacher met Eleanore by chance in a large company, he approached her, gave her his hand, and said to her, 'Dear Eleanore, God has still dealt kindly with us."" His letters to this lady and to Henriette Herz, whose house in Berlin was at that time the centre of an intellectual and animated social circle, are exceedingly interesting. In the deep sorrow at his separation from Eleanore Grunow, Schleiermacher found a consolation in the happy marriage of an intimate friend, Ehrenfried von Willich, with whom, and with his wife Henriette, he kept up a close correspondence. A few years after the death of Von Willich, he married his widow, Henriette von Willich, still only twenty years old, a widow with two children. His letters to his betrothed, with her replies, form the first part of the second volume. They show a most charming tenderness, geniality, and earnestness on his side; and on hers the same warmth, a child-like reverence toward him, for he was twenty years older than his bride, with the playful, impulsive love of a young girl. In view of this correspondence we hardly know how to apply to Schleiermacher the terms that Carlyle uses somewhere," the Platonic Schleiermacher, sharp, crabbed, shrunken with his wire-drawn logic, his sarcasms, his sly, malicious ways." We can scarcely find any of these characteristics in these warm, genial, playful, yet earnest letters. There are allusions, however, to his manner in company which does not interest him, that may in a measure account for some of these phrases. We quote from a letter to his betrothed, her reply, and his rejoinder to that, giving the latter with its close, by way of contrast to the less genial expressions toward society in general: - "Yesterday evening was tedious enough. I was in a party of people none of whom pleased me, all of such inferior views! What a pretty prattling of absurdities over the present state of affairs! I do one of several things on such occasions. Either I plunge into the bitterest sarcasms and make the people dumb, or I turn everything into jest, or I do not speak a word, or I enter into their tone, and trifle with them so lightly that they are in continual doubt as to what it all means. Just as the spirit of society seizes me, I choose involuntarily one of these methods, and continue the rest of the evening practising it. In either case the rest are uneasy, and wish me to all the devils, and talk tremendously about me afterwards; but I cannot possibly do otherwise if they will be such miserable fools."— Vol. II. p. 223. From Henriette, in answer; "It is interesting, indeed, what you say of your manner to others! But tell me in earnest, would it not be worth while to point out to them the truth? Are there not many among them who would offer their hand to the good, if they could recognize it, but are too weak to discern it themselves? Indeed, in Rügen here, many complaints are spread abroad about you, because you would never express yourself in company on important subjects. Many are disturbed, when they have brought some subject on the carpet, of which they would have gladly learned something from you, and you were either wholly silent, or entered but little into their intentions, not saying anything especially appropriate; in short, appearing exactly as you describe yourself. Sometimes it prejudices some who would willingly accept better things."- Vol. II. p. 229. In reply, Schleiermacher writes: "I am glad enough to come to explanations, but with men in general, dearest Jette, I am fearfully on my guard. If I am with one or two alone, it is not so; and if I observe that anything is to come of it, by discussing my opinion and another's with him on any subject, I willingly seek to have him alone with me, if I can only believe that it will lead to something. But in company I hate nothing more, and guard myself from nothing more, than what looks at a distance like an argument. Once for all, I cannot dispute without going too deeply to the bottom, and this is not suitable for that lighter essence which should prevail in company; therefore I turn to the very lightest of all, break off, or make fun of it, that the talk may not grow too earnest. In disputing, too, if any one indulges in common or wholly incoherent remarks, such as betray a low state of sentiment, I cannot answer for myself to what degree I shall become bitter or angry. . . . "The larks have already whirred over us; we are having the loveliest days of spring. Dearest Jette, how I rejoice, when I think how nearly the time of my journey approaches! How near draws the new, beautiful, fresh life! I am already familiarizing myself with its closest details, and often there hovers over me a smile that no one can unriddle, when I am painting to myself some little matter, some jest, some |