ment, it had not been noticed that the children and the Harper were away. Ere long they made their entrance, and were blithely welcomed by the company. They came in together, very strangely decked: Felix was beating a triangle, Mignon a tambourine; the old man had his large harp hung round his neck, and was playing on it whilst he carried it before him. They marched round and round the table, and sang a multitude of songs. Eatables were handed to them; and the guests believed they could not do a greater kindness to the children, than by giving them as much sweet wine as they chose to drink. For the company themselves had not by any means neglected a stock of savoury flasks, presented by the two amateurs, which had arrived this evening in baskets. The children tripped about and sang; Mignon in particular was frolicsome be yond what any one had ever seen her. She beat the tambourine with the greatest liveliness and grace: now, with her finger pressed against the parchment, she hummed across it quickly to and fro; now rattled on it with her knuckles, now with the back of her hand; nay, sometimes, with alternating rhythm, she struck it first against her knee and then against her head; and anon twirling it in her hand, she made the shells jingle by themselves; and thus, from the simplest instrument, elicited a great variety of tones. After she and Felix had long rioted about, they sat down upon an elbow-chair which was standing empty at the table, exactly opposite to Wilhelm. "The children, seated in the great chair, scarcely reached above the table more, or had a larger look, than puppets in their box they actually at length commenced a little drama in the style of Punch. The croaking screeching tone of these people Mignon imitated very well; and Felix and she began to knock their heads together, and against the edges of the table, in a way that nothing else but wooden puppets could endure. Mignon, in particular, grew frantic with gaiety; the company, much as they had laughed at her at first, were in fine obliged to curb her. But persuasion was of small avail; for she now sprang up, and raved and shook her tambourine, and capered round the table. With her hair flying out behind her, with her head thrown back, and her limbs as it were cast into the air, she seemed like one of those antique Mænades, whose wild and all but impossible positions still strike us with astonishment when seen on classic monu ments. Incited by the talents and the uproar of the children, each endeavoured to contribute something to the entertainment of the night. The girls sung several canons; Laertes whistled in the manner of a nightingale; and the Pedant gave a symphony, pianissimo upon the Jew's-harp. Meanwhile the youths and damsels, who sat near each other, had begun a great variety of games; in which, as the hands often crossed and met, some pairs were favoured with a transient squeeze, the emblem of a hopeful kindness. Madam Melina in particular seemed scarcely to conceal a decided tenderness for Wilhelm. It was late; and Aurelia, perhaps the only one retaining self-possession in the party, now stood up, and signified that it was time to go. "By way of termination, Serlo gave a firework, or what resembled one; for he could imitate the sound of crackers, rockets, and firewheels, with his mouth, in a style of nearly inconceivable correctness. You had only to shut your eyes, and the deception was complete. In the meantime, they had all arisen; the men gave their arms to the females to escort them home. Wilhelm was walking last with Aurelia. The stage-manager met him on the stair, and said to him,- Here is the veil which the Ghost vanished in; it was hanging fixed to the place where he sank; we found it this moment.'- A curious relic!' said our friend, and took it with him. "At this instant his left arm was laid hold of, and he felt a smart twinge of pain in it. Mignon had hid herself in the place; she had seized him and bit his arm. She rushed past him, down the stair, and disappeared. "On reaching the open air, almost all of them observed that they had drank too liberally. They glided asunder without taking leave. "The instant Wilhelm gained his room, he stripped, and extinguishing his candle, hastened into bed. Sleep was overpowering him without delay, when a noise, that seemed to issue from behind the stove, aroused him. In the eye of his heated fancy, the image of the harnessed King was hovering near him; he sat up that he might address the Spectre; but he felt himself encircled with soft arms, and his mouth was shut with kisses, which he had not force to push away. "Next morning, Wilhelm started up with an unpleasant feeling, and found himself alone. His head was still dim with the tumult, which he had not yet entirely slept off; and the recollection of his nightly visitant disquieted his mind. His first suspicion lighted on Philina; but, on second thoughts, he conceived that it could not have been she. He sprang out of bed, and, while putting on his clothes, he noticed that the door, which commonly he used to bolt, was now ajar; though whether he had shut it on the previous night or not, he could not recollect. "But what surprised him most, was the Spirit's veil, which he found lying on his bed. Having brought it up with him, he had most probably thrown it there himself. It was a gray gauze; on the hem of it he noticed an inscription broidered in dark letters. He unfolded it, and read the words: FOR THE FIRST AND THE LAST TIME! FLY, YOUTH! FLY!' He was struck with it, and knew not what to think or say. "At this moment Mignon entered with his breakfast. The aspect of the child astonished Wilhelm, we may almost say affrighted him. She appeared to have grown taller over night; she entered with a stately noble air; and looked him in the face so earnestly, that he could not endure her glances. She did not touch him, as at other times, when, for morning salutation, she would press his hand, or kiss his cheek, his lips, his arm, or shoulder; but having put his things in order, she retired in silence." The reader must understand that Mignon falls into sickness from the excess of her feelings-Wilhelm, who has been separated from her for some time, is conversing with her physician. The child Felix is the son of Wilhelm-the fruit of a long-past and unhappy love. Mignon has prodigiously attached herself all along to the boy. The whole scene is thoroughly a German one. "The Doctor, now alone with Wilhelm, thus proceeded: I have wondrous things to tell you; such as you are not anticipating. Natalia has retired, that we might speak with greater liberty of certain matters, which, although I learned them by her means at first, her presence would prevent us from discussing freely. The strange temper of the child seems to consist almost exclusively of deep longing; the desire of revisiting her native land, and the desire for you, my friend, are, I might almost say, the only earthly things about her. Both these feelings do but grasp towards an immeasurable distance, both objects lie before her unattainable. The neighbourhood of Milan seems to be her home; in very early childhood, she was kidnapped from her parents by a company of ropedancers. A more distinct account we cannot get from her, partly because she was then too young to recollect the names of men and places; but especially because she has made an oath to tell no living mortal her abode and parentage. For the strolling party, who came up with her when she had lost her way, and to whom she so accurately described her dwelling, with such piercing entreaties to conduct her home, but carried her along with them so much the faster; and at night in their quarters, when they thought the child was sleeping, joked about their precious capture, declaring she would never find the way home again. On this a horrid desperation fell upon the miserable creature; but at last the Holy Virgin rose before her eyes, and promised that she would assist her. The child then swore within herself a sacred oath, that she would henceforth trust no human creature, would disclose her history to no one, but live and die in hope of immediate aid from Heaven. Even this, which I am telling you, Natalia did not learn expressly from her; but gathered from detached expressions, songs, and childish inadvertencies, betraying what they meant to hide.' "Wilhelm called to memory many a song and word of this dear child, which he could now explain. He earnestly requested the Physician to keep from him none of the confessions or mysterious poetry of this peculiar being. 666 Prepare yourself,' said the Physician, which you, without remembering it, have for a strange confession; for a story with much to do; and which, as I greatly fear, has been decisive for the death and life of this good creature." Let me hear,' said Wilhelm, my impatience is unbounded.' "Do you recollect a secret nightly visit from a female,' said the Doctor, after your appearance in the character of Ham let ?' "Yes, I recollect it well,' cried Wilhelm, blushing, but I did not look to be reminded of it at the present moment." "Do you know who it was?' "I do not! You frighten me! In the name of Heaven, not Mignon, sure? Who was it? tell me pray.' "I know it not myself.' "No, certainly not Mignon: but Mig. non was intending at the time to glide in to you; and saw, with horror, from a corner where she lay concealed, a rival get before her.' "A rival!' cried our friend: Speak on, you are confounding me entirely.' "Be thankful,' said the Doctor, that you can arrive at the result so soon through means of me. Natalia and I, with but a distant interest in the matter, had distress enough to undergo, before we could thus far discover the perplexed condition of the poor dear creature, whom we wished to help. By some wanton speeches of Philina and the other girls, by a certain song which she had heard the former sing, the child's attention had been roused; she longed to pass the night beside the man she loved, without conceiving anything to be implied in this beyond a happy and confiding rest. A love for you, my friend, was already keen and powerful in her little heart; in your arms, the child had found repose from many a sorrow; she now desired this happiness in all its fulness. At one time she proposed to ask you for it in a friendly manner; but a secret horror always held her back. At last that merry night and the excitement of abundant wine inspired 630 her with the courage to attempt the venture, and glide in to you on that occasion. Accordingly she ran before, to hide herself in your apartment, which was standing open; but just when she had reached the top of the stair, having heard a rustling, she concealed herself, and saw a female in a white dress slip into your chamber. You yourself arrived soon after, and she heard you push the large bolt. "Mignon's agony was now unutterable; all the violent feelings of a passionate jealousy mingled with the unacknowledged longing of obscure desire, and seized her half-developed nature with tremendous force. Her heart, that hitherto had beaten violently with eagerness and expectation, now at once began to falter and stop; it pressed her bosom like a heap of lead; she could not draw her breath, she knew not what to do; she heard the sound of the old man's harp, hastened to the garret where he was, and passed the night at his feet in horrible convulsions.' "The Physician paused a moment; then, as Wilhelm still kept silence, he proceeded: 'Natalia told me nothing in her life had so alarmed and touched her as the state of Mignon while relating this; indeed, our noble friend accused herself of cruelty in having by her questions and her management drawn this confession from her, and renewed by recollection the violent sorrows of the poor little girl. "The dear creature,' said Natalia, had scarcely come so far with her recital, or rather with her answers to my questions, when she sank at once before me on the ground, and with her hand upon her bosom piteously complained of the returning pain of that excruciating night. She twisted herself like a worm upon the floor, and I was forced to summon my composure that I might remember and apply such means of remedy for mind and body as were known to me.' "It is a painful predicament you put me in,' cried Wilhelm, by impressing me so keenly with the feeling of my manifold injustice towards this unhappy and beloved being, at the very moment when I am again to meet with her. If she is to see me, why do you deprive me of the courage to appear with freedom? And shall I confess it to you? Since her mind is so affected, I perceive not how my presence can be advantageous to her. cian, are persuaded that this double longIf you, as a Physiing has so undermined her being as to threaten death, why should I renew her sorrows by my presence, and perhaps accelerate her end ?' "My friend,' replied the Doctor, 'where we cannot cure, it is our duty to alleviate; and how much the presence of a loved object tends to take from the imagination its destructive power, how it changes an impetuous longing to a peaceful look [June, vincing instances. Everything in moderaing, I could demonstrate by the most contion and with judgment! For, in other cases, this same presence may rekindle an go and see the child; behave to her with affection nigh extinguished. But do you kindness, and let us wait the consequence.' "Natalia, at this moment coming back, bade Wilhelm follow her to Mignon. 'She appears to feel quite happy with the boy,' observed Natalia, and I hope she will receive our friend with mildness.' Wilhelm followed not without reluctance; he hearing; he feared a stormy scene of paswas deeply moved by what he had been happened on his entrance. sion. It was altogether the reverse that "Mignon, dressed in long white women's clothes, with her brown copious hair partly knotted, partly clustering out in locks, was sitting with the boy Felix on her lap, and pressing him against her heart. She looked like a departed spirit, he like life itself; it seemed as if Heaven and Earth were clasping one another. She held out her hand to Wilhelm with a smile, and said: "I thank thee for bringing back the child to me: they had taken him away, I live. So long as my heart needs anything know not how, and since then I could not on earth, thy Felix shall fill up the void.' "The Abbé called them in the evening to attend the exequies of Mignon. The they found it magnificently ornamented company proceeded to the Hall of the Past; and illuminated. The walls were hung with azure tapestry almost from the ceiling to the floor, so that nothing but the cornices and friezes above and below were visible. On the four candelabras in the corners, large wax-lights were burning; smaller lights were in the four smaller candelabras placed by the sarcophagus in the middle. Near this stood four boys, dressed in azure with silver; they had broad fans of ostrich feathers, which they waved above a figure that was resting upon the sarcophagus. The company sat down: Firstling of youth in our circle, we "Ah! reluctantly we brought her hi- CHORUS. "Yet look at the strong wings; look at the light clear robe! How glitters the golden band upon her head! Look at the beautiful, the noble repose! Boys. "Ah! the wings do not raise her; in the frolic game, her robe flutters to and fro no more; when we bound her head with roses, her looks on us were kind and friendly. CHORUS. Cast forward the eyes of your spirits! Awake in your souls the imaginative power, which carries Life, the fairest, the highest of earthly endowments, away beyond the stars. "Well is the treasure now laid up; the fair image of the Past! Here sleeps it in the marble, undecaying; in your hearts too it lives, it works. Travel, travel back into life! Take along with you this holy Earnestness; for Earnestness alone makes life eternity." We have perhaps quoted too much -and yet fain would we quote more. Independent altogether of this story of Mignon, there is another not less affecting, although not quite so imaginative that of Mariana. This, too, is a golden thread, that runs here and there through the whole web of this complex and singular performance. Whatever ordinary novel-readers may think, it is no trifle that we now do possess in the English language a faithful and complete version of one of those works by which Goethe has established his fame as a novelist. The English translation of The Sorrows of Werther is abominable, and no one can have any proper notion of that work from it. We trust this young gentleman may be prevailed upon to do for Werther the same service which Meister has received at his hands. The task will be a far lighter one, and the juvenile work, whatever Goethe himself may think or say, is, after all, is, at all events, a work much more a superior one even to his Meister. It certain to find favour with English readers, if it were but presented to them in a decent English dress. In his future versions, we hope this gentleman will please to dispense with his Frau-Herr-Fraulein-Stall Mr, meister-Amt-Stadthaus, and the other purely German words with which in this instance he has here and there most absurdly and offensively interlarded his excellent English. Mrs, Miss, Master-of-the-horse, Magistrate, Town-house, and the like, are quite as good words in sound, and considerably more intelligible. This hint will, we hope, be taken in good part. And the publishers also will forgive us for observing, that it is too much to make us pay for a translation of a German novel, at the same rate as for a new work of the Author of Waverley. We have named, at the head of this article, a version (so called) of Goethe's Life of Himself, which has lately issued from the London press. We have done so, merely that we might have the opportunity of warning our readers against one of the most audacious and impudent pieces of quackery, by which the public confidence has of late years been insulted. The scribe pretends to translate from the German; but, in fact, his translation is a miserably mutilated one of a very bad French version. The sense has been missed in innumerable instances in the course of this double process of refinement. And altogether the catchpenny is below contempt. Its defects of execution have been abundantly exposed in the Westminster Review; but these critics themselves do not appear to be aware of the fact, that since the three volumes, inscribed "Dichtung und Wahrheit" were published, another volume of this work has ap peared. Of this entire fourth volume, which has been for not less than eight years before the public, and familiar to almost every person who knows anything of German letters-of this charming volume, which contains Goethe's Narrative of his Travels in Italy, one of the most interesting periods of his life-of this entire volume our noble translator has not translated one syllable. And yet he has the face to make a grand apology for the abruptness with which Goethe's narrative terminates, and ekes out his own two GENTLE REader, Few pieces of cant are more common than that which consists in reechoing the old and ridiculous cry of" variety is charming;"" toujours perdrix," &c. &c. &c. I deny the fact. I want no variety. Let things be really good, and I, for one, am in no danger of wearying of them. For example, to rise every day about half after nine-eat a couple of eggs and muffins, and drink some cups of genuine, sound, clear coffee-then to smoke a cigar or so-read the Chronicle-skim a few volumes of some first-rate new novel, or perhaps pen a libel or two in a light sketchy vein-then to take a bowl of strong, rich, invigorating soup-then to get on horseback, and ride seven or eight miles, paying a visit to some amiable, well-bred, accomplished young lady, in the course of it, and chatting away an hour with her, "Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair," as Milton expresses it-then to take a hot-bath, and dress-then to sit down to a plain substantial dinner, in company with a select party of real good, honest, jolly Tories-and to spend the rest of the evening with them over a pitcher of cool chateau-margout, singing, laughing, speechifying, blending wit and wisdom, and winding up the whole with a devil and a tumbler or two of hot rum-punch-This, repeated day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, may perhaps appear to some people, a picture pregnant with ideas of the most sickening and disgusting monotony. Not so with me, however. I am a plain man. I could lead this dull course of uniform unvaried existence for the whole period of the Millennium. Indeed I mean to do so. Hoping that you, benevolent reader, after weighing matters with yourself in calm contemplation for a few minutes, may be satisfied that the view I have taken is the right one-I now venture to submit to your friendly notice a small additional slice of the same genuine honest cutand-come-again dish, to which I recently had the honour of introducing you. Do not, therefore, turn up your nose in fashionable fastidiousness; but mix your grog, light your pipe, and laying out your dexter leg be |