TO GLADNESS. 139 



brother. There was a solemn and heavy greatness in his coun- 

 tenance which corresponded to my preconceptions of his style and 

 genius. — I saw there likewise, a very fine portrait of Lessing, 

 whose works are at present the chief object of my admiration. 

 His eyes were uncommonly like mine, if any thing, rather larger 

 and more prominent. But the lower part of his face and his nose 

 — O what an exquisite expression of elegance and sensibility ! — 

 There appeared no depth, weight, or comprehensiveness in the 

 forehead. — The whole face seemed to say, that Lessing was a man 

 of quick and voluptuous feelings ; of an active but light fancy; 

 acute ; yet acute not in the observation of actual life, but in the 

 arrangements and management of the ideal world, i. e. in taste, 

 and in metaphysics. I assure you, that I wrote these very words 

 in my memorandum book with the portrait before my eyes, and 

 when I knew nothing of Lessing but his name, and that he was 

 a German writer of eminence. 



J. B. 



*#* The remainder of this papejr will be given in the next number. 



TO GLADNESS. 



Where art thou, Spirit ? somewhere smiling 



In the merriest play, 

 With a group of children wiling 



All the noon away. 



Silvery flowers are opening round them 



Like the eyes of Love ; 

 Dreams of innocence surround them, 



Joys which angels wove. 



Leave them, for the lonely dwelling 



Where unnerved Despair 

 Feels her heart's last gushes welling 



Yet — no friend is there ! 



Lonely ones are, near thee, keeping 



Vigils mournful — dread ; 

 Oh ! thou shunnest them. They are weeping 



O'er the dead. 



Franz. 



