ive 35,000 thaler ($26,000). For this he sought a special
privilege, copyright being then very imperfect in Germany, on the
ground that in all his works not one line could be found to offend
religion or virtue.

He died on November 14, 1825. On the evening of November 17 was the
funeral. Civil and military, state and city officials took part in it.
On the bier was borne the unfinished manuscript of _Selina_, an essay
on immortality. Sixty students with lighted torches escorted the
procession. Other students bore, displayed, _Levana_ and the
_Introduction to Esthetics_.

Sixteen years after Richter's death the King of Bavaria erected a
statue to him in Bayreuth. But his most enduring monument had already
long been raised in the funeral oration by Ludwig Boerne at Frankfurt.
"A Star has set," said the orator, "and the eye of this century will
close before it rises again, for bright genius moves in wide orbits
and our distant descendants will be first again to bid glad welcome
to that from which their fathers have taken sad leave. * * * We shall
mourn for him whom we have lost and for those others who have not lost
him, for he has not lived for all. Yet a time will come when he shall
be born for all and all will lament him. But he will stand patient on
the threshold of the twentieth century and wait smiling till his
creeping people shall come to join him."

QUINTUS FIXLEIN'S WEDDING[1]

From _The Life of Quintus Fixlein_ (1796)

By JEAN PAUL

TRANSLATED BY T. CARLYLE

At the sound of the morning prayer-bell, the bridegroom--for the din
of preparation was disturbing his quiet orison--went out into the
churchyard, which (as in many other places) together with the church,
lay round his mansion like a court. Here, on the moist green, over
whose closed flowers the churchyard wall was still spreading broad
shadows, did his spirit cool itself from the warm dreams of Earth:
here, where the white flat grave-stone of his Teacher lay before him
like the fallen-in door of the Janus-temple of life, or like the
windward side of the narrow house, turned toward the tempests of the
world: here, where the little shrunk metallic door on the grated cross
of his father uttered to him the inscriptions of death, and the year
when his parent departed, and all the admonitions and mementos, graven
on the lead--there, I say, his mood grew softer and more solemn; and
he now lifted up by heart his morning prayer, which usually he read,