ing up to public contumely certain quacks whom
they patronised. The Jesuitic Beast was prostrate, but not dead: it
had still strength enough to lend a dangerous kick to any one who came
too near it. One evening an official person waited upon Schubart, and
mentioned an _arrest_ by virtue of a warrant from the Catholic
Buergermeister! Schubart was obliged to go to prison. The heads of the
Protestant party made an effort in his favour: they procured his
liberty, but not without a stipulation that he should immediately
depart from Augsburg. Schubart asked to know his crime; but the
Council answered him: "We have our reasons; let that satisfy you:" and
with this very moderate satisfaction he was forced to leave their
city.

But Schubart was now grown an adept in banishment; so trifling an
event could not unhinge his equanimity. Driven out of Augsburg, the
philosophic editor sought refuge in Ulm, where the publication of his
journal had, for other reasons, already been appointed to take place.
The _Deutsche Chronik_ was as brilliant here as ever: it extended more
and more through Germany; 'copies of it even came to London, Paris,
Amsterdam, and Petersburg.' Nor had its author's fortune altered much;
he had still the same employments, and remunerations, and
extravagances; the same sort of friends, the same sort of enemies. The
latter were a little busier than formerly: they propagated scandals;
engraved caricatures, indited lampoons against him; but this he
thought a very small matter. A man that has been three or four times
banished, and as often put in prison, and for many years on the point
of starving, will not trouble himself much about a gross or two of
pasquinades. Schubart had his wife and family again beside him, he had
money also to support them; so he sang and fiddled, talked and wrote,
and 'built the lofty rhyme,' and cared no fig for any one.

But enemies, more fell than these, were lurking for the thoughtless
Man of Paragraphs. The Jesuits had still their feline eyes upon him,
and longed to have their talons in his flesh. They found a certain
General Ried, who joined them on a quarrel of his own. This General
Ried, the Austrian Agent at Ulm, had vowed inexpiable hatred against
Schubart, it would seem, for a very slight cause indeed: once Schubart
had engaged to play before him, and then finding that the harpsichord
was out of order, had refused, flatly refused! The General's elevated
spirit called for vengeance