, Wieland; by Napoleon he was made _Fuerst Primas_,
Prince Primate of the Confederation of the Rhine, being
already Archbishop, Elector of Mentz, &c. The good and brave
deeds he did in his time appear to have been many, public and
private. Pensions to deserving men of letters were among the
number: Zacharias Werner, I remember, had a pension from
him,--and still more to the purpose, Jean Paul. He died in
1817. There was a third Brother also memorable for his
encouragement of Letters and Arts. "_Ist kein Dalberg da_, Is
there no Dalberg here?" the Herald cries on a certain
occasion. (See _Conv. Lexicon_, B. iii.)

To Sir Edward Bulwer, in his _Sketch of the Life of Schiller_
(p. c.), I am indebted for very kindly pointing out this
error; as well as for much other satisfaction derived from
that work. (_Note of_ 1845.)]

Except this early correspondence, very few of Schiller's letters have
been given to the world.[70] In Doering's Appendix, we have found one
written six years after the poet's voluntary exile, and agreeably
contrasted in its purport with the agitation and despondency of that
unhappy period. We translate it for the sake of those who, along with
us, regret that while the world is deluged with insipid
correspondences, and 'pictures of mind' that were not worth drawing,
the correspondence of a man who never wrote unwisely should lie
mouldering in private repositories, ere long to be irretrievably
destroyed; that the 'picture of a mind' who was among the conscript
fathers of the human race should still be left so vague and dim. This
letter is addressed to Schwann, during Schiller's first residence in
Weimar: it has already been referred to in the Text.

[Footnote 70: There have since been copious contributions:
_Correspondence with Goethe, Correspondence with Madam von
Wolzogen_, and perhaps others which I have not seen. (_Note
of_ 1845.)]

* * * * *

'Weimar, 2d May 1788.

'You apologise for your long silence to spare _me_ the pain
of an apology. I feel this kindness, and thank you for it.
You do not impute my silence to decay of friendship; a proof
that you have read my heart more justly than my evil
conscience allowed me to hope. Continue to believe that the
memory of you lives ineffaceably in my mind, and needs not
to be brightened up by the routine of visits