to follow the steps of his intellectual and
moral culture; to gather from his life and works some picture of
himself. It is worth inquiring, whether he, who could represent noble
actions so well, did himself act nobly; how those powers of intellect,
which in philosophy and art achieved so much, applied themselves to
the every-day emergencies of life; how the generous ardour, which
delights us in his poetry, displayed itself in the common intercourse
between man and man. It would at once instruct and gratify us if we
could understand him thoroughly, could transport ourselves into his
circumstances outward and inward, could see as he saw, and feel as he
felt.

But if the various utility of such a task is palpable enough, its
difficulties are not less so. We should not lightly think of
comprehending the very simplest character, in all its bearings; and it
might argue vanity to boast of even a common acquaintance with one
like Schiller's. Such men as he are misunderstood by their daily
companions, much more by the distant observer, who gleans his
information from scanty records, and casual notices of characteristic
events, which biographers are often too indolent or injudicious to
collect, and which the peaceful life of a man of letters usually
supplies in little abundance. The published details of Schiller's
history are meagre and insufficient; and his writings, like those of
every author, can afford but a dim and dubious copy of his mind. Nor
is it easy to decipher even this, with moderate accuracy. The haze of
a foreign language, of foreign manners, and modes of thinking strange
to us, confuses and obscures the sight, often magnifying what is
trivial, softening what is rude, and sometimes hiding or distorting
what is beautiful. To take the dimensions of Schiller's mind were a
hard enterprise, in any case; harder still with these impediments.

Accordingly we do not, in this place, pretend to attempt it: we have
no finished portrait of his character to offer, no formal estimate of
his works. It will be enough for us if, in glancing over his life, we
can satisfy a simple curiosity, about the fortunes and chief
peculiarities of a man connected with us by a bond so kindly as that
of the teacher to the taught, the giver to the receiver of mental
delight; if, in wandering through his intellectual creation, we can
enjoy once more the magnificent and fragrant beauty of that fairy
land, and express our feelings, where we do not