Philanthropy stands in intimate relations to revived christian faith.
Sometimes it is its forerunner, at others its co-operator, and always
its follower. Whenever a land is morally prostrate and helpless, the
ministry skeptical or indifferent, and the sects arrayed against each
other, if humane efforts can be discovered, there is hope of better
times. Love of the body of man is the unfailing Baptist-herald
announcing the speedy care of his soul. The only indications of
evangelical faith in Germany at the closing period of the eighteenth
century were the quiet labors of such devoted friends of humanity as
Oberlin, Hamann, Lavater, and Claudius. And philanthropy assumed a more
stalwart form in the same ratio as religion gained strength over the
popular mind.

We have already spoken of the celebrities of Weimar. Students and
aspirants to fame from all parts of the Continent went thither, hoping
to enjoy at least a few conversations or perhaps a subsequent
correspondence with one of the ruling literary divinities. To have a
word of advice from Goethe, and to hear Schiller read an ode in his own
study was a memory of life-long value. Among the most venturesome of
this class was John Falk, once the humble son of a poor wig-maker of
Dantzic, but afterwards the Halle student, the novelist, satirist, and
poet.[85] He received high compliments from Wieland, and was admitted
into an intimacy with Goethe which resulted in his publication of the
latter's _Conversations_. He gradually gained public favor, and his
elevation to the society and attention of the literary regency of Weimar
was no ordinary testimonial to capacity and prospects.

By and by the sound of war was heard in that town, and with war came its
many evils. Napoleon having proved victorious at Jena, his legions were
quartered on the poor and rich through all the surrounding country. The
Duchy of Weimar, with its population of only one hundred thousand, were
required to support for five months nine hundred thousand of the enemy's
soldiers, and five hundred thousand horses. The air was rent with the
cries of orphans and poverty-stricken widows. Sorrow reigned in every
household, and the town of Weimar became a prominent part of the funeral
scene. But, unaccountable as it may appear, the resident literati were
not much disturbed. Living so near the top of Parnassus, they would not
listen to the storms below. Goethe, the acknowledged prince, wrote as
zealously as ever in