wrote to Tieck,--"My Romance is getting along finely. About twelve printed sheets are finished. The whole plan is pretty much laid out in my mind. It will consist of two parts; the first, I hope, will be finished in three weeks. It contains the basis and introduction to the second part. The whole may be called an Apotheosis of Poesy. Henry of Ofterdingen becomes in the first part ripe for a poet, and in the second part is declared poet. It will in many respects be similar to Sternbald, except in lightness. However, this want will not probably be unfavorable to the contents. In every point of view it is a first attempt, the print of that spirit of poesy, which your acquaintance has reawakened in me, and which gives to your friendship its chief value.

"There are some songs in it, which suit my taste. I am very much pleased with the real romance,--my head is really dizzy with the multitude of ideas I have gathered for romances and comedies. If I can visit you soon, I will bring you a tale and a fable from my romance, and will subject them to your criticism." He visited his friends at Jena the next spring, and soon repeated his visit, bringing the first part of Henry of Ofterdingen, in the same form as that of which this volume is a translation.

When Tieck, in the summer of 1800, left Jena, he visited his friend for some time at his father's house. He was well and calm in his spirits; though his family were somewhat alarmed about him, thinking that they noticed, that he was continually growing paler and thinner. He himself was more attentive than usual to his diet; he drank little or no wine, ate scarcely any meat, living principally on milk and vegetables. "We took daily walks," says Tieck, "and rides on horseback. In ascending a hill swiftly, or in any violent motion, I could observe neither weakness in his breast nor short breath, and therefore endeavored to persuade him to forsake his strict mode of life; because I thought his abstemiousness from wine and strengthening food not only irritating in itself, but also to proceed from a false anxiety on his part. He was full of plans for the future; his house was already put in order, for in August he intended to celebrate his nuptials. He spake with great pleasure of finishing Ofterdingen and other works. His life gave promise of the most useful activity and love. When I took leave of him, I never could have imagined that we were not to meet again."

When in August he was about departing for Freiberg to celebrate his marriage, he was seized with an emission of blood, which his physician declared to be mere hemorrhoidal and insignificant. Yet it shook his frame considerably, and still more when it began to return periodically. His wedding was postponed, and, in the beginning of October, he travelled with his brother and parents to Dresden. Here they left him, in order to visit their daughter in Upper Lausatia, his brother Charles remaining with him in Dresden. He became apparently weaker; and when, in the beginning of November, he learned that a younger brother, fourteen years of age, had been drowned through mere carelessness, the sudden shock caused a violent bleeding at the lungs, upon which the physician immediately declared his disease incurable. Soon after this his betrothed came to Dresden.

As he grew weaker, he longed to change his residence to some warmer climate. He thought of visiting his friend Herbert; but his physician advised against such a change, perhaps considering him already too weak to make such a journey. Thus the year passed away; and, in January 1801, he longed so eagerly to see his parents and be with them once more, that at the end of the month he returned to Weissenfels. There the ablest physicians from Leipzig and Jena were consulted, yet his case grew rapidly worse, although he was perfectly free from pain, as was the case through his whole illness. He still attended to the duties of his office, and wrote considerably in his private papers. He also composed some poems about this time, read the Bible diligently, and much from the works of Zinzendorf and Lavater. The nearer he approached his end, the stronger was his hope of recovery; for his cough abated, and, with the exception of debility, he had none of the feelings of a sick man. With this hope and longing for life, fresh powers and new talents seemed to awaken within him; he thought with renewed love of his projected labors, and undertook to write Henry of Ofterdingen anew. Once, shortly before his death, he said; "I now begin, for the first time, to see what true poetry is. Innumerable songs and poems far different from those I have written awake within me." From the 19th of March, the day on which Sophia died, he became very perceptibly weaker; many of his friends visited him, and he was particularly delighted when, on the 21st of March, his faithful and oldest friend Frederick Schlegel came to see him from Jena. He conversed much with him, particularly concerning their mutual labors. During these days his spirits were good, his nights quiet, and he enjoyed tranquil sleep. About six o'clock on the morning of the 26th, he asked his brother to hand him some books, in order to look out certain passages, that he had in mind; he then ordered his breakfast, and conversed with his usual vivacity till eight. Towards nine he asked his brother to play for him on the piano, and soon after fell asleep. Frederick Schlegel soon after entered the chamber, and found him sleeping quietly. This sleep lasted till twelve o'clock, at which hour he expired without a struggle; and unchanged in death his countenance retained the same pleasant expression, that it exhibited during life.

Thus died our author before he had finished his nine-and-twentieth year. In him we may alike love and admire his extensive knowledge and his philosophical genius, as well as his poetical talents. With a spirit much in advance of his times, his country might have promised itself great things of him, had not an untimely death cut him off. Yet his unfinished writings have already had their influence; many of his great thoughts will yet inspire futurity; and noble minds and deep thinkers will be enlightened and set on fire by the sparks of his spirit.

Novalis was slender and of fine proportions. He wore his light brown hair long, hanging over his shoulders in flowing locks, a style less singular then than now; his brown eye was clear and brilliant, and his complexion, particularly his forehead, almost transparent. His hands and feet were rather too large, and had something awkward about them. His countenance was always serene and benignant. To those, who judge men by their forwardness, or by their affectation of fashion or dignity, Novalis was lost in the crowd; but to the practised eye he appeared beautiful. The outlines and expression of his face resembled very much those of St. John, as he is represented in the magnificent picture of A. Dürer, preserved in Nuremberg and München.

His speech was clear and vivacious. "I never saw him tired," says Tieck, "even when we continued together till late at night; he only stopped voluntarily to rest, and then read before he fell asleep." He knew not what it was to be tired, even in the wearisome companionship of vulgar minds; for he always found some one, who could impart some information to him, useful, though apparently insignificant. His urbanity and sympathy for all made him universally beloved. So skilful was he in his intercourse with others, that lower minds never felt their inferiority. Although he preferred to veil the depths of his mind in conversation, speaking, however, as if inspired, of the invisible world, he was yet merry, as a child, full of art and frolic, giving himself wholly up to the jovial spirit prevailing in the company. Free from self-conceit or arrogance, a stranger to affectation or dissimulation, he was a pure, true man; the purest, loveliest spirit, ever tabernacled in the flesh.

His chief studies for many