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[113] as any one may see, who reads the notes to his Aeschylus, where, with learning and acuteness, there is often a carelessness which is inexplicable, without this key to his character. Yet with all this levity and learning, he is obliged to work like a dog: he reads his lectures, is editing Cicero, conducts the Philological Seminary, superintends the Journal, and from all these together is obliged to correct fifteen or sixteen proof-sheets every week. And yet I hardly know any young man of five-and-twenty that is more amusing.

I went to the Botanical Garden to take leave, but did not find Prof. Sprengel, who gave it all its interest, when I last saw it, and on my way home visited the Halloren. There are now only about fifty families, who live together, and earn a poor subsistence by working in a salt-mine here, by teaching swimming, showing their dexterity in the art for money, and by catching birds,—particularly larks. They are curious only as the last supposed remains of the ancient Wendish nation, who have preserved their dress and customs, though not their language, from the time that Charlemagne transplanted the Saxons here, and thus exterminated gradually this rude and dangerous people.

The evening we passed at the Chancellor's, with his family, in the usual simple gathering, which the Germans are generally too proud to permit a stranger to join. His children, the sons with their wives, and two or three intimate friends pass Monday evening with him; and I know not when I have seen anything more natural and refreshing. The girls were in their calico dresses and colored vandykes, seated at their sewing and mending; the young men came in their frock-coats; and the Chancellor, with his wife, sat in homely simplicity on the sofa, and enjoyed the circle which affection had brought about them.

At eight o'clock, however, I took leave of them, and went with the Chancellor to a club supper, where most of the professors meet on Monday evenings. There were eighteen or twenty present this evening, and among them our old friend Knapp, Rudiger, who knows many languages, and looks like a raw farmer from the district of Maine, Voss, Professor of History, etc. The evening passed away pleasantly; there was little eating or drinking, but much amusing conversation, and at eleven o'clock everybody went home, and we bade farewell to the Chancellor and Halle.

Weimar, October 25.—We sent our letters to Goethe this morning, and he returned for answer the message that he would be happy to see us at eleven o'clock. We went punctually, and he was ready to

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