at times when we should necessarily die of ennui, or grasp at the reaction of passion.
How often is repeated the litany about the mischief of novels! and yet what misfortune is it if a pretty girl or a handsome young man put themselves in the place of a person who fares better or worse than themselves? Is the citizen life worth so much? or do the necessities of the day so completely absorb the man, that he must refuse every beautiful demand which is made upon him?
The historico-poetical Christian names which have intruded into the German church in the place of the sacred names, not unfrequently to the annoyance of the officiating clergyman, are without doubt to be regarded as small ramifications of the romantico-poetical pictures. This very impulse to honour one's child by a well-sounding name—even if the name has nothing further behind it—is praiseworthy; and this connection of an imaginary world with the real one diffuses an agreeable lustre over the whole life of the person. A beautiful child, whom with satisfaction we call "Bertha," we should think we offended if we were to call it "Urselblandine." With a cultivated man, not to say a lover, such a name would certainly falter on the lips. The cold world, which judges only from one side, is not to be blamed if it sets down as ridiculous and objectionable all that comes forward as imaginary; but the thinking connoisseur of mankind must know how to estimate it according to its worth.
For the position of the loving couple on the fair Rhinebank, this comparison, to which a wag had compelled them, produced the most agreeable results. We do not meditate on ourselves when we look in a mirror; but we feel that we exist, and allow ourselves to pass. Thus is it also with those moral imitations, in which we recognise our manners and inclinations, our habits and peculiarities, as in a silhouette, and
