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The part played by this people in the Civil War is a matter of history. The scope of this book has not permitted the author to introduce the peasantry and trading classes which formed the mass in this movement. But Richter, the type of the university-bred revolutionist which emigrated after '48, is drawn more or less from life. And the duel described actually took place in Berlin. St.
"But why has he gone? Will you show me the cablegram?" "You could not understand it, and it might be better that you should not know," Richter answered. Then he paused and his manner, which had been friendly and sympathetic, changed. His short hair seemed to bristle and his eyes sparkled under his shaggy brows as he resumed: "Herr Kenwardine was forced to go at the moment he was needed most.
It is tragical to think of! These men came but to see him; it was out of no sympathy with him, nor no hatred to him. They came to get a little amusement; they got their amusement; and the Hero's life went for it! Richter says, in the Island of Sumatra there is a kind of "Light-chafers," large Fire-flies, which people stick upon spits, and illuminate the ways with at night.
II. of his Opere filosofiche, Padua, 1897. My master, Pietro Ellero, has given in La Tirrandie borghese, an eloquent description of this social and political pathology as it appears in Italy. RICHTER, Où mène le socialisme, Paris, 1892.
Grey, I am not a great genius like Goethe, and unfortunately can not candidly echo his declaration, that, 'Nothing ever came to me in my sleep. I can scarcely tell you when this idea was first born in my busy, tireless brain, but it took form one evening after I had read Charlotte Bronté's 'Woman Titan, in 'Shirley, and compared it with that glowing description of Jean Paul Richter, 'And so the Sun stands at the border of the Earth, and looks back on his stately Spring, whose robe-folds are valleys, whose breast-bouquet is gardens, whose blush is a vernal evening, and who, when she rises, will be Summer. Still it was vague, and eluded me, until I found somewhere in my most desultory reading, an account of 'Espendérmad, one of the six angels of Ormuzd, to whom was entrusted the guardianship of the earth.
The Judge merely grunted. He scratched among his papers, and produced some legal cap and a bunch of notes. "Go out there," he said, "and take off your coat and copy this brief. Mr. Richter will help you to-day. And tell your mother I shall do myself the honor to call upon her this evening." Stephen did as he was told, without a word. But Mr.
Richter walked home as far as Stephen's house. He was to take the Fifth Street car for South St. Louis. And they talked of Tom's courage, and of the broad and secret military organization the Leader had planned that night. But Stephen did not sleep till the dawn. Was he doing right? Could he afford to risk his life in the war that was coming, and leave his mother dependent upon charity?
He seems to have read through Jean Paul Richter, a feat to accomplish which Germans require a special dictionary. When engaged on the Civil War he routed up a whole shoal of obscure seventeenth-century papers from Yarmouth, the remnant of a yet larger heap, "read hundredweights of dreary books," and endured "a hundred Museum headaches."
How was he to confess to Richter, of all men? "Carl," he said at length, "I I cannot go." "You you cannot go? You who have done so much already! And why?" Stephen did not answer. But Richter, suddenly divining, laid his hands impulsively on Stephen's shoulders. "Ach, I see," he said. "Stephen, I have saved some money. It shall be for your mother while you are away."
Byron was not, in the highest sense, a great humourist; he does not blend together the two phases, as they are blended in single sentences or whole chapters of Sterne, in the April-sunshine of Richter, or in Sartor Resartus; but he comes near to produce the same effect by his unequalled power of alternating them.
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