he once, “what passes in the Holy-of-Holies of Man’s Soul; in what words, known to these profane times, speak even afar-off of the unspeakable?” We ask in turn:  Why perplex these times, profane as they are, with needless obscurity, by omission and by commission?  Not mystical only is our Professor, but whimsical; and involves himself, now more than ever, in eye-bewildering chiaroscuro.  Successive glimpses, here faithfully imparted, our more gifted readers must endeavor to combine for their own behoof.

He says:  “The hot Harmattan wind had raged itself out; its howl went silent within me; and the long-deafened soul could now hear.  I paused in my wild wanderings; and sat me down to wait, and consider; for it was as if the hour of change drew nigh.  I seemed to surrender, to renounce utterly, and say:  Fly, then, false shadows of Hope; I will chase you no more, I will believe you no more.  And ye too, haggard spectres of Fear, I care not for you; ye too are all shadows and a lie.  Let me rest here:  for I am way-weary and life-weary; I will rest here, were it but to die:  to die or to live is alike to me; alike insignificant.”—­And again:  “Here, then, as I lay in that CENTRE OF INDIFFERENCE; cast, doubtless by benignant upper Influence, into a healing sleep, the heavy dreams rolled gradually away, and I awoke to a new Heaven and a new Earth.  The first preliminary moral Act, Annihilation of Self (Selbst-todtung), had been happily accomplished; and my mind’s eyes were now unsealed, and its hands ungyved.”

Might we not also conjecture that the following passage refers to his Locality, during this same “healing sleep;” that his Pilgrim-staff lies cast aside here, on “the high table-land;” and indeed that the repose is already taking wholesome effect on him?  If it were not that the tone, in some parts, has more of riancy, even of levity, than we could have expected!  However, in Teufelsdrockh, there is always the strangest Dualism:  light dancing, with guitar-music, will be going on in the fore-court, while by fits from within comes the faint whimpering of woe and wail.  We transcribe the piece entire.

“Beautiful it was to sit there, as in my skyey Tent, musing and meditating; on the high table-land, in front of the Mountains; over me, as roof, the azure Dome, and around me, for walls, four azure-flowing curtains,—­namely, of the Four azure Winds, on whose bottom-fringes also I have seen gilding.  And then to fancy the fair Castles that stood sheltered in these Mountain hollows; with their green flower-lawns, and white dames and damosels, lovely enough:  or better still, the straw-roofed Cottages, wherein stood many a Mother baking bread, with her children round her:—­all hidden and protectingly folded up in the valley-folds; yet there and alive, as sure as if I beheld them.  Or to see, as well as fancy, the nine Towns and Villages, that lay round my mountain-seat, which, in still weather, were wont