“Only the lowland tongue of Scotland might
  Rehearse this little tragedy aright":—­

a conviction which we have frequently shared, in translating our German author.

It is a matter of surprise to us, that, while Jasmin’s poems have gone far beyond the bounds of France, the name of John Peter Hebel—­who possesses more legitimate claims to the peculiar distinction which Burns achieved—­is not only unknown outside of Germany, but not even familiarly known to the Germans themselves.  The most probable explanation is, that the Alemannic dialect, in which he wrote, is spoken only by the inhabitants of the Black Forest and a portion of Suabia, and cannot be understood, without a glossary, by the great body of the North-Germans.  The same cause would operate, with greater force, in preventing a translation into foreign languages.  It is, in fact, only within the last twenty years that the Germans have become acquainted with Burns,—­chiefly through the admirable translations of the poet Freiligrath.

To Hebel belongs the merit of having bent one of the harshest of German dialects to the uses of poetry.  We doubt whether the lyre of Apollo was ever fashioned from a wood of rougher grain.  Broad, crabbed, guttural, and unpleasant to the ear which is not thoroughly accustomed to its sound, the Alemannic patois was, in truth, a most unpromising material.  The stranger, even though he were a good German scholar, would never suspect the racy humor, the naive, childlike fancy, and the pure human tenderness of expression which a little culture has brought to bloom on such a soil.  The contractions, elisions, and corruptions which German words undergo, with the multitude of terms in common use derived from the Gothic, Greek, Latin, and Italian, give it almost the character of a different language.  It was Hebel’s mother-tongue, and his poetic faculty always returned to its use with a fresh delight which insured success.  His German poems are inferior in all respects.

Let us first glance at the poet’s life,—­a life uneventful, perhaps, yet interesting from the course of its development.  He was born in Basle, in May, 1760, in the house of Major Iselin, where both his father and mother were at service.  The former, a weaver by trade, afterwards became a soldier, and accompanied the Major to Flanders, France, and Corsica.  He had picked up a good deal of stray knowledge on his campaigns, and had a strong natural taste for poetry.  The qualities of the son were inherited from him rather than from the mother, of whom we know nothing more than that she was a steady, industrious person.  The parents lived during the winter in the little village of Hausen, in the Black Forest, but with the approach of spring returned to Basle for their summer service in Major Iselin’s house.