“O Maggie, say it over! 
O Maggie, is it so? 
I couldn’t longer bear the doubt: 
’Twas hell,—­but now you’ve drawed me out,
You’ve drawed me out! 
And will I? Won’t I, though!”

The later years of Hebel’s life quietly passed away in the circle of his friends at Carlsruhe.  After the peculiar mood which called forth the Alemannic poems had passed away, he seems to have felt no further temptation to pursue his literary success.  His labors, thenceforth, were chiefly confined to the preparation of a Biblical History, for schools, and the editing of the “Rhenish House-Friend,” an illustrated calendar for the people, to which he gave a character somewhat similar to that of Franklin’s “Poor Richard.”  His short, pithy narratives, each with its inevitable, though unobtrusive moral, are models of style.  The calendar became so popular, under his management, that forty thousand copies were annually printed.  He finally discontinued his connection with it, in 1819, in consequence of an interference with his articles on the part of the censor.

In society Hebel was a universal favorite.  Possessing, in his personal appearance, no less than in his intellect, a marked individuality, he carried a fresh, vital, inspiring element into every company which he visited.  His cheerfulness was inexhaustible, his wit keen and lambent without being acrid, his speech clear, fluent, and genial, and his fund of anecdote commensurate with his remarkable narrative power.  He was exceedingly frank, joyous, and unconstrained in his demeanor; fond of the pipe and the beer-glass; and as one of his maxims was, “Not to close any door through which Fortune might enter,” he not only occasionally bought a lottery-ticket, but was sometimes to be seen, during the season, at the roulette-tables of Baden-Baden.  One of his friends declares, however, that he never obtruded “the clergyman” at inappropriate times!

In person he was of medium height, with a body of massive Teutonic build, a large, broad head, inclined a little towards one shoulder, the eyes small, brown, and mischievously sparkling, the hair short, crisp, and brown, the nose aquiline, and the mouth compressed, with the commencement of a smile stamped in the corners.  He was careless in his gait, and negligent in his dress.  Warm-hearted and tender, and especially attracted towards women and children, the cause of his celibacy always remained a mystery to his friends.

The manner of his death, finally, illustrated the genuine humanity of his nature.  In September, 1826, although an invalid at the time, he made a journey to Mannheim for the sake of procuring a mitigation of the sentence of a condemned poacher, whose case appealed strongly to his sympathy.  His exertions on behalf of the poor man so aggravated his disease that he was soon beyond medical aid.  Only his corpse, crowned with laurel, returned to Carlsruhe.  Nine years afterwards a monument was erected to his