its preparation, both for physical, and especially for moral, reasons, could not be well communicated; nay, that in order to comprehend, produce, and use this great work, one must know the secrets of nature in connection, since it was not a particular, but an universal remedy, and could indeed be produced under different forms and shapes.  My friend had listened to these enticing words.  The health of the body was too nearly allied to the health of the soul; and could a greater benefit, a greater mercy, be shown towards others than by appropriating to one’s self a remedy by which so many sufferings could be assuaged, so many a danger averted?  She had already secretly studied Welling’s “Opus Mago-cabalisticum,” for which, however, as the author himself immediately darkens and removes the light he imparts, she was looking about for a friend, who, in this alternation of glare and gloom, might bear her company.  It needed small incitement to inoculate me also with this disease.  I procured the work, which, like all writings of this kind, could trace its pedigree in a direct line up to the Neo-Platonic school.  My chief labor in this book was most accurately to notice the obscure hints by which the author refers from one passage to another, and thus promises to reveal what he conceals, and to mark down on the terminology which might well have been compared to that of the later sentimentalists.  Fraeulein von Klettenberg guided her way between both extremes, and seemed, with some self-complacency, to see her own reflections in the image of Count Zindendorf, whose opinions and actions bore witness to a higher birth and more distinguished rank.  Now she found in me what she needed, a lively young creature, striving after an unknown happiness, who, although he could not think himself an extraordinary sinner, yet found himself in no comfortable condition, and was perfectly healthy neither in body nor soul.  She was delighted with what nature had given me, as well as with much which I had gained for myself.  And, if she conceded to me many advantages, this was by no means humiliating to her:  for, in the first place, she never thought of emulating one of the male sex; and, secondly, she believed, that, in regard to religious culture, she was very much in advance of me.  My disquiet, my impatience, my striving, my seeking, investigating, musing, and wavering, she interpreted in her own way, and did not conceal from me her conviction, but assured me in plain terms that all this proceeded from my having no reconciled God.  Now, I had believed from my youth upwards that I stood on very good terms with my God,—­nay, I even fancied to myself, according to various experiences, that he might even be in arrears to me; and I was daring enough to think that I had something to forgive him.  This presumption was grounded on my infinite good will, to which, as it seemed to me, he should have given better assistance.  It may be imagined how often I got into disputes on this subject with my friend, which, however, always terminated in the friendliest way, and often, like my conversations with the old rector, with the remark, “that I was a foolish fellow, for whom many allowances must be made.”