CHARACTERISTIC TRAITS. BY DR. DIESterweg.

The loved and lost we see no more,

But their glorious light we see,

Shining from the other shore.

With these words of Goethe* I introduce the following tribute to the characteristic traits of William Middendorff. Whoever' knew him will not soon forget him; whoever came into his sphere was illuminated by the warmth and light which radiated from him; from many the benign influence has not yet passed away. To speak figuratively, he was a star that gratefully absorbed into itself the light of other stars; but he shone also with his own radiance.

A monument to Friedrich Froebel has been placed upon his grave, on the hill above Marienthal, in the beautiful church-yard that stands over the little city of Schweina, where the view of the castle of Altenstein and the ruins of Liebenstein enchants the traveler. The monument represents the cube, cylinder, and ball, the ground symbol of Froebel's intuition—and is hewn out of sandstone. A perishable monument! still it was excellently devised by Middendorff. But what need have men of the inner being of outward tokens of honor during their life time, or outward monuments after their death? Monuments are erected to the heroes of war; these men have made themselves an imperishable monument-if anything is imperishable in this world—in the hearts of men. The divine discovery of Johann Guttenberg offers itself as a fitting means of relating to their cotemporaries and successors the life of these noble friends of men. These words have this aim. May they find a receptive ear and heart! As, according to Niebuhr's remarks, at the death of an honorable man in old Rome, there was not a sorrowful voice, but all took pains to honor his memory and to make known to a wide circle his services to his country and to life, together with his other virtues, so we, late minstrels of the dead (Epigoni), will do with our dead. An honorable remembrance is all we have to offer them. If further we are excited to emulate them, their influence extends beyond the limits of their immediate activity. I have nothing to say of Middendorff but what is good and noble. Indifferent readers might suspect that I am covering up or concealing weaknesses, exaggerating virtues, and, instead of giving historical traits, delivering a panegyric. It is not so; the truth is everything with me, but I have perceived nothing blameworthy in Middendorff. I do not think it useful to create *Was vergangen, kehrt nicht wieder; Doch was leuchtend ging hernieder, Leuchtet lange noch zurück.-Göthe.

Diesterweg's Püdagogisches Jahrbuch for 1855.

beings of ideal perfection at the expense of truth; but it would be still more objectionable to hunt up weaknesses, if they did not present themselves. Of Middendorff it may truly be said, "He was a man whose steps may be followed, but whose place no man can fill." Lange, in his representation, does not disclaim the sentiment of a son-in-law, or daughter's husband, but far from falling into the rhetorical tone of the flatterer, he speaks only the language of a grateful son and of just veneration for a man who was not only his father, but his friend and teacher. Indeed, I am sure that he is so careful not to excite the opinion that he has said too much, that he holds back some information which I, who was not connected with Middendorff by the ties of relationship, but only (only, do I say?) of spiritual friendship, have undertaken to add. I speak, of course, not in the name of another, but in my own name.

But before I proceed I must, for the right estimate of the standpoint which I take in such a representation of another's life, repeat a saying of Wieland's, which he puts into the mouth of Diogenes of Synope: "A small mind perceives, in the narrow circle which he describes with his nose, the smallest motes. Hence the readiness with which Lilliputian minds are so much too active in perceiving little spots or little faults, while they are incapable of being touched by the beauty of a whole character. They do not consider that this sharp-sightedness for trifles is nothing but a childish trait, and that through their own inability to take in a whole and judge it correctly, they lack one of the most essential advantages by which a man may be discriminated from a creature in leading-strings."

Unquestionably Froebel and Middendorff were both interesting men and belonged to this category. Both friends, whose friendship began in Lüzow's free corps and lasted through life, were pupils, esteemed disciples of Pestalozzi; Froebel was his immediate pupil. "The disciple is not above the master," but the disciple works in the spirit of the master, else he does not deserve that title of honor. Rich is the creative power of the master of the world, but yet it seems, at times, that this power ceases to act, who could think that!-manifests itself in other ways. Thus the spirit of Pestalozzi seems to vanish. Perhaps the men named were the last of his true pupils. That would be a matter of regret, for the spirit of Pestalozzi was the spirit of true ideality, and yet (or was it just for that reason) the spirit of true love for the people, the lowly-born and the poor, the spirit of true pedagogy. We have, as teachers, the same right as other professions. Therefore, in modesty, we call the last century pedagogically the century of Pestalozzi, just as men in general speak of the century of Alex

ander, of Charles the Great, of Frederick II. With Pestalozzi, our two friends shared a similar fate, poverty and misunderstanding. Like him, they fought all their lives with the want of sufficient means, and their purest purposes were not spared mistrust and contempt. Whoever is desirous of material treasures must not choose the path of the teacher, who verifies the proverb uttered three thousand years ago, "Whoever will teach much, must suffer much." The pedagogue must not expect to see outward results, but so much more is it our duty to acknowledge what the true pedagogue has done, to support him with all our power, and be true to his memory in our hearts. Good men often shake off the grateful memory of men to whom they owe their knowledge and insight.

In the spring of 1849 I met with Froebel; in the autumn of the same year with Middendorff. The meeting with these two closelyunited friends I look upon as the last happy event of my teaching life. Like the dew-drops, in every one of which the corporeal eye of creation, the sun, mirrors itself, but each in its own way so the spirit of true pedagogy mirrored itself in those men, characteristically in each (which is a token of their truth to nature).

I have spoken of Froebel in the "Pedagogic year-book for 1851,” and often in the "Rhein. Blätter;" but one cannot speak of Middendorff without speaking of Froebel; they belong together. But here Middendorff stands in the foreground.

What I have to say of him I write with renewed deep sorrow over the unexpected loss of that man, I say, although the word is not satisfactory; but alas! I know of no word that will distinctly express the nature of Middendorff's being. There is no word, as there are no symbols for a richly-endowed nature, a manifoldly-cultivated personality, for a uniform combination of rare excellences. These peculiarities present themselves to every one who knew Middendorff. I shall be accused of extravagance in what I shall say further of him, but it cannot be helped. I must rather add that my words do not satisfy me; the impression I carry away of him is not to be represented in words, so I do not think of trying for any; I write unsatisfactory, cold words of the man in whom has appeared to me thus far the noblest, most rounded personality that I have had the happiness of beholding. Middendorff was a God-like man.

If one wishes to praise a teacher, one ascribes these and those qualities to him, and rejoices in them; and if one is praising a man, one will say that he is sincere and true, upright and without blemish, friendly and grateful, and worthy of recognition, but, thank God, not of uncommon virtue; but these and those qualities do not reach

Middendorff. He stood outside the limits of every thing common. He moved like an ordinary man among ordinary men; there was nothing peculiar in his manners, but what and how he was was a thing of the rarest kind. Of the men I have known in life I can place no one by the side of him in respect to the oneness and individually-personal perfection of his nature. Whoever reads this will think of Friedrich Froebel, and will perhaps remember what I have said of him. I remember how Middendorff looked up to him as already far superior to himself, and it is true he was more rich in invention, more creative, more full of genius, than Middendorff; but in respect to the oneness of the whole being, to visible, palpable, obvious ingenuousness and devotion, and purity of heart and soul, I place no one over-I place no one near Middendorff.

He is gone, he is lost to us; and therefore I can speak of him, What would the man say, if here, in his-what shall I say? in his innocence, in his simplicity, in his maiden modesty, if he should know that any one spoke of him thus? He would glow with anger. as I have seen him do, but the capacity for that I look upon in him as a high one; he was a child, and again no child; a child in innocence and purity of heart, but also a man, and at the right time a most commanding and powerful man. But I cannot go on thus; I must control myself; I must relate individual traits.

There is a science of physiognomy; one can recognize the essential nature of a man in the build of his body, in his walk, his attitudes, in the shape of his head, in his mien-I mean the incommunicable, direct conception of the most profound and peculiar quality of a man. The capacity for it is peculiar only to men of simple and sincere nature; only in a pure mirror can be seen a true picture of objects. So-called connoisseurs of men, the worldly-wise men, are far removed from it. They deceive themselves in all the routine of which they boast; they have no touchstone for simple, grand natures.

By such natures we can test, exalt, and strengthen the degree which we have had the happiness to possess of this touchstone of character. Middendorff was peculiarly fitted for this. His appearance wholly and purely proclaimed his nature, the very essence of the man. Other men, too, have an expression of spirituality and sensibility in their countenances. Middendorff's face was transfigured. In his eye there lay something which it is difficult to describe; it can only be indicated when I say there was something supernatural in it. In his daughter's eye it is found again. If one should say a large, beaming eye, of spiritual yet mild brilliancy, expressive of greatness of soul, showing love, devotion, friendship, and trust, all

that is true of him, but still it does not indicate the peculiar quality. We come nearer to it if we remember a wide-open pupil yielding itself to a pure conception of the world, and of men-who has seen it otherwise when he thinks of and portrays to himself the spirituality of expression in pictures of prophets and seers, as―to mention no higher example-Socrates must have looked when he received communications from his demon.

That Middendorff, like every man penetrated with deep sensibility to the inner meaning of things, and to the understanding of himself and the recognition of the duties of life obligatory upon him, had his demon, and received communications from it and followed its warnings, was certain. Lange has expressed it already. It was seen in the mirror of his eye; the intrinsic tone of his voice proclaimed it to every one who had the ear for it; the confessions which his intimate friends received from him in confidential conversation confirmed it (his voice then took a peculiar elevated tone, and yet a lower key); and this peculiarity of the man drew children to him with an indescribable charm, and fettered them to his side.

He was, like Salzmann, certain of the immediate guiding of a power, not incompatible with freedom, swaying the fate of the world at large and the affairs of individual men, and this inward assurance, confirmed by the whole course of his life and experience, gave him, when he became aware of it, what was expected of him in emergencies, self-command, self-conquest, and self-sacrifice, of which latter he was capable in the highest degree, as Lange gives us proof. Among a thousand men, how many are there who can conceive of a man, destitute of favorable circumstances, working for years in a remote region, resolved upon a kind of vagabond life, subjected to privations of all kinds, and in spite of all this, and of misconception and unkind judgments, greeting every day's work joyfully? So felt, thought, and acted Middendorff.

He lived in the world among men as they are, but he did not belong to the world; he scarcely knew it; yet he was a man who understood human existence, the inmost soul of the whole race and of individuals, as few do. It was possible to overlook him, but whoever once knew him could never forget him. It is conceivable also because of that quality which can be designated as deep inwardness of mind and sensibility, that he was specially attracted by little. children and by womanly natures, and also attracted them. Compared with men he had a soft, tender, womanly nature. The impression he made immediately was such that one felt it to be impossible in his presence to undertake or to say anything coarse and