were not less active than before. Just think of the war and devastation of the years when the cloister was destroyed. And so we are no better off than if the manuscript had been lost several centuries previously."
"And yet the probability that the manuscript is preserved to the present day increases with every century," interposed the Doctor; "for the number of men who would value such a discovery has increased so much since that war, that destruction from rude ignorance has become almost inconceivable."
"We must not trust too much to the knowledge of the present day," said the Professor; "but if it were so," he continued, his eyes flashing, "if the imperial history of the first century, as written by Tacitus, were restored by a propitious fate, it would be a gift so great that the thought of the possibility of it might well, like Roman wine, intoxicate an honest man."
"Invaluable," assented the Doctor, "for our knowledge of the language, and for a hundred particulars of Roman history."
"And for the early history of Germany!" exclaimed the Professor.
Both traversed the room with rapid steps, shook hands, and looked at each other joyfully.
"And if a fortunate accident should put us on the track of this manuscript," began Fritz, "if through you it should be restored to the light of day, you, my friend, you are best fitted to edit it. The thought that you would experience such a pleasure, and that a work of such renown would fall to your lot, makes me happier than I can say."
"If we can find the manuscript," answered the Professor, "we must edit it together."
"Together?" exclaimed Fritz, with surprise.
"Yes, together," said the Professor, with decision; "it would make your ability widely known."
Fritz drew back. "How can you think that I would be so presumptuous?"
"Do not contradict me," exclaimed the Professor, "you are perfectly qualified for it."
"That I am not," answered Fritz, firmly; "and I am too proud to undertake anything for which I should have to thank your kindness more than my own powers."
"That is undue modesty," again exclaimed the Professor.
"I shall never do it," answered Fritz. "I could not for one moment think of adorning myself before the public with borrowed plumage."
"I know better than you," said the Professor, indignantly, "what you are able to do, and what is to your advantage."
"At all events, I would never agree that you should have the lion's share of the labor and secretly be deprived of the reward. Not my modesty, but my self-respect forbids this. And this feeling you ought to respect," concluded Fritz, with great energy.
"Now," returned the Professor, restraining his excited feelings, "we are behaving like the man who bought a house and field with the money procured by the sale of a calf which was not yet born. Be calm, Fritz; neither I nor you shall edit the manuscript."
"And we shall never know how the Roman Emperor treated the ill fated Thusnelda and Thumelicus!" said Fritz, sympathizingly to his friend.
"But it is not the absence of such particulars," said the Professor, "that makes the loss of the manuscript so greatly felt, for the main facts may be obtained from other sources. The most important point will always be, that Tacitus was the first, and in many respects is the only, historian who has portrayed the most striking and gloomy phases of human nature. His works that are extant are two historical tragedies, scenes in the Julian and Flavian imperial houses-fearful pictures of the enormous change which, in the course of a century, took place in the greatest city of antiquity, in the character of its emperors and the souls of their subjects-the history of tyrannical rule, which exterminated a noble race, destroyed a high and rich civilization, and degraded, with few exceptions, even the rulers themselves. We have, even up to the present day, scarcely another work whose author looks so searchingly into the souls of a whole succession of princes, and which describes so acutely and accurately the ruin which was wrought in different natures by the fiendish and distempered minds of rulers."
"It always makes me angry," said the Doctor, "when I hear him reproached as having for the most part written only imperial and court history. Who can expect grapes from a cypress, and satisfactory enjoyment in the grand public life of a man who, during a great portion of his manhood, daily saw before his eyes the dagger and poison-cup of a mad despot?"
"Yes," agreed the Professor, "Tacitus belonged to the aristocracy-a body unfit to rule, and unwilling to obey. In the consciousness of their privileged position they were the indispensable servants, while still the enemies and the rivals, of their sovereigns. In them the virtues and the vices of a mighty epoch grew to monstrous manifestations. Who but one of their own circle should write the history of Roman imperialism? The blackest crimes were concealed behind the stone walls of palaces; rumor, the low murmur of the antechamber, the lurking look of concealed hatred, were often the only sources the historian could command."
"All that remains for us to do is discreetly to accept the judgment of the man who has handed down to us information concerning this strange condition of things. Moreover, whoever studies the fragments of Tacitus that have been preserved, impartially and intelligently, will honor and admire his profound insight into the inmost depths of Roman character. It is an experienced statesman, of a powerful and truthful mind, relating the secret history of his time so clearly that we understand the men and all their doings as if we ourselves had the opportunity of reading their hearts. He who can do this for later centuries is not only a great historian but a great man. And for such I always felt a deep, heartfelt reverence, and I consider it the duty of a true critic to clear such a character from the attacks of petty minds."
"Hardly one of his contemporaries," said the Doctor, "has felt the poverty of his epoch's civilization as deeply as himself."
"Yes," rejoined the Professor, "he was a genuine man, so far as was possible in his time; and that is, after all, the main point. For what we must demand, is not the amount of knowledge for which we have to thank a great man, but his own personality, which, through what he has produced for us, becomes a portion of ourselves. Thus the spirit of Aristotle is something different to us than the substance of his teaching. For us Sophocles signifies much more than seven tragedies. His manner of thinking and feeling, his perception of the beautiful and the good, ought to become part of our life. Only in this way does the study of the past healthily influence our actions and our aspirations. In this sense the sad and sorrowful soul of Tacitus is far more to me than his delineation of the Emperor's madness. And you see, Fritz, it is on this account that your Sanskrit and Hindu languages are not satisfactory to me-the men are wanting in them."
"It is, at least, difficult for us to recognize them," answered his friend. "But one who, like you, explains Homer's epics to students, should not undervalue the charm that lies in sounding the mysterious depths of human activity, when a youthful nation conceals from our view the work of the individual man, and when the people itself comes before us in poetry, traditions, and law, assuming the shape of a living individuality."
"He who only engages in such researches," answered the Professor, eagerly, "soon becomes fantastic and visionary. The study of such ancient times acts like opium, and he who lingers all his life in such studies will hardly escape vagaries."
Fritz rose. "That is our old quarrel. I know you do not wish to speak harshly to me, but I feel that you intend this for me."
"And am I wrong?" continued the Professor. "I undoubtedly have a respect for every intellectual work, but I desire for my friend that which will be most beneficial to him. Your investigations into Hindu and German mythology entice you from one problem to another; youthful energies should not linger in the endless domain of indistinct
