This much discussed silhouette of Goëthe’s mother is illustrated in “Goëthe’s Mother,” by Dr. Karl Heinemann, and fuller accounts of the poet’s attitude towards the silhouettists of his day, and the instructive and exciting deductions from their work, will be found further on in our volume. In a letter from Fräulein von Göchhausen to Frau Rath—we use the translation of Mr. A. S. Gibb—the delight in the novel portraiture is shown, and incidentally the vivacity of the writer:— “WEIMAR, _the 27th December, 1781_. “I am sure, dearest mother, that you in your life have had many and varied joys; but whether you know any such joy as you have given me on Christmas Day, at least I wish it you! Your silhouette, so like! of such an excellent, dear, beloved woman! in such a costly, pretty, and stylish setting; and your letter—O your dear letter!—could I only say how indescribably admirable the letter is! Enough, dearest mother: from all my exclamations there is, alas, nothing further to be learned than that I am half out of my wits with excessive joy. The first day Goëthe had much to bear from me, for I almost ate him up. By monstrous good luck there was on that joyous day a grand dinner at the Duchess’s, and nearly half the town was assembled. I could, therefore, produce at once my splendid present (which will not so soon come off my so-called swan-like neck); and there was a questioning and a glancing at the beautiful novelty, and I was thoroughly wild, and people thought I must have had a gift of clear quicksilver.[1] “Dearest woman, how shall I thank you! how ever deserve so much goodness—so without all desert and worthiness on my part! In return, I can, alas! do nothing, except to go on in my old jog-trot—love, honour, and obey you my life long. Amen! “L. GÖCHHAUSEN.” [1] This seems a strange expression; but at that time, when anyone showed a restless activity, they would say that someone had given them quicksilver. Later the craft of the silhouettist fell into disrepute when it had become part of the curriculum of young ladies’ schools; unskilful artists itinerated, pursuing their craft in booths and at fairs—one in the Thames Tunnel, several on the Chain Pier at Brighton. At street corners magic figures, with concealed workers, were used to entice the unwilling with mystery. Even Sam Weller, in his inimitable letter to Mary, laughs at the methods of the “profeel macheen.”