striking turns, piquant wit, and wise arrangement, there is still wanting the living breath, the internal connection to exhibit a complete picture of the war. And still, from some indications, we may believe that this tediousness is designed, in order to portray ironically the dull uniformity, the spiritual waste of external political life, and the littleness of Egotism. For it must be remembered that the war is a civil war—the genuine poetic war, where people is against people, falls into Phantasmagory. The last scene would be in this respect the most successful. The continued persistency of the spiritual lord to obtain in the name of the heavenly church, earthly possessions, the original acquiescence of the Emperor, but his final displeasure at the boundless shamelessness of the priest, are excellently portrayed, and the pretentious pomp of the Alexandrine has never done better service. In the fifth act we behold a wanderer, who is saved from shipwreck, and brought to the house of an aged couple, Philemon and Baucis. He visits the old people, eats at their frugal table, sees them still happy in their limited sphere, but listens with astonishment to them, as they tell of the improvements of their rich neighbor, and they express the fear of being ousted by him. Still, they pull the little bell of their chapel to kneel and pray with accustomed ceremony in presence of the ancient God.—The neighbor is Faust. He has raised dams, dug canals, built palaces, laid out ornamental gardens, educated the people, sent out navies. The Industry of our time occupies him unceasingly; he revels in the wealth of trade, in the turmoil of men, in the commerce of the world. That those aged people still have property in the middle of his possessions is extremely disagreeable to him, for just this little spot where the old mossy church stands, the sound of whose bell pierces his heart, where the airy lindens unfold themselves to the breeze, he would like to have as a belvedere to look over all his creations at a glance. Like a good man whose head is always full of plans, he means well to the people, and is willing to give them larger possessions where they can quietly await death, and he sends Mephistopheles to treat with them. But the aged people, who care not for eating and drinking, but for comfort, will not leave their happy hut; their refusal brings on disputes, and the dwelling, together with the aged couple and the lindens, perishes by fire in this conflict between the active Understanding and the poetry of Feeling, which, in the routine of pious custom, clings to what is old. Faust is vexed over the turn which affairs have taken, particularly over the loss of the beautiful lindens, but consoles himself with the purpose to build in their stead a watch-tower. Then before the palace, appear in the night, announcing death, four hoary women, Starvation, Want, Guilt and Care, as the Furies who accompany the external prosperity of our industrial century.