other,—illuminating flashes of the understanding which beam forth from such a contact, significant images which float in these regions, forcible aphorisms from sacred and profane writers, with whatever else of a humourous kind could be added,—all this forms the wondrous aggregate of his style and his communications. Now, although one cannot join him in his depths, cannot wander with him on his heights, cannot master the forms which float before him, cannot from an infinitely extended literature exactly find out the sense of a passage which is only hinted at, we find, that, the more we study him, the more dim and dark it becomes; and this darkness always increases with years, because his allusions were directed to certain definite peculiarities which prevailed for the moment in life and in literature. In my collection there are some of his printed sheets, where he has cited with his own hand, in the margin, the passages to which his hints refer. If one opens them, there is again a sort of equivocal double light, which appears to us highly agreeable: only one must completely renounce what is ordinarily called understanding. Such leaves merit to be called sybilline, for this reason: that one cannot consider them in and for themselves, but must wait for an opportunity to seek refuge with their oracles. Every time that one opens them, one fancies one has found something new; because the sense which abides in every passage touches and excites us in a curious manner.
I never saw him, nor did I hold any immediate communication with him by correspondence. It seems to me that he was extremely clear in the relations of life and friendship, and that he had a correct feeling for the positions of persons among each other, and with reference to himself. Whatever letters of his I saw were excellent, and much plainer than his works, because here the reference to time, circumstances, and personal affairs was more clearly prominent. I thought, how-
