What dwells with oneself as human may have some chance to be humanly interesting.

In the wildest chaos of marine-stores and editorial shortcomings (provided only the editors speak truth, as these poor fellows do) THIS can be done.
Part the living from the dead; pick out what has some meaning, leave carefully what has none; you will in some small measure pluck up the memory of a hero, like drowned honor by the locks, and rescue it, into visibility.
That Friedrich, on reaching home, made haste to get out, of the bustle of joyances and exclamations on the streets; proceeded straight to his music-chapel in Charlottenburg, summoning the Artists, or having them already summoned; and had there, all alone, sitting invisible wrapt in his cloak, Graun's or somebody's grand TE-DEUM pealed out to him, in seas of melody,--soothing and salutary to the altered soul, revolving many things,--is a popular myth, of pretty and appropriate character; but a myth only, with no real foundation, though it has some loose and apparent.

[In PREUSS, ii.

46, all the details of it.] No doubt, Friedrich had his own thoughts on entering Berlin again, after such a voyage through the deeps; himself, his Country still here, though solitary and in a world of wild shipwrecks.

He was not without piety; but it did not take the devotional form, and his habits had nothing of the clerical.
What is perfectly known, and much better worth knowing, is the instantaneous practical alacrity with which he set about repairing that immense miscellany of ruin; and the surprising success he had in dealing with it.