A FURSTENBUND which was swallowed bodily within few years, in that World-Explosion of Democracy, and War of the Giants; and--unless Napoleon's "Confederation of the Rhine" were perhaps some transitory ghost of it ?--left not even a ghost behind.

A FURSTENBUND of which we must say something, when its Year comes; but obviously not much.
Nor are the Domesticities, as set forth by our Prussian authorities, an opulent topic for us.

Friedrich's Old Age is not unamiable; on the contrary, I think it would have made a pretty Picture, had there been a Limner to take it, with the least felicity or physiognomic coherency;--as there was not.

His Letters, and all the symptoms we have, denote a sound-hearted brave old man; continually subduing to himself many ugly troubles; and, like the stars, always steady at his work.

To sit grieving or desponding is, at all times, far from him: "Why despond?
Won't it be all done presently; is it of much moment while it lasts ?" A fine, unaffectedly vigorous, simple and manful old age;--rather serene than otherwise; in spite of electric outbursts and cloudy weather that could not be wanting.
Of all which there is not, in this place, much more to be said.
Friedrich's element is itself wearing dim, sombre of hue; and the records of it, too, seem to grow dimmer, more and more intermittent.