animated part of my harangue. They luckily, however, fell within the pulpit, so that I was able to recover them, and to proceed as if nothing had happened. But from that time I trusted more to my memory— always, however, carrying my notes with me in my pocket; and this is a practice I would recommend to all young probationers; for however good their memories may be, they will find that the precaution I point out will fortify them with the feeling of greater security and ease.
Soon after I had taken my master's degree, I went to Reinhard to consult him about my future settlement as a clergyman. I told him that I thought of going to Dresden, and as he had been just appointed to a court chaplaincy there, I besought him to use his influence in my behalf.
"Why not stick by the university, and become a professor?" said he.
This question took me somewhat aback. I was not prepared for it. I therefore told him that I did not think that I possessed the necessary qualifications.
"Never fear," said he; "audaces fortuna juvat."
I told him I could not afford to wait.
"I will look after that," said he. I still hesitated.
"Well," he remarked, "if you are determined to be a useless drone, I will not press the matter any further."
This sarcasm operated on me like a charm. I agreed to follow his advice, and we parted the best of friends.
If my vocation was to be that of a professor, it was necessary, above all things, that I should make myself acquainted with the philosophy of Kant. Up to this time I had taken my philosophical opinions chiefly from my friend Reinhard, who professed a species of eclecticism founded on the principles of Wolf; but I felt that if I was to keep pace with the progress of science, I must now turn my attention to the profounder speculations of the critical school. I therefore spent a year at Jena in assiduous attendance upon the lectures of Reinhold, who was at that time considered Kant's ablest expounder. But after my utmost exertions to master this philosophy, I felt that many dark places still remained, that many gaps still required to be filled up. I therefore conceived a strong desire to go to the fountain-head at once—to betake myself to Königsberg, and there get light thrown upon the system from the lamp of the great discoverer himself.
Before taking this step, however, I thought it right to consult Reinhard, by whose advice and assistance I had already profited so greatly. I was aware that he was somewhat dissatisfied with my roving propensities, and that he wished me to settle down, at once, as a lecturer at Wittenberg. I also knew that he was no friend to the critical philosophy. Accordingly I wrote to him, saying that I believed a journey of considerable length would be of great service in restoring my health, which for some time back had been rather precarious, and that, as I wished to combine science with amusement, I requested to know whether he would recommend me to go to Gottingen, or Königsberg. Reinhard saw through my design, and decided at once in favour of Gottingen, writing to me thus:—"With regard to Kant, if I may trust to what Fichte tells me about him, the only advantage you would gain by going to Königsberg, would be to get a sight of that great man. In the intercourse of private life, I am informed that he declines all discussion upon scientific subjects, and that, as years are accumulating upon him, he is every season growing less and less able to throw any new light upon his own doctrines." To Göttingen, accordingly, I went; and there, in attendance upon the lectures of Heyne and Eichhorn, I spent the last year of my student life—a period which I look back to as unquestionably the happiest which I have ever known. Whilst I was at Göttingen, my earliest work, entitled, Letters on the Perfectibility of Revealed Religion, was published anonymously at Jena—of which more in the sequel.
Stage the fourth. My Academical hunger-years—1794, 1801. After spending a short time in my father's house, I returned to Wittenberg, there to establish myself as a private lecturer, (privat-dozent,) and to await what better might befall me. Academia vult expectari, is an old proverb of the schools; but meanwhile I felt that ninety florins a-year, which was all the
