tretched it out into something so magnificent and comprehensive, that
little less than a lifetime would have been sufficient to effect it.
This History of the Revolt of the Netherlands, which formed his chief
study, he looked upon but as one branch of the great subject he was
yet destined to engage with. History at large, in all its bearings,
was now his final aim; and his mind was continually occupied with
plans for acquiring, improving, and diffusing the knowledge of it.

Of these plans many never reached a describable shape; very few
reached even partial execution. One of the latter sort was an intended
_History of the most remarkable Conspiracies and Revolutions in the
Middle and Later Ages_. A first volume of the work was published in
1787. Schiller's part in it was trifling; scarcely more than that of a
translator and editor. St. Real's _Conspiracy of Bedmar against
Venice_, here furnished with an extended introduction, is the best
piece in the book. Indeed, St. Real seems first to have set him on
this task: the Abbe had already signified his predilection for plots
and revolutions, and given a fine sample of his powers in treating
such matters. What Schiller did was to expand this idea, and
communicate a systematic form to it. His work might have been curious
and valuable, had it been completed; but the pressure of other
engagements, the necessity of limiting his views to the Netherlands,
prevented this for the present; it was afterwards forgotten, and never
carried farther.

Such were Schiller's occupations while at Dresden; their extent and
variety are proof enough that idleness was not among his vices. It
was, in truth, the opposite extreme in which he erred. He wrote and
thought with an impetuosity beyond what nature always could endure.
His intolerance of interruptions first put him on the plan of studying
by night; an alluring but pernicious practice, which began at
Dresden, and was never afterwards forsaken. His recreations breathed a
similar spirit; he loved to be much alone, and strongly moved. The
banks of the Elbe were the favourite resort of his mornings: here
wandering in solitude amid groves and lawns, and green and beautiful
places, he abandoned his mind to delicious musings; watched the fitful
current of his thoughts, as they came sweeping through his soul in
their vague, fantastic, gorgeous forms; pleased himself with the
transient images of memory and hope; or meditated on the cares and
studi