ui disait, d'un ton robuste,
"Benedictions sur le Juste!
Bons amis,
Benissons Pere Agassiz!"

9.

Ils arrivent trois a trois,
Montent l'escalier de bois
Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme
Peut permettre ce vacarme,
Bons amis,
A la porte d'Agassiz!

10.

"Ouvrez donc, mon bon Seigneur,
Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur;
Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes
Gens de bien et gentilshommes,
Bons amis
De la famille Agassiz!"

11.

Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous!
C'en est trop de vos glouglous;
Epargnez aux Philosophes
Vos abominables strophes!
Bons amis,
Respectez mon Agassiz!

FOOTNOTES:

[C] Sent to Mr. Agassiz, with a basket of wine, on Christmas Eve, 1864.

WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP.

SECOND PAPER.

In a preceding paper I have sought to trace the main lines of spiritual
growth, as these appear in Goethe's great picture. But is such growth
possible in this world? Do the circumstances in which modern men are
placed comport with it? Or is it, perhaps, a cherub only _painted_ with
wings, and despite the laws of anatomy? These questions are pertinent.
It concerns us little to know what results the crescent powers of life
might produce, if, by good luck, Eden rather than our struggling
century, another world instead of this world, were here. This world, it
happens, is here undoubtedly; our century and our place in it are facts,
which decline to take their leave, bid them good morning and show them
the door how one may. Let us know, then, what of good sufficing may be
achieved in their company. If Goethe's picture be only a picture, and
not a possibility, we will be pleased with him, provided his work prove
pleasant; we will partake of his literary dessert, and give him his meed
of languid praise. But if, on the other hand, his book be written in
full, unblinking view of all that is fixed and limitary in man and
around him, and if, in face of this, it conduct growth to its
consummation, then we may give him something better than any
praise,--namely, heed.

Is it, then, written in this spirit of reality? In proof that it is so,
I call to witness the most poignant reproach, save one, ever uttered
against it by a superior man. Novalis censured it as "thoroughly modern
and prosaic." Well, _on one side_, it is so,--just as modern and prosaic
as the modern world and