o be
borne only by the "progress of the species." They are still weak enough
to believe in gods and godlike men, in spirit and inspiration, in the
ineffable fulness and meaning of a noble life, in the cosmic
relationship of man, in the _divineness_ of speech and thought. In their
books man is placed in a large light; honor and estimation come to him
out of the heavens; what he does, if it be in any profound way
characteristic, is told without misgiving, without fear to be
superfluous; he is the care, or even the companion, of the immortals. To
go forth, therefore, from our little cells of criticism and controversy,
and to enter upon the pages where man's being appears so spacious and
significant,--where, at length, it is really _imagined_,--is like
leaving stove-heated, paper-walled rooms, and passing out beneath the
blue cope and into the sweet air of heaven.

Quite this epic boldness and wholeness we cannot attribute to Goethe. He
is still a little straitened, a little pestered by the doubting and
critical optics which our time turns upon man, a little victimized by
his knowledge of limitary conditions and secondary laws. Nevertheless, a
noble man is not to his eye "contained between hat and boots," but is of
untold depth and dimension. He indicates traits of the soul with that
repose in his facts and respect for them which Lyell shows in spelling
out terrestrial history, or Herschel in tracing that of the solar
system. Observe how he relates the plays of a child,--with what grave,
imperial respect, with what undoubting, reverential minuteness! He does
not say, "Bear with me, ladies and gentlemen; I will come to something
of importance soon." This is important,--the formation of suns not more
so.

In this respect he stands in wide contrast to the prevailing tone of the
time. It seems right and admirable that Tyndale should risk life and
limb in learning the laws of glaciers, that large-brained Agassiz should
pursue for years, if need be, his microscopic researches into the
natural history of turtles; and were life or eyesight lost so, we should
all say, "Lost, but well and worthily." But ask a conclave of sober
_savans_ to listen to reports on the natural-spiritual history of babies
and little children,--ask them to join, one and all, in this piece of
discovery, spending labor and lifetime in watching the sports, the
moods, the imaginations, the fanciful loves and fears, the whole baby
unfolding of these budding rev