The longing to
bestow his soul pushes beyond the love of woman, and looks for another
object, where the giving is more simple, because the visible return is
less. But here again he does not wish to give himself officiously,--to
thrust himself unbidden into the household of another life; he would do
it in simple obedience to Nature. Therefore, when of those who seem to
know everything he can ask one question and no more, there is just one
question which his very soul asks:--"Is Felix indeed my son?"

"Hail to thee for the question!" cries the providential Abbe. "Hail to
thee, my son! Thy apprenticeship is ended. Nature pronounces thee free."

Yes, when he craves of Nature, not aggrandizement, but a duty,--when he
entreats her commands to bestow of all that is deepest and dearest in
his spirit on another, and yet to do it so in simple response to her
behest that in all he shall give only what is _due_,--then he is free.
No self-flattery here; no feeling that he is performing some wonderful
piece of self-sacrifice, which puts the universe under obligations to
him. He would give all, but give where he owes all, not only in
obedience, but in meek thankfulness.

This done, he can go farther. Established indestructibly in the unity of
his own being, established also in these devout relationships, he is
prepared to enter into ampler relations, carrying into these the same
obedience to Nature, the same sense of giving only what is due.
Accordingly, he passes into noble mutualities of cooperation, service,
and love with his equals, with those superior to himself, and with those
to whom he is superior, not defrauded of his being, but secured in its
possession, by that self-surrender.

Not at a leap, indeed, does he attain to this dignity of life. Causeless
suspicions infest him; again and again he snatches himself back, and
retreats into spiritual isolation. Like an uncertain swimmer, who,
wading into deep water, draws back in sudden alarm as his feet begin to
lift themselves buoyantly from the sands, so he is smitten with jealous
fear, and hastens to regain his former foothold, just when his immersion
in social use and fellowship was becoming complete. But ever as he grows
surer of himself, and ever as he rests more trustfully in eternal
Reality, he becomes more capable of yielding trust to those who deserve
it, and yielding himself to those unto whom he rightly belongs.

And so lost and found, so self-given and self-contain