ed, so abandoned to
the high uses of life, and by that very act saved, by that act secured
to himself in spiritual wholeness, Goethe leaves him at the close of the
_Apprenticeship_: for of the _Travels_, which is another mine of
suggestion, I do not speak here.

To sum all. The whole work climbs steadily to this consummate act of
self-surrender without self-dissipation, without self-flattery, without
officiousness, and without reserve. But in order that one may give
himself nobly, he must nobly have himself to give. To this end there are
prerequisites. First, fructification, a rich development of heats and
fruitful powers; and of the nature and order of these Goethe aims to
give account. Secondly, a due tempering of these by the cold, faithful
severities of understanding and experience. Third, as resulting, a high
repose in Reality,--high, because one reposes there, not in base
compromise with it or with himself, but in hope, in duty, in imagining
heroism of heart. Fourthly and finally, comes a relation to one's own
being, at once utterly religious and utterly sane, whereby one _commands
himself in obedience to the total law and uses of his spirit_. Having
achieved this, one may go forward, through further experience and deeper
life, to that act of religious and sane self-bestowal, wherein he first
becomes, in the full, majestic sense, a man.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The citations are from Carlyle's translation. It is of no use to do
over again what is already thoroughly done.

TWILIGHT.

September's slender crescent grows again
Distinct in yonder peaceful evening-red.
Clearer the stars are sparkling overhead,
And all the sky is pure, without a stain.

Cool blows the evening wind from out the west,
And bows the flowers, the last sweet flowers that bloom,--
Pale asters, many a heavy waving plume
Of golden-rod, that bends as if opprest.

The summer's songs are hushed. Up the lone shore
The weary waves wash sadly, and a grief
Sounds in the wind, like farewells fond and brief.
The cricket's chirp but makes the silence more.

Life's autumn comes; the leaves begin to fall;
The moods of spring and summer pass away;
The glory and the rapture, day by day,
Depart, and soon the quiet grave folds all.

O thoughtful sky, how many eyes in vain
Are lifted to your beauty, full of tears!
How many hearts go back through all the