es to show for it. Thwack, thwack! No sooner
had I recovered from one sound drubbing than I put myself in the way of
another. "Unpractical" I was called by those who spoke mildly; "idiot"--I
am sure--by many a ruder tongue. And idiot I see myself, whenever I
glance back over the long, devious road. Something, obviously, I lacked
from the beginning, some balancing principle granted to most men in one
or another degree. I had brains, but they were no help to me in the
common circumstances of life. But for the good fortune which plucked me
out of my mazes and set me in paradise, I should no doubt have blundered
on to the end. The last thwack of experience would have laid me low just
when I was becoming really a prudent man.



VII.


This morning's sunshine faded amid slow-gathering clouds, but something
of its light seems still to linger in the air, and to touch the rain
which is falling softly. I hear a pattering upon the still leafage of
the garden; it is a sound which lulls, and tunes the mind to calm
thoughtfulness.

I have a letter to-day from my old friend in Germany, E. B. For many and
many a year these letters have made a pleasant incident in my life; more
than that, they have often brought me help and comfort. It must be a
rare thing for friendly correspondence to go on during the greater part
of a lifetime between men of different nationalities who see each other
not twice in two decades. We were young men when we first met in London,
poor, struggling, full of hopes and ideals; now we look back upon those
far memories from the autumn of life. B. writes to-day in a vein of
quiet contentment, which does me good. He quotes Goethe: "_Was man in
der Jugend begehrt hat man im Alter die Fulle_."

These words of Goethe's were once a hope to me; later, they made me shake
my head incredulously; now I smile to think how true they have proved in
my own case. But what, exactly, do they mean? Are they merely an
expression of the optimistic spirit? If so, optimism ha