What waywardness, what blank indifference

To that external garment of reserve—

Reserve of self, in speech or company—
Which is the woman's index of a pure

And womanly soul within? O, tell me, what !—
That I may know if I have fallen prey

To things beneath myself, and not been raised
By cords of faith and love scarce paralleled
To things above!—I search my life and see
No cause for condemnation. Judge me then
Not as an enemy; ah! had it been

An open foe who thus dishonoured me,

Would I not straight have hid me from his sight

Within my robe of conscious innocence,

And so passed by? But when from you, from

you,

My own loved sister, my familiar friend,

Who, if she failed at times to understand,

As we grew older, every thought of mine,

Yet ever loved and soothed me,-when from you Come such sharp arrows, what defence remains

For me against their poison? Seems it not
As if myself were turned against myself?
As if my conscience wore two masks, and spoke
Now in approval, now in words that shake
My life to its foundation? 'Twas not so,

Or would not have been so, I dare to think,
Two years ago; I mean not to deplore
Your changed estate, but there are duties which
With it you entered on, that tend to mould
Their servant to themselves;-all duties do so,
I say with thankfulness, whose duty seems

A light to climb to, not a path to tread.

Why need I more? Write soon to me, and say You are my sister, trusting in me still,

And still content to trust, not understand.

Give me yourself, and tell me how you fare;

Is it not soon that you are counting on

A possible successor to the Bank?

When you put off your acting, I myself

May have some news to tell you.

40

LETTER VI.

LEONARD TO STEPHEN.

San Remo: Oct. 12, 18-2.

THANKS for the books, but more especially

The parchments; as concerning all the cloaks

And other garments, you may make of them

A general distribution. Were I Paul,

Or were the children of this latter age
As ready to be cured of soul-disease
As were their fathers of infirmities
Pertaining to the body, I might then
Expect to work unnumbered miracles

To those who touch my garments; I might see

A cabman cured of lying for the sake

Of one more sixpence ; I might see the waiter

At that famed house whereto you most resort

Moved by the bonds of human fellowship,

And nothing more material, to reserve
For your especial benefit the cut

You most delight in ; I might even see
A sweeper sweep the crossing for a peer
And spurn the pence of aristocracy.

I might see greater wonders; but, alas !
The wicked will do wickedly; I fear
Not in my time will the restorer come
Who shall uncripple all inheritors

Of old diseases, whether priests or peers,

And send them forth into the multitude

Leaping, and walking, and praising something else

Besides themselves.

Now will I even sing

Unto my well-beloved, not a song

Touching his vineyard; that were also well
In proper season, for I know how much
The fruit of vineyards moveth him to joy;
But sing, or rather preach a short discourse

Upon a text he loveth to propound.

Saith not that man of men, the great adored,

Whose praise is in all churches, saith he not,

'Whoso lacks art and science, let him have

Religion; whoso hath them wanteth not

'Religion?' Infinite, my Christian friends,

In number are the facts which illustrate

This glorious truth ;-who here but has not had, At some time in his life, experiences

Which may confirm it? Thus the man who seeks The gilded halls of pleasure sees engraved

Upon their walls the sentence, ' He who lacks

'Money or title, let him well take heed

'That he has manners; those who have them both,

'Or either, want not manners.'-(I have lost
My shorthand notes, and so forbear the rest.)
But to be serious; I will grant it true

What Goëthe says, and frame upon that text
An answer to your doubts; first thanking you
For your acceptance of my good intentions.