hip is entirely internal. A wonderful symmetry of the
most intimately personal, as if it had been previously ordained that
one should always be perfecting himself. All thoughts and feelings
become social through the mutual excitation and development of the
holiest. And this purely spiritual love, this beautiful mysticism of
intercourse, does not merely hover as the distant goal of a perhaps
futile effort. No, it is only to be found complete. There no deception
occurs, as in that other heroic form. Whether a man's virtue will
stand the test, his actions must show. But he who inwardly sees and
feels humanity and the world will not be apt to look for public
disinterestedness where it is not to be found.

He only is capable of this friendship who is quite composed within
himself, and who knows how to honor with humility the divinity of the
other.

When the gods have bestowed such friendship upon a man, he can do
nothing more than protect it carefully against everything external,
and guard its holy being. For the delicate flower is perishable.

LONGING AND PEACE

Lightly dressed, Lucinda and Julius stood by the window in the
summer-house, refreshing themselves in the cool morning air. They were
absorbed in watching the rising sun, which the birds were welcoming
with their joyous songs.

"Julius," asked Lucinda, "why is it that I feel a deep longing in this
serene peace?"

"It is only in longing that we find peace," answered Julius. "Yes,
there is peace only when the spirit is entirely free to long and to
seek, where it can find nothing higher than its own longing."

"Only in the peace of the night," said Lucinda, "do longing and love
shine full and bright, like this glorious sun."

"And in the daytime," responded Julius, "the happiness of love shines
dimly, even as the pale moonlight."

"Or it appears and vanishes suddenly into the general darkness," added
Lucinda, "like those flashes of lightning which lighted up the room
when the moon was hidden."

"Only in the night," said Julius, "does the little nightingale utter
wails and deep sighs. Only in the night does the flower shyly open and
breathe freely the fragrant air, intoxicating both mind and senses in
equal delight. Only in the night, Lucinda, does the bold speech of
deep passion flow divinely from the lips, which in the noise of the
day close with tender pride their sweet sanctuary."

LUCINDA

It is not I, my Julius, whom you portray as so holy; althoug