implicity of character, its spirit
communicates instruction through the heart to the head, and with
enthusiasm awakens at the same time judgment. Only practice, the main
requisite, must not be neglected; no empty idealism; for only action
makes the master."

"Oh! how true!" sighed the bookseller, letting his tears flow without
restraint. "Words," said the Puritan, "which the common herd would call
golden."

"Were not drinking," proceeded Eulenboeck, "an art and a science, there
would only need to be a single beverage on earth, as the innocent
element, water, already plays that part. But the spirit of nature,
shifting and sporting with a lovely grace, infuses itself here and
there into the vine, and amidst wondrous struggles lets itself be
strained and refined, in order to descend along the magic channel of
the palate into our inmost recesses, and there to rouse all our noblest
energies out of the torpor and lethargy of their primitive chaos. 'See,
there goes the sot!' Oh! my friends, such too were the railings and
jeers of those who had not been initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries.
With this golden and purple tide there rolls and spreads within us a
sea of harmony, and the rising dawn draws a melody from the old statue
of Memnon, which till then had stood voiceless in the gloom of night.
Through blood and brain courses and speeds exultingly the gentle call:
'the spring is come!' Then all the little spirits feel the sweet waves,
and creep with laughing eyes out of their dark corners; they stretch
their delicate little crystal limbs, and plunge to bathe in the
wine-flood, and plash and shoot, and rise quivering out again, and
shake their sparkling spirits' wings, that, as they rustle, the clear
drops fall from the little plumes. They run about and meet each other,
and kiss a joyous life one from the other's lips. Still closer, still
brighter grows the throng, more and more melodious their lispings; then
with garlands and solemn triumph they lead the Genius along, who with
his dark eyes can hardly peep through his luxuriant flower-wreaths. Now
the man is conscious of infinity, immortality; he sees and feels the
myriads of spirits within him, and takes pleasure in their frolics.
What is one to say then of the vulgar souls, who cry after a man:
'look, the fellow is drunk.' What thinkest thou, honest Crocodile?"

The pale man of tears stretched forth his hand to him, and said; "Ah!
my dear friend, the folks are right, an