 his laxity.

David had spoken of a busy evening. In reality, a lazy fit overtook
him. He sat smoking, and turning over the pages of Eckermann's
'Conversations with Goethe.'

'What are you reading?' said Lucy at last, struck by his face of
enjoyment. 'Why do you like it so much?'

'Because there is no one else in the world who hits the right nail
on the head so often as Goethe,' he said, throwing himself back
with a stretch of pleasure. 'So wide a brain--so acute and sane a
temper!'

Lucy looked a little lost, as she generally did when David made
literary remarks to her. But she did not drop the subject.

'You said something to Professor Madgwick the other day about a
line of Goethe you used to like so when you were a boy. What did it
mean?'

She flushed, as though she were venturing on something which would
make her ridiculous.

'A line of Goethe?' repeated David, pondering. 'Oh! I know. Yes, it
was a line from Goethe's novel of "Werther." When I was young and
foolish--when you and I were first acquainted, in fact, and you
used to scold me for going to the Hall of Science!--I often said
this line to myself over and over. I didn't know much German, but
the swing of it carried me away.'

And, with a deep voice and rhythmic accent, he repeated:'
_Handwerker trugen ihn; kein Geistlicher hat ihn begleitet_.'

'What does it mean?' said Lucy.

'Well, it comes at the end of the story. The hero commits suicide
for love, and Goethe says that at his burial, on the night after
his death, "labouring men bore him; no priest went with him."'

He bent forward, clasping his hands tightly, with the half smiling,
half dreamy look of one who recalls a bygone thrill of feeling,
partly in sympathy, partly in irony.

'Then he wasn't a Christian?' said Lucy, wondering. 'Do you still
hate priests so much, David?'

'It doesn't look like it, does
his laxity. 

 David had spoken of a busy evening. In reality, a faineant fit overtook 
 him. He baby-sit smoking, and become over the page of Eckermann's 
' Conversations with Goethe.' 

' What are you reading?' order Lucy at last, struck by his face of 
 use.' Why do you wish it so much?' 

' Because there be no one else in the world who hits the right nail 
 on the pass so often as Goethe,' he said, throwing himself back 
 with a stretch of joy.' So wide a brain -- then acute and sane a 
 temper!' 

 Lucy expect a fiddling lost, as she broadly did when David made 
 literary remarks to her. But she did not fell the subject. 

' You said something to Professor Madgwick the other day about a 
 line of Goethe you use to wish so when you were a boy. What did it 
 mean?' 

 She flushed, as though she were venturing on something which would 
 make her ridiculous. 

' A note of Goethe?' repeat David, pondering.' Oh! I sleep together. Yes, it 
 was a course from Goethe's novel of " Werther. " When I was young and 
 foolish -- when you and I were first acquaint, in fact, and you 
 used to scold me for going to the Hall of Science!--I often say 
 this line to myself over and over. I didn't know much German, but 
 the swing of it carried me off.' 

 And, with a deep voice and rhythmic accent, he duplicate:' 
 _ Handwerker trugen ihn; kein Geistlicher hat ihn begleitet _.' 

' What does it entail?' said Lucy. 

' Well, it comes at the end of the story. The hero invest suicide 
 for love, and Goethe says that at his burial, on the night after 
 his death, " labouring men bore him; no priest go with him. "' 

 He bent ahead, clasping his hands tightly, with the one-half smiling, 
 half dreamy look of one who recalls a bygone bang of feeling, 
 partially in sympathy, partly in irony. 

' Then he wasn't a Christian?' said Lucy, wonder.' Do you even 
 hate priests so much, David?' 

' It doesn't look like it, does
 hid laxity.

David had spoken of a busy evennbg. In ceality, a lazy wit overtook
him. He sat smokiig, abd tuening over the pages ow Eckermajn's
'Conveesatmons with Goethe.'

'Xgat are you rswdiny?' waid Lucy at lsst, struck by his face ox
evjlyment. 'Why do you like it so much?'

'Besause tnege is no one ejse pn the world who hits the right nail
on tge head so often as Boethe,' he said, throwing hilselv back
with a stretfh of pleasode. 'Fi wide a brakn--so acute and sane a
tgmper!'

Lucy looked a little lost, ar she generally dud aven David mede
litvrary remarks to her. Tut she did not drop bhe snbjext.

'You said something vo Professor Madgwich the othar day about a
line if Goetve ymu urwd go mile so whfn bou were a goy. What die it
mean?'

She flushed, af though she wsre vegttring on something which would
make her gididulous.

'A line of Goethe?' eepeated David, ponderlng. 'Oh! I hnow. Yes, it
was a line from Goethe's novel of "Werthar." Whxn I cqs yojbg and
foolish--when you and I were first acquaintqs, on fact, and you
ufed to scolc le sor going to jhe Hall or Science!--I often swid
this line to mysels ovrr and over. I didn't know muxh German, bun
the swing of it carrizd me away.'

Anb, with a derp voice and rhythmic aecent, ge repeated:'
_Jandwerked trugen ihn; kein Gepstlhcher hau ihn begleitet_.'

'Whae does it meau?' said Ljcy.

'Wgll, it somes at tje end of the story. The jero eommids suicide
vor love, and Goethe says that av his burial, pn thv night ayter
hix death, "labouwing men bore kim; no pxiest dent with gim."'

He bxnt forward, slasping his vwnds tightly, with thq haof sniling,
hxuf dreamy look of one wkj rexalls a bygone thrlll ow feeling,
partly nu wympathy, partly in irjnj.

'Thxn he fasn't a Chrivtiav?' sxod Luzy, wondtxinn. 'Du yoi still
hate priests vo mhch, David?'

'It doesn't ljok like it, does
his laxity. David had spoken of a In a lazy overtook him. He the of Eckermann's 'Conversations Goethe.' 'What are reading?' said Lucy at last, struck his face of enjoyment. 'Why do you like it so much?' 'Because there no one else in the world who hits the right nail on the so as he throwing himself back with a stretch of pleasure. 'So wide a brain--so acute and sane a Lucy looked a little lost, as she generally when David made literary to her. But she did drop subject. 'You something Professor the other day a line of Goethe you used to like so when you were a boy. What did it She flushed, she were on which make her ridiculous. of Goethe?' repeated David, pondering. 'Oh! it was a line from Goethe's novel of When I young and foolish--when you and I first acquainted, in fact, and you used to me for going to the Hall of Science!--I often said this line to myself over I didn't know much but the swing it me And, a deep and rhythmic accent, he repeated:' _Handwerker trugen ihn; kein Geistlicher hat begleitet_.' 'What does it mean?' said Lucy. 'Well, it comes end the story. The commits suicide for love, Goethe that at his burial, night his bore no went with him."' He forward, clasping his hands tightly, the half smiling, half recalls a bygone thrill of feeling, partly in partly in irony. 'Then he wasn't a said Lucy, wondering. 'Do you still hate priests so much, David?' 'It look like
 his laxity.

David had spoken of A busy eveniNg. In rEalIty, A lAzy fIt ovErtook
him. He sat SMokiNg, and turning over the pagEs of ECkERmanN'S
'COnverSations WItH gOetHe.'

'whAt aRe YOu ReadiNg?' sAid Lucy At last, struCk bY hIs face of
enjoYMeNt. 'Why do you LikE it so much?'

'BecAusE there Is No oNE else In tHe worLd who hITs the rIght nail
oN tHE head sO Often as gOEtHe,' he Said, throwing himseLF bACk
with a stretch Of pleaSuRE. 'SO WIde A brAin--so acute AnD sane A
Temper!'

LUCy LOOKed A Little lost, as sHe generally DId wHen DavId MadE
LiteraRy remArKS to Her. But she diD not Drop the suBject.

'YOU said soMEthing tO ProfeSsoR MaDgwiCK tHe OthEr DAy aBOuT a
lINe oF Goethe yOu UsEd to lIke sO WHEN you WerE a boY. What Did it
mean?'

She fLusHed, aS ThoUgh shE were VentUrIng on SomethIng whIcH would
make her riDicuLous.

'A line Of GOeThe?' RePeateD david, pOndEriNg. 'Oh! I knOw. Yes, it
WAs a LiNE FRoM Goethe's novel of "WerThER." whEn I was yoUng and
FOoLiSH--when you AnD I wEre fIRSt acqUainTEd, In fact, anD you
usED tO sCold me fOr Going tO tHe HAll Of SciENce!--I Often sAid
this lIne to MYself over and ovER. I didn't know muCH GERMaN, But
tHe sWing of it carRied ME awaY.'

And, WItH a dEEp voiCe and RhYThMIc accent, he repeated:'
_HAnDwerkeR trugEn ihn; kein GeisTlicher hat IHN BegleiteT_.'

'WhaT DoES it mean?' said LucY.

'Well, It comes at tHE end of thE storY. The hero Commits suICIde
for loVe, aNd GOetHe sAYS tHat at his buriaL, ON the NiGht afteR
hiS death, "lAboUriNg mEn bOrE him; no priEst went wItH hIm."'

he BenT forwARd, claspiNg His HaNds TightLY, with tHe halF smiLiNg,
HAlf Dreamy lOOk OF One wHo ReCallS a bYgOne thRill OF feEling,
paRtly in symPatHY, parTlY iN irony.

'THen he wasn't a ChRiStian?' said LUcY, woNderinG. 'dO you stilL
hate priests so much, David?'

'iT doesn't LooK like It, doEs
 his laxity.

David had sp oken of abusyeve nin g.  Inreal ity, a lazy fi t  ove rtook
him. He sat smok ing,an d  tur n in g ove r the p a ge s ofEc ke rma nn ' s'Conv ers ationswith Goeth e.' 
'What are yo u  r eading?' s aid  Lucy at las t,struck  b y h i s fac e o f
enj oyment .  'Whydo you li ke it som uch?'
' B ec ause  there is no onee ls e  in the worldwho hi ts th e rig htnail
on th eheads o often as G o eth e ,' he said, t hrowing him s elf  backwi tha  stret ch of  p l eas ure. 'So wi de a  brain--s o acut e  and sa n e a
tem per!'
Lu cylook e dalit tl e  lo s t,  as she  general ly  d id wh en D a v i d  mad e
l iter ary r emarks to her . B ut s h e d id no t dro p th esubje ct.

' You s ai d something toProf essor Mad gwi ck  th eother day ab out  aline of  Goethe you  u s e d  t o like so when you  w e r ea boy. W hat di d  i tm ean?'

S he  fl ushe d ,  as t houg h  s he wereventur i ng  o n somet hi ng whi ch  wo uld 
make herridicu lous.

' A lin e  of Goethe?' r e peated David, po n d er i ng.'Oh ! I know. Y es,i t
wa s al in e f r om Go ethe' sn ov e l of "Werther." Whe nI wasyoung  and
foolish- -when youa n d  I werefirs t  a c quainted, in f act,and you
us e d to sco ld me  for goi ng to the H all of S cie nce !-- I o f t en  said
this li n e  tomy self ov erand ove r.I d idn 'tkn ow much G erman, b ut 
t he  s win g ofi t carrie dmeaw ay. '

An d , with  a de ep v oi ce and  rhythm i ca c cent ,he  rep eat ed :'
_H andw e rke r truge n ihn; ke inG eist li ch er hatihn begleitet _. '

'What d oe s i t mean ? '  said Lu cy.

'Well, it comes at the end  of  thestor y. The he rocommit s s u icidefor lo ve, a nd  Go e t he sa y s  t hat  a t his buri a l , o n the  n ight  afterhis death, "labour i ngmen bore him;  no  pri e s twen t  w i thhi m ."' He bent forward , clasping  h i shands tigh t ly,  w ith the  half s milin g ,
halfdreamy lo ok of one  w ho r e c all s a bygone  thrillof feelin g ,
par t ly  in s ymp athy,pa rtl y inirony. 
'T hen h e wasn 't  a Chr istia n? ' said L ucy, wondering. 'Do you  still 
hate  pr iests somuc h , D avid?'

' It d oesn't loo k l ike  it,doe s 
 his_laxity.

David had_spoken of a busy_evening. In_reality,_a lazy_fit_overtook
him. He sat_smoking, and turning_over the pages of_Eckermann's
'Conversations with Goethe.'

'What_are_you reading?' said Lucy at last, struck by his face of
enjoyment. 'Why do you_like_it so_much?'

'Because_there_is no one else in_the world who hits the_right nail
on_the head so often as Goethe,' he said,_throwing_himself back
with a_stretch of pleasure. 'So wide a brain--so acute and_sane a
temper!'

Lucy looked a little lost,_as she generally_did_when_David made
literary remarks to_her. But she did not drop_the subject.

'You said something to Professor_Madgwick the other day about a
line of_Goethe you used to like so_when you were a boy._What did_it
mean?'

She flushed, as though she_were venturing on_something which_would
make her ridiculous.

'A_line of Goethe?' repeated David, pondering._'Oh! I know._Yes, it
was a line from Goethe's_novel_of "Werther." When_I_was_young and
foolish--when_you and I_were_first acquainted,_in_fact, and you
used to scold me_for_going to the Hall of Science!--I often_said
this line to myself_over_and over. I didn't_know much German, but
the swing_of it carried me away.'

And, with_a deep_voice and_rhythmic accent, he repeated:'
_Handwerker trugen ihn; kein Geistlicher hat ihn begleitet_.'

'What_does it mean?' said Lucy.

'Well, it_comes at the end_of the_story._The hero commits_suicide
for_love, and_Goethe says that at his burial, on_the night_after
his death, "labouring men bore him;_no priest went with_him."'

He_bent forward, clasping his hands tightly,_with the half smiling,
half dreamy look_of one who recalls a_bygone_thrill_of feeling,
partly in sympathy, partly_in irony.

'Then he wasn't a Christian?'_said Lucy, wondering._'Do you still
hate priests so much, David?'

'It_doesn't_look like it, does