his own paces, or, at any rate, is in a fair way to learn them; has
found his footing and the true nature of the "going" he must look
for in the world; over what sorts of roads he must expect to make
his running, and at what expenditure of effort; whither his goal
lies, and what cheer he may expect by the way. It is a process of
disillusionment, but it disheartens no soundly made man. It brings
him into a light which guides instead of deceiving him; a light
which does not make the way look cold to any man whose eyes are fit
for use in the open, but which shines wholesomely, rather upon the
obvious path, like the honest rays of the frank sun, and makes
traveling both safe and cheerful.


II

There is no fixed time in a man's life at which he comes to himself,
and some man never come to themselves at all. It is a change
reserved for the thoroughly sane and healthy, and for those who can
detach themselves from tasks and drudgery long and often enough to
get, at any rate once and again, a view of the proportions of life
and of the stage and plot of its action. We speak often with
amusement, sometimes with distaste and uneasiness, of men who "have
no sense of humor," who take themselves too seriously, who are
intense, self-absorbed, over-confident in matters of opinion, or
else go plumed with conceit, proud of we cannot tell what, enjoying,
appreciating, thinking of nothing so much as themselves. These are
men who have not suffered that wholesome change. They have not come
to themselves. If they be serious men, and real forces in the
world, we may conclude that they have been too much and too long
absorbed; that their tasks and responsibilities long ago rose about