outlines. Of course, to do that, he must have applied the maxim
[Greek: Gnothi seauton]; he must have made some little progress in the
art of understanding himself. He must know what is his real, chief,
and foremost object in life,--what it is that he most wants in order
to be happy; and then, after that, what occupies the second and third
place in his thoughts; he must find out what, on the whole, his
vocation really is--the part he has to play, his general relation to
the world. If he maps out important work for himself on great lines,
a glance at this miniature plan of his life will, more than anything
else stimulate, rouse and ennoble him, urge him on to action and keep
him from false paths.

Again, just as the traveler, on reaching a height, gets a connected
view over the road he has taken, with its many turns and windings; so
it is only when we have completed a period in our life, or approach
the end of it altogether, that we recognize the true connection
between all our actions,--what it is we have achieved, what work we
have done. It is only then that we see the precise chain of cause and
effect, and the exact value of all our efforts. For as long as we are
actually engaged in the work of life, we always act in accordance with
the nature of our character, under the influence of motive, and within
the limits of our capacity,--in a word, from beginning to end, under
a law of _necessity_; at every moment we do just what appears to us
right and proper. It is only afterwards, when we come to look back at
the whole course of our life and its general result, that we see the
why and wherefore of it all.

When we are actually doing some great deed, or creating some immortal
work, we are not conscious of it as such; we think only of satisfying
present aims, of fulfilling the intentions we happen to have at the