But, all along, the Life-element, the Epoch, though Friedrich took it kindly and never complained, was ungenial to such a man.
"Somewhat of a rotten Epoch, this into which Friedrich has been born, to shape himself and his activities royal and other!"-- exclaims Smelfungus once: "In an older earnest Time, when the eternally awful meanings of this Universe had not yet sunk into dubieties to any one, much less into levities or into mendacities, into huge hypocrisies carefully regulated,--so luminous, vivid and ingenuous a young creature had not wanted divine manna in his Pilgrimage through Life.

Nor, in that case, had he come out of it in so lean a condition.

But the highest man of us is born brother to his Contemporaries; struggle as he may, there is no escaping the family likeness.

By spasmodic indignant contradiction of them, by stupid compliance with them,--you will inversely resemble, if you do not directly; like the starling, you can't get out!--Most surely, if there do fall manna from Heaven, in the given Generation, and nourish in us reverence and genial nobleness day by day, it is blessed and well.
Failing that, in regard to our poor spiritual interests, there is sure to be one of two results: mockery, contempt, disbelief, what we may call SHORT-DIET to the length of very famine (which was Friedrich's case); or else slow-poison, carefully elaborated and provided by way of daily nourishment.
"Unhappy souls, these same! The slow-poison has gone deep into them.
Instead of manna, this long while back, they have been living on mouldy corrupt meats sweetened by sugar-of-lead; or perhaps, like Voltaire, a few individuals prefer hunger, as the cleaner alternative; and in contemptuous, barren, mocking humor, not yet got the length of geniality or indignation, snuff the east-wind by way of spiritual diet.

Pilgriming along on such nourishment, the best human soul fails to become very ruddy!--Tidings about Heaven are fallen so uncertain, but the Earth and her joys are still Interesting: 'Take to the Earth and her joys;--let your soul go out, since it must; let your five senses and their appetites be well alive.' That is a dreadful 'Sham-Christian Dispensation' to be born under! You wonder at the want of heroism in the Eighteenth Century.