ency in the knowledge of men, more especially when they are
young; with the result that it is easy to deceive or mislead them; and
that, on the other hand, natures of the commoner sort are more ready
and successful in making their way in the world.

The reason of this is that, when a man has little or no experience,
he must judge by his own antecedent notions; and in matters demanding
judgment, an antecedent notion is never on the same level as
experience. For, with the commoner sort of people, an antecedent
notion means just their own selfish point of view. This is not the
case with those whose mind and character are above the ordinary; for
it is precisely in this respect--their unselfishness--that they differ
from the rest of mankind; and as they judge other people's thoughts
and actions by their own high standard, the result does not always
tally with their calculation.

But if, in the end, a man of noble character comes to see, as the
effect of his own experience, or by the lessons he learns from others,
what it is that may be expected of men in general,--namely, that
five-sixths of them are morally and intellectually so constituted
that, if circumstances do not place you in relation with them, you had
better get out of their way and keep as far as possible from having
anything to do with them,--still, he will scarcely ever attain an
adequate notion of their wretchedly mean and shabby nature: all his
life long he will have to be extending and adding to the inferior
estimate he forms of them; and in the meantime he will commit a great
many mistakes and do himself harm.

Then, again, after he has really taken to heart the lessons that have
been taught him, it will occasionally happen that, when he is in the
society of people whom he does not know, he will be surprised to
find how thoroughly reasonable they all appear to be, both in their
conversation and in their demeanor--in fact, quite honest, sincere,
virtuous and trustworthy people, and at the same time shrewd and
clever.

But that ought not to perplex him. Nature is not like those bad
poets, who, in setting a fool or a knave before us, do their work so
clumsily, and with such evident design, that you might almost
fancy you saw the poet standing behind each of his characters, and
continually disavowing their sentiments, and telling you in a tone of
warning: _This is a knave; that is a fool; do not mind what he says_.
But Nature goes to work like Shakespeare a