and common sense are at war on this point; and
however we may "think with the learned," and follow the abstrusenesses
of the philosopher, in the sequestered hour of our meditation, we must
always act, and even feel, "with the vulgar," when we come abroad into
the world.

It is however no small gratification to the man of sober mind, that,
from what has here been alleged, it seems to follow, that untutored
mind, and the severest deductions of philosophy, agree in that most
interesting of our concerns, our intercourse with our fellow-creatures.
The inexorable reasoner, refining on the reports of sense, may dispose,
as he pleases, of the chair, the table, and the so called material
substances around him. He may include the whole solid matter of the
universe in a nutshell, or less than a nutshell. But he cannot deprive
me of that greatest of all consolations, the sustaining pillar of
my existence, "the cordial drop Heaven in our cup has thrown,"--the
intercourse of my fellow-creatures. When we read history, the subjects
of which we read are realities; they do not "come like shadows,
so depart;" they loved and acted in sober earnest; they sometimes
perpetrated crimes; but they sometimes also achieved illustrious deeds,
which angels might look down from their exalted abodes and admire. We
are not deluded with mockeries. The woman I love, and the man to whom I
swear eternal friendship, are as much realities as myself. If I relieve
the poor, and assist the progress of genius and virtuous designs
struggling with fearful discouragements, I do something upon the success
of which I may safely congratulate myself. If I devote my energies to
enlighten my fellow-creatures, to detect the weak places in our social
institutions, to plead the cause of liberty, and to invite others
to engage in noble actions and unite in effecting the most solid and
unquestionable improvements, I erect to my name an eternal monument; or
I do something better than this,--secure inestimable advantage to the
latest posterity, the benefit of which they shall enjoy, long after the
very name of the author shall, with a thousand other things great and
small, have been swallowed up in the gulph of insatiable oblivion.

ESSAY XXIII. OF HUMAN VIRTUE. THE EPILOGUE.

The life of man is divided into many stages; and we shall not form a
just estimate of our common nature, if we do not to a certain
degree pass its successive periods in review, and observe it in