illusion of generous minds. Those who would
keep this illusion must not open the pages of the history of philosophy
where the negation of duty does not occupy less space than the negation
of God; they must not cast their eyes too much about them; they must
also take care not to open the most widely circulated books, and the
most fashionable periodicals: otherwise, as we shall see, they would not
be long in finding out that this morality which they would fain have
superior to all attacks, is perhaps what of all things is most attacked
now-a-days, and that that conscience which it is impossible to deny is
in fact the object of denials the most audacious on the part of a few of
the present favorites of fame. The voice of duty is heard no doubt even
when God does not come distinctly into mind; but when the questions are
clearly put, if God is denied, conscience grows dim, and comes at last
to be extinguished. This obscuration does not take place all at once:
the potter's wheel goes on turning for a while, says an old Hindoo poem,
after that the foot of the artisan is withdrawn from it. But the
darkening takes place gradually with time: such at least is the general
rule. There are exceptional men who seem to escape this law, and to bear
in their bosom a God veiled from their own consciousness. Such men may
be found, and even in considerable numbers, in a time like ours, when
doubt is, in many cases, a prejudice which current opinion deposits on
the surface of minds without penetrating them deeply. There are men all
whose convictions have fallen into ruins, while their conscience
continues standing like an isolated column, sole remaining witness of a
demolished building. The meeting with these heroes of virtue inspires a
mingled feeling of astonishment and respect. They are verily miracles of
that divine goodness of which they are unable to pronounce the name. If
there is a man on earth who ought to fall on both knees and shed burning
tears of gratitude, it is the man who believes himself an atheist, and
who has received from Providence so keen a taste for what is noble and
pure, so strong an aversion for evil, that his sense of duty remains
firm even when it has lost all its supports. But the exception does not
make the rule; and that which is realized in the case of a few is not
realized long, and for all. You know those crusts of snow which are
formed over the _crevasses_ of our glaciers. These slight bridges are
able to be