ecies?

"I want to know on what ground the volition of the human species and its
opinions rest under the circumstances in which it is placed?"

The following portrait of himself, which he draws at the close of the
volume, is highly characteristic of his feelings at this time:

"Thousands pass away, as nature gave them birth, in the conception of
sensual gratification, and they seek no more. Tens of thousands are
overwhelmed by the burdens of craft and trade; by the weight of the
hammer, the ell, or the crane, and they are no more. But I know a man,
who did seek more; the joy of simplicity dwelt in his heart, and he had
faith in mankind such as few men have; his soul was made for friendship;
love was his element, and fidelity his strongest tie. But he was not
made by this world nor for it; and wherever he was placed in it he was
found unfit.

"And the world that found him thus, asked not whether it was his fault
or the fault of another; but it bruised him with an iron hammer, as the
bricklayers break an old brick to fill up crevices. But though bruised,
he yet trusted in mankind more than in himself; and he proposed to
himself a great purpose, which to attain he suffered agonies and learned
lessons such as few mortals had learned before.

"He could not, nor would he, become generally useful, but for his
purpose he was more useful than most men are for theirs; and he expected
justice at the hands of mankind, whom he still loved with an innocent
love. But he found none. Those that made themselves his judges, without
further examination confirmed the former sentence, that he was generally
and absolutely useless. This was the grain of sand which decided the
doubtful balance of his wretched destinies.

"He is no more; thou mayest know him no more; all that remains of him is
the decayed remnants of his destroyed existence. He fell as a fruit that
falls before it is ripe, whose blossom has been nipped by the northern
gale, or whose core is eaten out by the gnawing worm.

"Stranger that passest by, refuse not a tear of sympathy; even in
falling, this fruit turned itself toward the trunk, on the branches of
which it lingered through the summer, and it whispered to the tree:
'Verily, even in my death will I nourish thy roots.'

"Stranger that passest by, spare the perishing fruit, and allow the dust
of its corruption to nourish the roots of the tree, on whose branches it
lived, sickened, and died."

But a brighter day fo