rned, indeed, from his
own investigations, that he who would elevate mankind must expect, not
only its indifference to his labors, but its positive abuse. He knew,
that the individual who, like Jesus, attempts to promulgate new truth,
either moral or intellectual, must expect to array against himself the
greatest portion of the human family, incrusted in their prejudices,
their ignorance, their interests, or their feelings, and must be content
with the appreciation and sympathy of the few who are wise enough to
understand him, truthful enough to accept his doctrine, however
unwholesome to their tastes, and brave enough to avow it. Perhaps he had
also learned the fact, that, in the present state of humanity's
development, few, very few, even of the best of mankind, love truth,
chiefly _because it is truth_, and are hence eager to know their own
shortcomings; but that those truths only are, for the most part, capable
of being acceptably presented to individuals, which it is more
satisfactory to their personal feelings, more comfortable to their own
inherent peculiarities of disposition, to conform to than to reject. Be
this as it may, the reply which he makes to the outrages showered upon
him is evidently the language of a man whose thoughts are far removed
from the arena of petty spite or private resentment, the expression of
one who knew the grandeur and usefulness of his labors, who expected, in
their prosecution, to be misunderstood and calumniated, and who, yet,
was incapable of other than the most generous impulses of a noble
philanthropy toward his maligners and traducers.

In the announcement of his inability to fulfil the great promises made
in the former volume, we find, likewise, the indications of a nature
full of lofty grandeur. He who has known the scholar's hopes, the
student's struggles, and the author's ambition, may form some faint
conception of what must have been the feelings of the great Historian
when the conviction came to him, first faintly foreshadowed and then
deepening to a reality, that the prize for which he had contended--and
such a prize! which had seemed, too, at times, almost within his
grasp--was destined forever to elude him. Frankly to acknowledge failure
in such a struggle, was in itself great; to acknowledge it when the
cries of his assailants were still ringing in his ears, and when it
might have been measurably concealed, was still greater; to acknowledge
it in words which betray no