nd was at his feet, we behold him still and ever experiencing that
imperious _want_ of scanning himself, of descending into the depths of
his own heart, interrogating his conscience, and very often of writing
down in his memorandum-books the severe sentences pronounced by that
inflexible judge. And, as he could not put away from sight his divine
model, he came out from these examinations _humbled, dissatisfied,
reproaching and punishing himself for having strayed from it_. For he
discovered too many terrestrial elements in all human virtues. For
instance, in friendships, though so generous on his side, he found the
satisfaction of a personal want, consequently, an egotistical element;
the same, and much more strongly, with regard to love. He found
something personal in the best instincts, in the passion for glory, in
patriotism, even in the sentiment of veneration, since that is an echo
of our tastes and personal sympathies. That the high standard of his
ideal was the first cause of injustice toward himself, a thousand proofs
might be offered. I will choose some only. We read in his memoranda:--

"It has lately been in my power to make two men happy. I am delighted at
it, especially as regards the last, for he is excellent. _But I wish
there had been a little more sacrifice on my part, and less satisfaction
for my self-love in doing that, because then there would have been more
merit._"

Such was this great culprit. He actually felt pleasure in doing good!
Another time he was asked to present a petition to Parliament. "I am not
in a humor for this business," writes he in the evening journal, where
he examined his conscience. He was suffering then from grief, caused by
the absence of a person he loved, and he apostrophizes himself in these
terms:--"Had ---- been here she would have _made_ me do it. _There_ is a
woman who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to usefulness or
glory. Had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius.

"Baldwin is very unfortunate; but, poor fellow, 'I can't get out; I
can't get out,' said the starling. _Ah! I am as bad as that dog Sterne,
who preferred whining over a dead ass to relieving a living mother.
Villain! hypocrite! slave! sycophant! But I am no better. Here I can not
stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates, and
three words and half a smile of----, had she been here to urge it (and
urge it she infallibly would; at least, she always pressed me on in