"Mob-courting vanity!" sneers a fourth.

The people admire at first, but suspect afterwards.

The moment he thwarts a popular wish, there is no redemption for him: he is accused of having acted the hypocrite,--of having worn the sheep's fleece: and now, say they,--"See! the wolf's teeth peep out!" Is he familiar with the people ?--it is cajolery! Is he distant ?--it is pride! What, then, sustains a man in such a situation, following his own conscience, with his eyes opened to all the perils of the path?
Away with the cant of public opinion,--away with the poor delusion of posthumous justice; he will offend the first, he will never obtain the last.

What sustains him?
HIS OWN SOUL! A man thoroughly great has a certain contempt for his kind while he aids them: their weal or woe are all; their applause--their blame--are nothing to him.

He walks forth from the circle of birth and habit; he is deaf to the little motives of little men.