be the echoes of their misery, my, if we only open our ears continuously to this misery—unless we had learnt the art of the Olympians, viz., instead of making ourselves unhappy, to feel edified by the misfortune of mankind. But this is somewhat too Olympian for us : though, through the enjoyment of tragedy, we have already taken a step towards this ideal, divine cannibalism.
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Unselfish.—One person may be empty and wanting to be sated; the other may be glutted and wishing to he unburthened—both are prompted to look for an individual that may serve their purposes. And this process, as understood in its highest sense, is, in both instances, denoted by the same word: Love—well? should love be something unselfish?
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Even across our neighbour.—How? Should the nature of true morality be this, that, after considering the most direct and immediate consequences which our actions would fare for another person, we bend our purpose accordingly? These are but narrow-minded and petty morals, though morals they may be: but it seems to me a loftier and more liberal view to glance aside from these immediate effects upon others and, under circumstances, to further even more distant purposes by the sorrow of others—so, for instance, when we promote
