But we have not spoken of that which leads to this absorption of the mind in its objects. It is the love of truth--of all truth. Not that other minds have none of it, but it lies mixed, often insensibly, with other desires which reflect upon self, or reach out towards some foreign end, and thus mar its simplicity. There is the love of favor, the ambition of rivaling some admired forerunner or competitor, the desire of seeming superior to the vulgar crowd, the love of victory in discussion. More laudable than these, there is the desire of success in some pursuit or project, or a desire of acquiring what may be useful. More nearly affecting the mind’s operations, there is the love of novelty for novelty’s sake, the love of system, and the desire of bringing forth to the world something new. Besides these there are a thousand prejudiced feelings, aside from the simple love of the truth, which influence men in forming their opinions and in searching after truth. It is easy to see how all these differ in their nature from love of truth for the truth’s sake, and, of course, when blended with it destroy its simplicity. It is not a sense of duty even which mainly influences the great mind in its pursuit of truth. The love of it in such a mind is a passion, an appetite, which asks simply the reception of its natural food; an appetite ever enlarging itself, “growing by that it feeds on.” From these peculiar habits of mind, namely, absorption in its objects, and for the most part in single objects, guided by a simple love of the truth, there arises further, great simplicity in the feelings with which the truth is contemplated when it is discovered. There is nothing of a feeling of arrogance in the great mind--a feeling that it has established a separate domain, about which it alone is competent to legislate, and which none but itself may touch or enter. Nor is there any thing like envy in such a mind. On the contrary, he is ready to welcome with the hand and the heart of a brother, and with warm gratitude, any who shall make new revelations of that which he most loves and adores. Nor has he any such love of system as would lead him knowingly to overlook any one truth. Still less is there a feeling of triumph after discussion, except as the triumphs of truth are his own. Least of all is there a feeling of pedantry, the self satisfied glee with which little minds chuckle over their small apartment in the world of mind, ready to give battle to any one who shall dispute that it is a magnificent temple. The feelings of a great mind are as different from these as possible. His is the simplicity of reverence. He gazes upon some truth, till it rises before him in its full dimensions, and to it he pays humble adoration. Inspired by this feeling he forgets himself, and comes forth with simplicity to deliver his message to others, seeking not their praise, and caring not for their censure. He needs not, and does not comprehend the arts which