and sentiment is eternal.  She was greater than Abelard, because her love was more permanent; in other words, because her soul was greater.  In intellect he may have been superior to her, but not in the higher qualities which imply generosity, self-abnegation, and sympathy,—­qualities which are usually stronger in women than in men.  In Abelard the lower faculties—­ambition, desire of knowledge, vanity—­consumed the greater. He could be contented with the gratification of these, even as men of a still lower type can renounce intellectual pleasures for the sensual.  It does not follow that Heloise was weaker than he because she could not live outside the world of sentiment, but rather loftier and nobler.  These higher faculties constituted her superiority to Abelard.  It was sentiment which made her so pre-eminently great, and it was this which really endeared her to Abelard.  By reason and will he ruled over her; but by the force of superior sentiment she ruled over him.

Sentiment, indeed, underlies everything that is great or lovely or enduring on this earth.  It is the joy of festivals, the animating soul of patriotism, the bond of families, the beauty of religious, political, and social institutions.  It has consecrated Thermopylae, the Parthenon, the Capitol, the laurel crown, the conqueror’s triumphal procession, the epics of Homer, the eloquence of Demosthenes, the muse of Virgil, the mediaeval cathedral, the town-halls of Flanders, the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, the struggles of the Puritans, the deeds of Gustavus Adolphus, the Marseilles hymn, the farewell address of Washington.  There is no poetry without it, nor heroism, nor social banqueting.  What is Christmas without the sentiments which hallow the evergreen, the anthem, the mistletoe, the family reunion?  What is even tangible roast-beef and plum-pudding without a party to enjoy them; and what is the life of the party but the interchange of sentiments?  Why is a cold sleigh-ride, or the ascent of a mountain, or a voyage across the Atlantic, or a rough journey under torrid suns to the consecrated places,—­why are these endurable, and even pleasant?  It is because the sentiments which prompt them are full of sweet and noble inspiration.  The Last Supper, and Bethany, and the Sepulchre are immortal, because they testify eternal love.  Leonidas lives in the heart of the world because he sacrificed himself to patriotism.  The martyrs are objects of unfading veneration, because they died for Christianity.

In the same way Heloise is embalmed in the affections of all nations because she gave up everything for an exalted sentiment which so possessed her soul that neither scorn, nor pity, nor ascetic severities, nor gloomy isolation, nor ingratitude, nor a living death could eradicate or weaken it,—­an unbounded charity which covered with its veil the evils she could not remove.  That all-pervading and all-conquering sentiment was the admiration of ideal virtues and