you have already done singly will justify you now.  Greatness appeals to the future.  If I can be firm enough to-day to do right, and scorn eyes,[196] I must have done so much right before as to defend me now.  Be it how it will, do right now.  Always scorn appearances, and you always may.  The force of character is cumulative.  All the foregone days of virtue work their health into this.  What makes the majesty of the heroes of the senate and the field, which so fills the imagination?  The consciousness of a train of great days and victories behind.  They shed an united light on the advancing actor.  He is attended as by a visible escort of angels.  That is it which throws thunder into Chatham’s[197] voice, and dignity into Washington’s port, and America into Adams’s[198] eye.  Honor is venerable to us because it is no ephemeris.  It is always ancient virtue.  We worship it to-day because it is not of to-day.  We love it and pay it homage, because it is not a trap for our love and homage, but is self-dependent, self-derived, and therefore of an old immaculate pedigree, even if shown in a young person.

I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency.  Let the words be gazetted and ridiculous henceforward.  Instead of the gong for dinner, let us hear a whistle from the Spartan[199] fife.  Let us never bow and apologize more.  A great man is coming to eat at my house.  I do not wish to please him; I wish that he should wish to please me.  I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true.  Let us affront and reprimand the smooth mediocrity and squalid contentment of the times, and hurl in the face of custom, and trade, and office, the fact which is the upshot of all history, that there is a great responsible Thinker and Actor working wherever a man works; that a true man belongs to no other time or place, but is the center of things.  Where he is, there is nature.  He measures you, and all men, and all events.  Ordinarily, everybody in society reminds us of somewhat else, or of some other person.  Character, reality, reminds you of nothing else; it takes place of the whole creation.  The man must be so much, that he must make all circumstances indifferent.  Every true man is a cause, a country, and an age; requires infinite spaces and numbers and time fully to accomplish his design;—­and posterity seem to follow his steps as a train of clients.  A man Caesar[200] is born, and for ages after we have a Roman Empire.  Christ is born, and millions of minds so grow and cleave to his genius, that he is confounded with virtue and the possible of man.  An institution is the lengthened shadow of one man; as Monachism, of the hermit Antony;[201] the Reformation, of Luther; Quakerism, of Fox;[202] Methodism, of Wesley;[203] Abolition, of Clarkson.[204] Scipio,[205] Milton called “the height of Rome”; and all history resolves itself very easily into the biography of a few stout and earnest persons.