supposed you might be inclined to confound with the mere feeling of oneself; if we turn to the consideration of this conception of oneself, we shall perceive how completely it is distinguished from the feeling, both in itself and in its consequences. It has been already explained to you that thought in all cases embraces something more than is directly and obtrusively thought of; that it extends beyond the particular to the universal; that when a sensation is felt and thought of, other sensations are thought of as well. In the same way the thought of me extends to other mes. When I have the conception of myself, this conception is the conception of all mes, and not merely of me in particular. When I feel myself and my own sensations, I do not, cannot, feel another man and his sensations; but when I think myself and my own sensations, I think other men as well, virtually all other men and their sensations. I think myself and my pains and pleasures as an instance of which there are or may be myriads of other instances. Mere feeling, the mere feeling of myself and my sensations, would never enable me to do this. But thought enables me, indeed thought compels me, to do it. Thought clears the bounds of mere feeling: thought, in the very act of being what it is, necessarily overleaps the limitations of feeling. Hence thought, the thought of oneself and of one's sensation, is the ground and the condition of sympathy. Without this thought there can be no sympathy; but along with this thought, sympathy more or less
