imenting, will be to get
the _true_ Souls'-Overseers set over men's souls, to regiment, as the
consummate flower of all, and constitute into some Sacred Corporation,
bearing authority and dignity in their generation, the Chosen of the
Wise, of the Spiritual and Devout-minded, the Reverent who deserve
reverence, who are as the Salt of the Earth;--that not till this is done
can the State consider its edifice to have reached the first story, to
be safe for a moment, to be other than an arch without the keystones,
and supported hitherto on mere wood. How will this be done? Ask not; let
the second or the third generation after this begin to ask!--Alas, wise
men do exist, born duly into the world in every current generation; but
the getting of _them_ regimented is the highest pitch of human Polity,
and the feat of all feats in political engineering:--impossible for us,
in this poor age, as the building of St. Paul's would be for Canadian
Beavers, acquainted only with the architecture of fish-dams, and with no
trowel but their tail.

Literature, the strange entity so called,--that indeed is here. If
Literature continue to be the haven of expatriated spiritualisms, and
have its Johnsons, Goethes and _true_ Archbishops of the World, to show
for itself as heretofore, there may be hope in Literature. If Literature
dwindle, as is probable, into mere merry-andrewism, windy twaddle,
and feats of spiritual legerdemain, analogous to rope-dancing,
opera-dancing, and street-fiddling with a hat carried round for
halfpence, or for guineas, there will be no hope in Literature. What
if our next set of Souls'-Overseers were to be _silent_ ones very
mainly?--Alas, alas, why gaze into the blessed continents and delectable
mountains of a Future based on _truth_, while as yet we struggle far
down, nigh suffocated in a slough of lies, uncertain whether or how we
shall be able to climb at all!

Who will begin the long steep journey with us; who of living statesmen
will snatch the standard, and say, like a hero on the forlorn-hope for
his country, Forward! Or is there none; no one that can and dare? And
our lot too, then, is Anarchy by barricade or ballot-box, and Social
Death?--We will not think so.

Whether Sir Robert Peel will undertake the Reform of Downing Street for
us, or any Ministry or Reform farther, is not known. He, they say, is
getting old, does himself recoil from it, and shudder at it; which is
possible enough. The clubs and co