things," continues he, "were done in the dry tree, what
will be done in the green? If, in the most parched season of Man's
History, in the most parched spot of Europe, when Parisian life was
at best but a scientific _Hortus Siccus_, bedizened with some Italian
Gumflowers, such virtue could come out of it; what is to be looked for
when Life again waves leafy and bloomy, and your Hero-Divinity shall
have nothing apelike, but be wholly human? Know that there is in man a
quite indestructible Reverence for whatsoever holds of Heaven, or even
plausibly counterfeits such holding. Show the dullest clodpoll, show
the haughtiest featherhead, that a soul higher than himself is actually
here; were his knees stiffened into brass, he must down and worship."

Organic filaments, of a more authentic sort, mysteriously spinning
themselves, some will perhaps discover in the following passage:--

"There is no Church, sayest thou? The voice of Prophecy has gone dumb?
This is even what I dispute: but in any case, hast thou not still
Preaching enough? A Preaching Friar settles himself in every village;
and builds a pulpit, which he calls Newspaper. Therefrom he preaches
what most momentous doctrine is in him, for man's salvation; and dost
not thou listen, and believe? Look well, thou seest everywhere a
new Clergy of the Mendicant Orders, some barefooted, some almost
bare-backed, fashion itself into shape, and teach and preach, zealously
enough, for copper alms and the love of God. These break in pieces
the ancient idols; and, though themselves too often reprobate, as
idol-breakers are wont to be, mark out the sites of new Churches,
where the true God-ordained, that are to follow, may find audience, and
minister. Said I not, Before the old skin was shed, the new had formed
itself beneath it?"

Perhaps also in the following; wherewith we now hasten to knit up this
ravelled sleeve:--

"But there is no Religion?" reiterates the Professor. "Fool! I tell
thee, there is. Hast thou well considered all that lies in this
immeasurable froth-ocean we name LITERATURE? Fragments of a genuine
Church-_Homiletic_ lie scattered there, which Time will assort: nay
fractions even of a _Liturgy_ could I point out. And knowest thou no
Prophet, even in the vesture, environment, and dialect of this age? None
to whom the Godlike had revealed itself, through all meanest and highest
forms of the Common; and by him been again prophetically revealed: in
whose inspired