n as a rent in the nether garments. GOD'S
image loses the divine lustre of its origin with its nap of super-Saxony.
The sinful lapse of ADAM has thrown all his unfortunate children upon the
mercies of the tailor; and that mortal shows least of the original stain
who wraps about it the richest purple and the finest linen. Hence, if you
would know the value of a man's heart, look at his waistcoat.

Philosophers and anatomists have quarrelled for centuries as to the
residence of the soul. Some have vowed that it lived here--some there;
some that, like a gentleman with several writs in pursuit of him, it
continually changed its lodgings; whilst others have lustily sworn that
the soul was a vagrant, with no claim to any place of settlement whatever.
Nevertheless, a vulgar notion has obtained that the soul dwelt on a little
knob of the brain; and that there, like a vainglorious bantam-cock on a
dunghill, it now claps its wings and crows all sorts of triumph--and now,
silent and scratching, it thinks of nought but wheat and barley. The first
step to knowledge is to confess to a late ignorance. We avow, then, our
late benighted condition. We were of the number of sciolists who lodged
the soul in the head of man: we are now convinced that the true dwelling
place of the soul is in the head's antipodes. Let SOLOMON himself return
to the earth, and hold forth at a political meeting; SOLOMON himself would
be hooted, laughed at, voted an ass, a nincompoop, if SOLOMON spoke from
the platform with a hole in his breeches!

PLATO doubtless thought that he had imagined a magnificent theory, when he
averred that every man had within him a spark of the divine flame. But,
silly PLATO! he never considered how easily this spark might be blown out.
At this moment, how many Englishmen are walking about the land utterly
extinguished! Had men been made on the principle of the safety-lamp, they
might have defied the foul breath of the world's opinion--but, alas! what
a tender, thin-skinned, shivering thing is man! His covering--the livery
of original sin, bought with the pilfered apples--is worn into a hole, and
Opinion, that sour-breathed hag, claps her blue lips to the broken web,
gives a puff, and--out goes man's immortal spark! From this moment the
creature is but a carcase: he can eat and drink (when lucky enough to be
able to try the experiment), talk, walk, and no more; yes, we forgot--he
can work; he still keeps precedence of the ape in the