d in perpetuity, and sell the wheat of it, or burn the wheat of it,
according to my own good judgment! My Corn-Lawing friends, you
affright me.

To the 'Millo-cracy' so-called, to the Working Aristocracy, steeped
too deep in mere ignoble Mammonism, and as yet all unconscious of its
noble destinies, as yet but an irrational or semi-rational giant,
struggling to awake some soul in itself,--the world will have much to
say, reproachfully, reprovingly, admonishingly. But to the Idle
Aristocracy, what will the world have to say? Things painful, and not
pleasant!

To the man who _works_, who attempts, in never so ungracious barbarous
a way, to get forward with some work, you will hasten out with
furtherances, with encouragements, corrections; you will say to him:
"Welcome; thou art ours; our care shall be of thee." To the Idler,
again, never so gracefully going idle, coming forward with never so
many parchments, you will not hasten out; you will sit still, and be
disinclined to rise. You will say to him: "Not welcome, O complex
Anomaly; would thou hadst stayed out of doors: for who of mortals
knows what to do with thee? Thy parchments: yes, they are old, of
venerable yellowness; and we too honour parchment, old-established
settlements, and venerable use-and-wont. Old parchments in very
truth:--yet on the whole, if thou wilt remark, they are young to the
Granite Rocks, to the Groundplan of God's Universe! We advise thee to
put up thy parchments; to go home to thy place, and make no needless
noise whatever. Our heart's wish is to save thee: yet there as thou
art, hapless Anomaly, with nothing but thy yellow parchments, noisy
futilities, and shotbelts and fox-brushes, who of gods or men can
avert dark Fate? Be counselled, ascertain if no work exist for thee on
God's Earth; if thou find no commanded-duty there but that of going
gracefully idle? Ask, inquire earnestly, with a half-frantic
earnestness; for the answer means Existence or Annihilation to thee.
We apprise thee of the world-old fact, becoming sternly disclosed
again in these days, That he who cannot work in this Universe cannot
get existed in it: had he parchments to thatch the face of the world,
these, combustible fallible sheepskin, cannot avail him. Home, thou
unfortunate; and let us have at least no noise from thee!"

Suppose the unfortunate Idle Aristocracy, as the unfortunate Working
one has done, were to 'retire three days to _its_ bed,' and consider
itself th