tand, were burial under the
gallows-tree near Tyburn Turnpike, with his head on the gable of
Westminster Hall, and two centuries now of mixed cursing and
ridicule from all manner of men. His dust lies under the
Edgeware Road, near Tyburn Turnpike, at this hour; and his
memory is--Nay, what matters what his memory is? His memory, at
bottom, is or yet shall be as that of a god: a terror and horror
to all quacks and cowards and insincere persons; an everlasting
encouragement, new memento, battleword, and pledge of victory to
all the brave. It is the natural course and history of the
Godlike, in every place, in every time. What god ever carried it
with the Tenpound Franchisers; in Open Vestry, or with any
Sanhedrim of considerable standing? When was a god found
agreeable to everybody? The regular way is to hang, kill,
crucify your gods, and execrate and trample them under your
stupid hoofs for a century or two; till you discover that they
are gods,--and then take to braying over them, still in a very
long-eared manner!--So speaks the sarcastic man; in his wild
way, very mournful truths.

Day's-wages for day's-work? continues he: The Progress of Human
Society consists even in this same. The better and better
apportioning of wages to work. Give me this, you have given me
all. Pay to every man accurately what he has worked for, what he
has earned and done and deserved,--to this man broad lands and
honours, to that man high gibbets and treadmills: what more have
I to ask? Heaven's Kingdom, which we daily pray for, _has_ come;
God's will is done on Earth even as it is in Heaven! This _is_
the radiance of celestial justice; in the light or in the fire
of which all impediments, vested interests, and iron cannon, are
more and more melting like wax, and disappearing from
the pathways of men. A thing ever struggling forward;
irrepressible, advancing inevitable; perfecting itself, all
days, more and more,--never to be _perfect_ till that general
Doomsday, the ultimate Consummation, and Last of earthly Days.

True, as to 'perfection' and so forth, answer we; true enough!
And yet withal we have to remark, that imperfect Human Society
holds itself together, and finds place under the Sun, in virtue
simply of some _approximation_ to perfection being actually made
and put in practice. We remark farther, that there are
supportable approximations, and then likewise insupportable.
With some, almost with any, suppor