onable　mind。　　It　is　the　mystic　working　of　the　mind；　on　the　object　it　is　_getting_　to　know　and　believe。　　Belief　comes　out　of　all　this；　above　ground；　like　the　tree　from　its　hidden　_roots_。　　But　now　if；　even　on　common　things；　we　require　that　a　man　keep　his　doubts　_silent_；　and　not　babble　of　them　till　they　in　some　measure　become　affirmations　or　denials；　how　much　more　in　regard　to　the　highest　things；　impossible　to　speak　of　in　words　at　all！　　That　a　man　parade　his　doubt；　and　get　to　imagine　that　debating　and　logic　（which　means　at　best　only　the　manner　of　_telling_　us　your　thought；　your　belief　or　disbelief；　about　a　thing）　is　the　triumph　and　true　work　of　what　intellect　he　has：　　alas；　this　is　as　if　you　should　_overturn_　the　tree；　and　instead　of　green　boughs；　leaves　and　fruits；　show　us　ugly　taloned　roots　turned　up　into　the　air；and　no　growth；　only　death　and　misery　going　on！
  For　the　Scepticism；　as　I　said；　is　not　intellectual　only；　it　is　moral　also；　a　chronic　atrophy　and　disease　of　the　whole　soul。　　A　man　lives　by　believing　something；　not　by　debating　and　arguing　about　many　things。　　A　sad　case　for　him　when　all　that　he　can　manage　to　believe　is　something　he　can　button　in　his　pocket；　and　with　one　or　the　other　organ　eat　and　digest！　　Lower　than　that　he　will　not　get。　　We　call　those　ages　in　which　he　gets　so　low　the　mournfulest；　sickest　and　meanest　of　all　ages。　　The　world's　heart　is　palsied；　sick：　　how　can　any　limb　of　it　be　whole？　　Genuine　Acting　ceases　in　all　departments　of　the　world's　work；　dexterous　Similitude　of　Acting　begins。　The　world's　wages　are　pocketed；　the　world's　work　is　not　done。　　Heroes　have　gone　out；　Quacks　have　come　in。　　Accordingly；　what　Century；　since　the　end　of　the　Roman　world；　which　also　was　a　time　of　scepticism；　simulacra　and　universal　decadence；　so　abounds　with　Quacks　as　that　Eighteenth？　　Consider　them；　with　their　tumid　sentimental　vaporing　about　virtue；　benevolence；the　wretched　Quack…squadron；　Cagliostro　at　the　head　of　them！　　Few　men　were　without　quackery；　they　had　got　to　consider　it　a　necessary　ingredient　and　amalgam　for　truth。　　Chatham；　our　brave　Chatham　himself；　comes　down　to　the　House；　all　wrapt　and　bandaged；　he　〃has　crawled　out　in　great　bodily　suffering；〃　and　so　on；_forgets_；　says　Walpole；　that　he　is　acting　the　sick　man；　in　the　fire　of　debate；　snatches　his　arm　from　the　sling；　and　oratorically　swings　and　brandishes　it！　　Chatham　himself　lives　the　strangest　mimetic　life；　half…hero；　half…quack；　all　along。　　For　indeed　the　world　is　full　of　dupes；　and　you　have　to　gain　the　_world's_　suffrage！　　How　the　duties　of　the　world　will　be　done　in　that　case；　what　quantities　of　error；　which　means　failure；　which　means　sorrow　and　misery；　to　some　and　to　many；　will　gradually　accumulate　in　all　provinces　of　the　world's　business；　we　need　not　compute。
  It　seems　to　me；　you　lay　your　finger　here　on　the　heart　of　the　world's　maladies；　when　you　call　it　a　Sceptical　World。　　An　insincere　world；　a　godless　untruth　of　a　world！　　It　is　out　of　this；　as　I　consider；　that　the　whole　tribe　of　social　pestilences；　French　Revolutions；　Chartisms；　and　what　not；　have　derived　their　being；their　chief　necessity　to　be。　　This　must　alter。　　Till　this　alter；　nothing　can　beneficially　alter。　　My　one　hope　of　the　world；　my　inexpugnable　consolation　in　looking　at　the　miseries　of　the　world；　is　that　this　is　altering。　　Here　and　there　one　does　now　find　a　man　who　knows；　as　of　old；　that　this　world　is　a　Truth；　and　no　Plausibility　and　Falsity；　that　he　himself　is　alive；　not　dead　or　paralytic；　and　that　the　world　is　alive；　instinct　with　Godhood；　beautiful　and　awful；　even　as　in　the　beginning　of　days！　　One　man　once　knowing　this；　many　men；　all　men；　must　by　and　by　come　to　know　it。　　It　lies　there　clear；　for　whosoever　will　take　the　_spectacles_　off　his　eyes　and　honestly　look；　to　know！　　For　such　a　man　the　Unbelieving　Century；　with　its　unblessed　Products；　is　already　past；　a　new　century　is　already　come。　　The　old　unblessed　Products　and　Performances；　as　solid　as　they　look；　are　Phantasms；　preparing　speedily　to　vanish。　　To　this　and　the　other　noisy；　very　great…looking　Simulacrum　with　the　whole　world　huzzaing　at　its　heels；　he　can　say；　composedly　stepping　aside：　　Thou　art　not　_true_；　thou　art　not　extant；　only　semblant；　go　thy　way！Yes；　hollow　Formulism；　gross　Benthamism；　and　other　unheroic　atheistic　Insincerity　is　visibly　and　even　rapidly　declining。　　An　unbelieving　Eighteenth　Century　is　but　an　exception；such　as　now　and　then　occurs。　　I　prophesy　that　the　world　will　once　more　become　_sincere_；　a　believing　world；　with　_many_　Heroes　in　it；　a　heroic　world！　　It　will　then　be　a　victorious　world；　never　till　then。
  Or　indeed　what　of　the　world　and　its　victories？　　Men　speak　too　much　about　the　world。　　Each　one　of　us　here；　let　the　world　go　how　it　will；　and　be　victorious　or　not　victorious；　has　he　not　a　Life　of　his　own　to　lead？　　One　Life；　a　little　gleam　of　Time　between　two　Eternities；　no　second　chance　to　us　forevermore！　　It　were　well　for　us　to　live　not　as　fools　and　simulacra；　but　as　wise　and　realities。　　The　world's　being　saved　will　not　save　us；　nor　the　world's　being　lost　destroy　us。　　We　should　look　to　ourselves：　　there　is　great　merit　here　in　the　〃duty　of　staying　at　home〃！　　And；　on　the　whole；　to　say　truth；　I　never　heard　of　〃world's〃　being　〃saved〃　in　any　other　way。　　That　mania　of　saving　worlds　is　itself　a　piece　of　the　Eighteenth　Century　with　its　windy　sentimentalism。　　Let　us　not　follow　it　too　far。　　For　the　saving　of　the　_world_　I　will　trust　confidently　to　the　Maker　of　the　world；　and　look　a　little　to　my　own　saving；　which　I　am　more　competent　to！In　brief；　for　the　world's　sake；　and　for　our　own；　we　will　rejoice　greatly　that　Scepticism；　Insincerity；　Mechanical　Atheism；　with　all　their　poison…dews；　are　going；　and　as　good　as　gone。
  Now　it　was　under　such　conditions；　in　those　times　of　Johnson；　that　our　Men　of　Letters　had　to　live。　　Times　in　which　there　was　properly　no　truth　in　life。　　Old　truths　had　fallen　nigh　dumb；　the　new　lay　yet　hidden；　not　trying　to　speak。　　That　Man's　Life　here　below　was　a　Sincerity　and　Fact；　and　would　forever　continue　such；　no　new　intimation；　in　that　dusk　of　the　world；　had　yet　dawned。　　No　intimation；　not　even　any　French　Revolution；which　we　define　to　be　a　Truth　once　more；　though　a　Truth　clad　in　hell…fire！　　How　different　was　the　Luther's　pilgrimage；　with　its　assured　goal；　from　the　Johnson's；　girt　with　mere　traditions；　suppositions；　grown　now　incredible；　unintelligible！　　Mahomet's　Formulas　were　of　〃wood　waxed　and　oiled；〃　and　could　be　burnt　out　of　one's　way：　　poor　Johnson's　were　far　more　difficult　to　burn。The　strong　man　will　ever　find　_work_；　which　means　difficulty；　pain；　to　the　full　measure　of　his　strength。　　But　to　make　out　a　victory；　in　those　circumstances　of　our　poor　Hero　as　Man　of　Letters；　was　perhaps　more　difficult　than　in　any。　　Not　obstruction；　disorganization；　Bookseller　Osborne　and　Fourpence…halfpenny　a　day；　not　this　alone；　but　the　light　of　his　own　soul　was　taken　from　him。　　No　landmark　on　the　Earth；　and；　alas；　what　is　that　to　having　no　loadstar　in　the　Heaven！　　We　need　not　wonder　that　none　of　those　Three　men　rose　to　victory。　　That　they　fought　truly　is　the　highest　praise。　　With　a　mournful　sympathy　we　will　contemplate；　if　not　three　living　victorious　Heroes；　as　I　said；　the　Tombs　of　three　fallen　Heroes！　　They　fell　for　us　too；　making　a　way　for　us。　　There　are　the　mountains　which　they　hurled　abroad　in　their　confused　War　of　the　Giants；　under　which；　their　strength　and　life　spent；　they　now　lie　buried。
  I　have　already　written　of　these　three　Literary　Heroes；　expressly　or　incidentally；　what　I　suppose　is　known　to　most　of　you；　what　need　not　be　spoken　or　written　a　second　time。　　They　concern　us　here　as　the　singular　_Prophets_　of　that　singular　age；　for　such　they　virtually　were；　and　the　aspect　they　and　their　world　exhibit；　under　this　point　of　view；　might　lead　us　into　reflections　enough！　　I　call　them；　all　three；　Genuine　Men　more　or　less；　faithfully；　for　most　part　unconsciously；　struggling　to　be　genuine；　and　plant　themselves　on　the　everlasting　truth　of　things。　　This　to　a　degree　that　eminently　distinguishes　them　from　the　poor　artificial　mass　of　their　contemporaries；　and　renders　them　worthy　to　be　considered　as　Speakers；　in　some　measure；　of　the　everlasting　truth；　as　Prophets　in　that　age　of　theirs。　By　Nature　herself　a　noble　necessity　was　laid　on　them　to　be　so。　　They　were　men　of　such　magnitude　that　they　could　not　live　on　unrealities；clouds；　froth　and　all　inanity　gave　way　under　them：　　there　was　no　footing　for　them　but　on　firm　earth；　no　rest　or　regular　motion　for　them；　if　they　got　not　footing　there。　　To　a　certain　extent；　they　were　Sons　of　Nature　once　more　in　an　age　of　Artifice；　once　more；　Original　Men。
  As　for　Johnson；　I　have　always　considered　him　to　be；　by　nature；　one　of　our　great　English　souls。　　A　strong　and　noble　man；　so　much　left　undeveloped　in　him　to　the　last：　　in　a　kindlier　element　what　might　he　not　have　been；Poet；　Priest；　sovereign　Ruler！　　On　the　whole；　a　man　must　not　complain　of　his　〃element；〃　of　his　〃time；〃　or　the　like；　it　is　thriftless　work　doing　so。　　His　time　is　bad：　　well　then；　he　is　there　to　make　it　better！Johnson's　youth　was　poor；　isolated；　hopeless；　very　miserable。　　Indeed；　it　does　not　seem　possible　that；　in　any　the　favorablest　outward　circumstances；　Johnson's　life　could　have　been　other　than　a　painful　one。　　The　world　might　have　had　mor