whatever mysteries may appertain to mind and matter, and
notwithstanding grave doubts as to the authenticity of the Fourth
Gospel, it is bravery, truth and honour, loyalty and hard work, each
man at his post, which make this planet inhabitable?

In these days of champagne and shoddy, of display of teacups and
rotten foundations--especially, too, now that the 'nexus' of 'cash
payment,' which was to bind man to man in the bonds of a common
pecuniary interest, is hopelessly broken--it becomes plain that the
real wants of the age are not analyses of religious belief, nor
discussions as to whether 'Person' or 'Stream of Tendency' are the
apter words to describe God by; but a steady supply of honest,
plain-sailing men who can be safely trusted with small sums, and to do
what in them lies to maintain the honour of the various professions,
and to restore the credit of English workmanship. We want Lambs, not
Coleridges. The verdict to be striven for is not 'Well guessed,' but
'Well done.'

All our remarks are confined to the realm of opinion. Faith may be
well left alone, for she is, to give her her due, our largest
manufacturer of good works, and whenever her furnaces are blown out,
morality suffers.

But speculation has nothing to do with faith. The region of
speculation is the region of opinion, and a hazy, lazy, delightful
region it is; good to talk in, good to smoke in, peopled with pleasant
fancies and charming ideas, strange analogies and killing jests. How
quickly the time passes there! how well it seems spent! The
Philistines are all outside; everyone is reasonable and tolerant, and
good-tempered; you think and scheme and talk, and look at everything