A state of mind worth reflecting on. No Morrison's Pill for curing the maladies of Society: Universal alteration of regimen and way of life: Vain jargon giving place to some genuine Speech again. If we walk according to the Law of this Universe, the Law-Maker will befriend us; if not, not. Quacks, sham heroes, the one bane of the world. Quack and Dupe, upper side and under of the selfsame substance. Chap. V. _Aristocracy of Talent_ All misery the fruit of unwisdom: Neither with individuals nor with Nations is it fundamentally otherwise. Nature in late centuries universally supposed to be dead; but now everywhere asserting herself to be alive and miraculous. That guidance of this country not sufficiently wise. Aristocracy of talent, or government by the Wisest, a dreadfully difficult affair to get started. The true _eye_ for talent; and the flunky eye for respectabilities, warm garnitures and larders dropping fatness: Bobus and Bobissimus. Chap. VI. _Hero-worship_ Enlightened Egoism, never so luminous, not the rule by which man's life can be led: A _soul,_ different from a stomach in any sense of the word. Hero-worship done differently in every different epoch of the world. Reform, like Charity, must begin at home. Arrestment of the knaves and dastards, beginning by arresting our own poor selves out of that fraternity. The present Editor's purpose to himself full of hope. A Loadstar in the eternal sky: glimmering of light, for here and there a human soul. Book II--The Ancient Monk Chap. I. _Jocelin of Brakelond_ How the Centuries stand lineally related to each other. The one Book not permissible, the kind that has nothing in it. Jocelin's 'Chronicle,' a private Boswellean Note-book, now seven centuries old. How Jocelin, from under his monk's cowl, looked out on that narrow section of the world in a really _human_ manner: A wise simplicity in him; a _veracity_ that goes deeper than words. Jocelin's Monk-Latin; and Mr. Rokewood's editorial helpfulness and fidelity. A veritable Monk of old Bury St. Edmunds worth attending to. This England of ours, of the year 1200: Coeur-de- Lion: King Lackland, and his thirteenpenny mass. The poorest historical Fact, and the grandest imaginative Fiction. Chap. II. _St. Edmundsbury_ St. Edmund's Bury, a prosperous brisk Town: Extensive ruins of the Abbey still visible. Assiduous Pedantry, and its rubbish- heaps called 'History.' Another world it was, when those black ruins first saw the sun as walls. At lowest, O dilettante friend, let us know always that it _was_ a world. No easy matter to get across the chasm of Seven Centuries: Of all helps; a Boswell, even a small Boswell, the welcomest. Chap. III. _Landlord Edmund_