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    be refreshed with the fe&st which geriius halh spread , in the time * and in the place in which it was provided . And there are those in London whom no autumnal heats will ever banish . The dead remain . No birds of passage they , but faithful to the old town . Let ' the general camp , pioneers and all / beat a march and shift quarters , they would yet garrison

    the city of centuries with their awful presence . No trumpet-call will they answer , till it shall be blown by an archangel . It would be something for London to be literally emptied of its living population that we might for once , undisturbedly , feel the presence of the dead . Talk of our multitudes , indeed ; the dead are the masses and the millions . ' Here Britons with Romans have

    commingled , and Dane and Saxon dust have blended , and become again incorporate together . Here are knights that raised their war-cry in Palestine , and prentices that shouted * clubs' in Fleet-street . All ranks are here , all parties , and all churches . There can scarcely be an atom of dust fixed beneath bur feet , or whirling in the airy that did not once possess vitality ; that has not , again and again , been drawn within the magic circle of

    human organization . If consciousness , once possessed , were eternal in each particle , what an infinitude of life were here . Who could bear that ceaseless contact of thought and sense ? Matter would then be spirit . The supposition makes one feel what unmeaning words we use when we talk of the omnipresence of God . Wild as it is , it helps towards a conception of sober and sacred truth . The dead dust all around us , and the living dust of our own frames , are alike monumental . ' Fuimus Troes .

    We are moulded of old metal that has been oftentimes recast . Not an atom of our bodies but some Cavalier or Roundhead , some Catholic priest or Celtic Druid ^ some lord or vassal of feudal or heptarchal , of Plantagenet or Norman days , might start up and say , ' 'Twas mine , 'tis his , and may be slave to thousands . * The dead are the immense majority . It makes little difference to their numerical superiority over all other Londoners who goes or stays .

    ' Infinity minus A , ' says one of them , * is equal to infinity pfos A / We shall all desert to their party . 'The cry is still they come . ' That journey those who stay are ever taking . He whom Captain Bain refuses because he cannot pay his fare , shall have free

    passage with Captain Charon . He turns none back for their penny now , for he pities the distresses of the time ; nor makes inquisition , into their burial , for he knbWs the hospitals must be supplied . And so it is with him who keeps the keys of paradise ; his occupation were gone but that he fulfilled it gratis ; for Peter ' s pence have travelled the route that Irish tithes must follow . Autumn fchakes down leaves in the country , but in London—men . Look at the mighty heap to which they are gathered : there is the base

    in hell and the head in heaven , and it beats Mont Blattc—* the monarch of mountains / While the busy are minding their bud *

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    Atttiimh in London . 66 $

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Oct. 2, 1832, page 663, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1822/page/15/