6tls famitg Cirdt.
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
BY C. P. CRANCII.
A WONDROUS light is filling the air,
And rimming the clouds of the old despair;
And hopeful eyes look up to see
'Truth's mighty electricity.
Auroral shimnierings swift and bright
That wave and flush in the silent night,—
Magnetic billows travelling fast,
And flooding all the spaces vast
From dim horizon to farthest cope
Of heaven, in streams of gathering hope.
Silent they mount and spread apace;
And the watchers see old Europe's face
Lit with expressions new and strange,—
The prophecy of coming change.
Meantime, while thousands wrapt in dreams
Sleep, heedless of the electric gleams,
Or ply their wonted work and. strife,
Or plot their pitiful games of life,—
While the emperor bows in his formal halls,
And the clerk whirls on at the masking balls;
While the lawyer sits at his dreary files,
And the banker fingers his glittering piles,
And the priest kneels down at his lighted shrine,
And the lop flits by with his mistress fine,—
The diplomat works at his telegraph. wires:
His back is turned to the heavenly fires;
Over him flows the magnetic tide, - -
And the oandles are dimmed by the glow outside:
Mysterious forces overawe,
Absorb, suspend, the usual law. , •
The needle stood northward- an hour ago,—
Now veers like a weathercock to and fro.
The message he sends flies not at once;
The unwilling wires yield no response.
Those iron veins that pulsed but late,
From a tyrant's will to a people's fate,
Flowing and ebbing with feverish strength,
Are seized by a Power whose breadth and length,
Whose height and'depth, defy all guage,
Save the great spirit of the Age.
The:mute°machine is moved by it, law„
That knows no accident or flaw ;
And the iron thrills to.a different chime
From that which rang in the dead old time.
For Heaven is- taking thematter in hand,
And baffling the tricks of the tyrant band.
The sky above and the earth beneath
Hettite with a supermundane breath.
Half-truths, for centuries kept and prized,
By higher truths are polarized.
Like gamesters on a railroad train,
Careless of stoppage, sun, or rain,
We juggle, plot, combine, arrange,
And are swept along by the rapid change.
And some who from their widows mark
The unwonted lights that flood the dark,
Little by little, in slow surprise,
Lift into space their sleepy eyes;
Little by little aro made aware
That a Spirit of Power is passing there,—
That a spirit is passing, strong and free,—
The soul of the Nineteenth Century.
—Atlantic -4lmanac
GRACE ROCHE'S LEGACY. CHAP. IV.
By the Author of Margaret and her Friends
A few months after the events recorded
in the last chapter, Mrs. Burton, the wife of
the farmer who lived nearly Opposite to
Grace Roche's cottage, went into her dairy
one afternoon, and found„the dairymaid and
one of the farming-men engaged talking
about Grace Roche, who had not been for
her pint of milk that day--=and they were
certain something was amiss.,
" I'm sure she must be very bad, ma'am,
*for I've been dairymaid hero seven years,
and. I never know her to miss once. Sum
mer or winter—wet or dry—it made no sort
of difference to her ;—and as I was saying
to Jem, here, when you came into, the dairy
just now-p—' Tem,' says I, didn't like the
noise that dog , of hors made last night;'
and Jem was telling me what he saw, as he
was a coming home from the village last
evening, wasn't you, Jem ?"
" Wouldn't it have been kinder and morn
sensible, if, instead of talking about what
yon both saw and heard, you had gone,zover
to thenottage to enquire after Grace V' said
the sensible farmer's wife. " Whatever her
character may be, it is our duty to help any
pour fellow-creature in' distress or illness.
It is voili likely that, whilst you have been
gossiping here, Grace Roche is dying—
perhaps dead. I wish you had told me of
it earlier in the day ; but as it is, no time
must be lost. Go over to the cottage at
once, Tem, and see if you can make any one
hear,; and I will send, off a man on horse
back for Dr. Clay."
The farmer's wife was leaving the dairy
as she spoke, when she saw that Jem was
standing still.
" Did you hear me, Jem ?"
"I be afeared to go ' ma'am.""
" Sally can go with you, to protect you,"
said his mistress, smiling, and turning to
the dairymaid.
Bat Sally turned pale at the bare idea,
and bogged her mistress not to ask her to
go.
There was no time to stay and attempt
to reason them out of their absurd fears;
for Mrs. Burton feltthat the'life of a fellow
creature was at stake; and having sent the
man to the village for the doctor, she put on
her bonnet and prepared to go over herself
to the cottage of Grace Roche. It was quite
true what the dairymaid had said about
Grace's punctuality in her visits to the farm.
Years ago, they had offered, in a kind spirit
to send the milk over to her in bad weather;
but the- offer had been most ungraciously
declined" No, no, she would conic herself,
and see it measured, and then she couldn't
be cheated!" And she had come every
morning, for more than twenty years. No
wonder that her absence this one day made
her kindly neighbors fear that some evil
had befallen her.
When Mrs. Burton entered the gate lead
ing into Grace's garden, the one-eyed dog
began barking and howling furiously. The
farmer's wife was fond of dumb animals;
and, having lived amongst them all her life,
she underst'jod a great many of their ways.
She had a kind and gentle voice, and going
up to the kennel where the dog was chained,
she patted him on the head, and spoke
softly to him. The gentle tones of her voice
had a soothing effect on the poor animal,
who seemed to feel that he had a friend to
deal with. The loud barking ceased at once,
but the piteous howling continued, as if
the dumb creature would have fain told all
his anxiety about his old mistress.
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1868.
Having thus calmed the dog, Mrs. Burton
turned towards the door of the cottage. It
was locked, as usual. She knocked, gently
at first; and then, louder; and, receiving no
answer, louder still. The faint mewing of
a cat was the only sound she heard in reply.
She tried to look in at the window, but a
dingy curtain drawn across it on the inside
prevented her from so doing. Convinced
more than ever that something must have
happened to Grace Roche, Mrs. Burton re
turned to the farm, and tried to persuade
Jem to bring his tools and force open the
door of the cottage, but no inducements,
nor even threats, could prevail on Jem to
stir a step in the matter, more particularly
when he heard his mistress mention the
mewing of the cat. " He'd have nothing
to do with that cat nor its mistress neither."
Mrs. Barton was at a loss what 'steps to
take, for her husband and all the other men
were at work on a distant part of tbe farm.
It was a great.relief to her when she saw
the doctor's grey 'cob trotting 'up the lane.
Dr. 'Clay was not quite so fresh and strong
as he had been When sent for, long ago, to
set Grace. Roche's
,brokenfinger. 'Twenty
years had not passeil, over even his happy
genial nature withont leaving, their traces
behind. The " sdifivfall's of time" bad de
scended on his_ head s and .he now rode along
the green lanes On a sturdy, gi.ey, pony, in
stead of Walking, as he need to do in former
d'at'a. But his heart *as as - young-L-his
nature as kindly as evei--and the poorest
person felt, when -rie,nding for Dr. Clay,
that ho was—sure of receiving as prompt
and as constant - attention tislf he had been
the squire himself t•
He would frequently say that he I looked
upon himself as second only to the clergy
man of the parish, in the importance and
responsibility of his office., A sincere Chris
tian, a warm. friend, &kind neighbor; such
was Dr. Clay, and, such aro many of the
members; or his noble profession.
Mrs. Burton was at .the gate of ;the farm
when his pony stopped. A few words told
him.how matters,stood.
"No More time mist - be lost," he said ;
" we must get into the cottage at once. Let
your man there bring his tools and come
over with us."
Dr. Clay looked towards Jem as lie spoke.
" Jem's afraid," said Mrs. Barton.
" Afraid, is he ?" roared the doctor, in a
voice of thunder, and darting on Jem, at
th , a same time, all the power of his piercing
eye. "And so you'd allow a fellow-Crea
ture to perish, rather than strive to over
come your senseless fears I Listen to me,
you cowardly fellow Get your tools and
come over with us, this instant; or, should
anything happenito yonder poor woman,
I'll have you•brought up at the next quar
ter-sessions, as suns .as your ,name Jem
Price." .
Dr: , Clay wawa magistrate, vidl J,etu knew
it; moreover, the doctor's voice and manner
had so completely overawed him, that he
went at/once for his toolir,-'and prepared to
accompany his mistress and Dr. Clay to the
cottage: ' ' • • ' •
It'did net 'reiruire any firctit streh
skill to force the simpld hick ; and, in.a; few
minutes, the doorwas open. This was no
sooner done, than 'Jem prudently retired
behind Dr Clay , and his mistress;: both of
whom went- into the , cottage, leaving the
gallant Sem. outside in , the little, wooden
porch.
The room was very ,small and , flark,; and
was BO filled up with lumber ,of yarious
kinds, that there was scarcely spacelo,move,
Mrs., Burton• drew, Wick; the curtain,which
hung before tit's, window, and they had now
light enough` , todiatinguiSh one object trona
another' Rochb.MtVillyitig,too x"11 ap
pearance, cleaclagnotitssis.ergWe bed in one
corner of the cottage; and, the, black ; cat
was crouching on' the pillow, CiOBEi to the
old woman's head: it was mewing piteous-
ly. Let no one thinkethat. cats are 'not
capable of attachment:; for there are weli
authenticated stories to prove that they are.
The doctor berit over the old worah;n; and
felt her' pulse. " She is not dead," he exCl aim
ed, producing at the same lime a lancet from
his pocket ; and giving WS. Burton direc
tions to procure some restoratives from . tbe
farm, as soon possible. " Tell Jem to come
to Me," he added, iLt3 the' arrner's - Wife' was
leaving the cottage. Jem dared not disobey,
but advanced, tromhling from head to foot,
more especially when be found himself face
to face with the black cat, who still• kept
its post on the •pillow of its mistress.
Dr. Clay pointed to the •cat.
" That poor dumb animal has more kind
ness in its nature than you have!" said he,
sternly, its he gave Jem a basin, to held.
When iSirs. Burton returned, a few mo
ments afterwards, she found something like
a look of returning consciousness on Grace's
face; whilst the. blood was flowing slowly
down, from her arm. •
Dr. Clay poured a little wine into her
mouth. She heaved a deep sigh, and gazed
wildly around her.
"Should we ncit'send• for her relatives ?"
whispered the doctor, to Atrs. Burton.
" Andrew Roche left home this morning
to attend the markets at Oldford," she re
plied ; " he called on my husband 'befOre'he
went ; but there are hernephews-7shall we
send for them ?"
The •latter words seemedto haye csOght
the oar of the old woman. She 'attempted
to raise herself in , the bed, but..sank - back
again exhausted. Something, it was clear.
she wished to say; but her speech was af
fected; and it was some moments before
she was able to articulate •
•
"Yes—send—my—nephew--"
" We will send.for them , both," .said Dr.
Clay, in a slow and distinct voice.
But Grace had again fallen into a. state
of unconsciousness, and. seemed not to have
heard his words. '
Jem's presence being no longer required
in the uottage, he was despatched, nothing
loth, to the village, to summon Frank and
Geoffrey Roche; and, also, to secure the
services of. Nanny Wilkes, the village nurse.
Some time elapsed before the young men
arrived, as they had been both from home
when the message came; but Nanny had
taken her post within an hour from the
time she bad been sent for, and bad thus
relieved Dr. Clay, who promised to look in
again in the evening ; • having given full
directions for the treatment of Grace.
Mrs. Burton kindly offered to remain un
til Frank and Geoffrey should arrive.
As Dr, Clay went home, ho told Mr. Kelly
about Grace's serious illness; and the
clergyman promised to call and see her
sometime in the course of the evening.
Grace Roche had spoken no word since
she had expressed a wish that her nephew
should be sent for, but lay in a heavy stupor
with her eyes closed.
The day was drawing on, and the com
fortless looking cottage, with the shades of
twilight , deepened around it, would have
'formed study pyr an artist. The lOw ceil
ing seemeds lower than it really was, by
having. strings: passing across it, from one
end of ,the room to the other, to which were
suspended paper hap , full of dried= herbs.
In some Priieek'theite bags. hiing dbwn 'so
far as to preveKkijiy one, standing ,hpright.
A shelf at one _side, of the. fire-place was
filled with , odd bottles-of all, shapes and
sizes, and a pestle,nrid- mortar, and two or
three small saucepani ‘ StOtid on the mantle
shelf. The sharp worn hatures of Grace,
herself, as she lay amongst - her rags, on her
miserable bed, contrasted with the smooth
plurep face of old Nanny Wilkes, who, in
her chin tz-llowered,gown and neatly plaited
cap, was rocking ; herself to and. fro on a
ricketty chair, as , she sat knitting a stock
ing by the bedside - of her patient , . And
thus time wore on nrs. Burton, who had
taken posiiiession of the only sound chair
the cottage, and had become on most friendly'
terms with the poor black cat, which sat
purring on her lap, was beginning to be
uneasy at; the delay of the young men,
when hasty steps were heard approaching
the door, It .was trank and peoffre,y Roche,
accompanied ,by the kind .pastor, whom
they had /met on the, way. A few words
were spoken to Mrs. Burton in, the porch,
and then the two cousins.found themselves,
for the first time in their lives, :beneath`
their, aunt's, roof. It,was utterly impossible
that, they. could tad •anything like warm
affection [or one who had never shown the
least kindly feelings towards their' ; yet it
was not without, emotion, mingled with awe,
that the young men gazed upon their un
happy aunt, surrounded by such self-im
posed misery. She did: not seem to know
thorn, for there was the same stony look
on her sharp face, the same. fixed Meaning-
less stare in her eyes.
Frank thought of another death-bed
scene he had witnessed not very long since,
—and of the contrast between the peaceful
trusting. close Of the old miller's well-spent
life, an'd, the
,liopelesS expression , ; , on. his
aunt's countenance, as she lay with her face
upturned to' hip. And Geoffrey? His
thought wandered back to the closing
scenes cif his father's life, and to the dark
shadow&ow:hich.. had fallen upen it.: Per
haps he felt; too; how nearly that 'shadow
had crossed his own path. Some reflections
of the wcie gin t i l nu.Eit ; hafp i rass 9 Ett i hrough
the clergyman's mind, as he glanced from
Geotrrey's'pale and thotightftl face, to - the
senseless form of the miserly old woman ;
and, ,as• if thinking aloud he murmured,
"Ho w, lard it. is for them that trust in
riches to enterinto the kingdom of heaven."
Then turning'; towards the 'yelling men, he
added, earnestly : " The' last day alone will
fully prove how true those words are. Let
us watch and pray against the love of
money. It is a snare to.the poor as Weil* iis
th e. ri ch. tps p ray ,for e i onteptinop t.wi ‘ th
sua th i Agri as 'weihrive4 And- *Ai .that
riches are, at best, a• perilouis, possession,
binding heavy burdens 9n . the heart,„and
leading into niany teinptationi. In all
times of Our wealth, good Lord deliver us.'
For tholigh -the word.' wealth' there stands
for or Well-being, the opposite of
tribulation ;', , yet, in many cases, we may
thelprayer about wealth in its common
meanie k of money." .
" Vhib talks of I:money ?" murmured
Grace ; 1 a momentary ray of consciousness
flitting across her face. Her eyes wandered
round the room to Where Frank was'astand
ing at the foot of the bed, with the fight of
the candle shining full on his face. - He was
in persou,fvery 'NLA his father had
been, twenty years, before. The same ruddy
complexion,
the:-sarno loiglitoblue eyes, the
same, good humored expression. His aunt
gap f ed, earnestly at him, and a scowl passed
over her face.
"Go home, go home," she cried. "Didn't
I say that c neitherbou nor:yours should ever
touch aylainy of my money r,
Fraiik cnoved aside to speak to,.7lirs. Bur
ton, whrsaw at once that in the wandering
state of her mind, Grace had mistaken
Fraiitlorilis father ;
„and, ]he -drew.tack,
the litrh4 On Geoffrey, wlicithad been
standing behind• his cousin.
"You, Geoffrey Roche, are my heir," she
exclaimed,rin a voicatrernbling with excite
ment. "It is a good legaey—all—all—
all
Her voine, • grew so faint
,as she uttered
the last words, that they,dould Only just be
beard;.and they were no sooner spoken
than she sunk back into- her former, state
of unconsciousness:
[To BE CONTINUED.]
WHAT A USELESS LIFE I LEAD!
:With ,mpurnfal tone ttiis was uttered by
one(ofthehuimbiest And:best 4hristiaits'we
ever knew. She believed thi i .s, but she was
mistaken - . She was a orik)le, ittiddiad been
so, from ;childhood.. Condemned to as .fixed
position, and seeing oihers going ithoUt on
their mission: of love anit'godd works, she
sighed and thought, what a poor, useless be
ing lam ! But no; God assigned to her
a lot which she had accepted, with resigna
tion to His will; and all who saw her, and
marked the sweet, submissive spirit with
which she bore her trial, were struck with
the power and excellency of that faith which
could say, " Thy will be done." A look at
her, and a look from her, was a sermon.
She was doing good by the passive virtues
of a religion which put submission as the
central gem in its diadem.
Her vocation in the service of Christ was
not to go from house to house with the tract
and the Bible. It was not to attend prayer
meetings and other social gatherings for
the advancement of religion. But to stiffer
God's will—to meditate—to pray in secret
But this wasn't all. In that quiet seclu
sion she kept her fingers going in wsork
,for
Christ's poor. She had a word of enconi
agement for the disconsolate who palled
upon her. She even became an agent for
the circulation of a religious paper - . -Use
less! No, not she. We wish all our readers
were at work for Christ as this dear invalid
is. How the Church would brighten if sinh
were the case ! Our duties are niodified
our circumstances. If vigorous and
we must go about doing good ; if nailed to
the sick couch, then and. there let our reli
gion show its power to sustain, as before lit
did to energize and impel our zeal and good
works.
- - - .
THE - REST NEEDED BY HEAD-WORKERS.
Head-workers need more rest than hand
workers. The old saw precisely inverted
the proprieties, of the case, so lir, as, it in
m,
volved them, deelaritig that 'g seven heuis'
sleep suffice.the student, eight the laboring
man,and nine the fool." Three hours of
harbrain-work destroy, as 'before observed,
more nervous tissue, and cause a greater
Subtractioa of the phosphates from the Syr
ten'
t. than an ordinary daY's work at mere
meehanicallabor, the proportion in ,grains
(of weight) being as 86: 77. Above every-:
thing else, brain-workers need sleep,'efirly
sleep andlate , sleep, and enough in the mid-`
dle 'tn . feel " real stupid" at the end of it:
Stupidityis precisely the condition:into
Which` this class of toilers Should manage,
and devise and strive to, get themselves for
a time, longer, or shorter, each twenty-four
hours. Nothing rests the brain and the,
whole working system like it. , N4rcotic
stupidity, the - product of ale, tobacccv or,
*ine, is not the - thing referred to- 7 :-thoagli,
in emergencies this may perhaps be had re-,
course to as a medicine—but the quiet, re
poseful readjustment• of the nervous condi
tions and the recharging with vital , force of
the nerve-batteries, the- contacts'' not
,yet
closed, the galvanic currents therefore ,not
yet. set in motion, but only filting up :the
system with a bind, (lift:wed,. feeling of
healthy, sensations and reserved efficiency.
In particular, it is believed, that ally work
ers, both men • and women, in all depart
ments of labor, and especially 'in . ' the de
partment now in debate, wiTh,find it greatly
to their 'advantage to lie down,Tdi• a time
longer or„shorter, during,the" day,,prefer
enee being given to the honr after dinner,
and to lie long enough, if possible, to just
fall asleep. Every , other working animal
than man,..ifleft free, will, after, laving ,eat 7
eni 'noon, lie down fora nap, or, if from
any :nause it fails to, ,get it,:stkows decided
abatement, of eificiency'fot 'the 'reeit v of the'
day. Judicious teamsters tetkeirtheji,hpraci
to lie .down in their stalli,,or compel thorn :
to, and many have to 'be, compelled to it in
such narrow quarters that they are liable'
to chafe or wound themselves in getting
down or,up. In, a recnrabent posture the
pulse is slower by eight or i ten heats aMin
ute than_in standing, and fonr or five slow
er than in sitting; -the breathing also is less
rapid t and is deeper; digestion beginsffloper
and; progresses, more, apidly.
,Accordingly,
the,,,worker can recuperate , faster, ix .the re
cumbent than in any other position; and,if
in a quiet place his nerves,get, cpuiposed
more speedily and thoroughly in n i given
time. IVorking-people understand this well
enough, but not "feeling tired," they hate
to camp down onAinci or settee, it is such
dull business. Dull,enough,truly : vihen the
head is swarming with plans, work is ready
to-go on, and the worker : feels ready to go
on ; ;with, it.: But it pays well—this is our
argument—it pays well by the day, month,.
year.or lifetime, and for the great, majority
of workers.—Lippincott's 10g.
gritutiftr.-
LIMITS OF MATERIALISM,
From the Inaugural Address of Prof.
Tyndale, before-the British Association for
the Advancement of .Science, we copy the
following instirtietite - 'paragraphs, which
show to what great lengths speculators in
natural science expect their: investigations
to be carried in the most abstruse regions
of inquiry, and yet how impassible they
themselves aro compelled' ,to admit are
the barriers:between matter and spirit, and
how insoluble the simplest problems of be
ing and of consciousness to their moat re
fined analysis : ' •'.
"Sou- ree I am not mincing matters, but
avowing nakedly what many scientific think
ers more or less distinctly believe. The for
mation of a crystal; a plant, or an animal,
is in their eyes &purely mechanical prob
lem, whiCh differs from the problem of or
dinary mechanics in the smallness of the
masses and the complexity of the processes
involved. Here you have one half of our
dual truth; let us, now glance at the other
half. Associated with this wonderful mech
anism of the animal body we have phenom
ena no less certain than those of physics,
bat between which and the mechanisra,we
discern no necessary connection. A man,
for exaMple, can say, I feel, I think, I love;
but how does consciousness infuse itself into
the problem,? The human brain is said to
be the organ of thought and feeling ; when
we are hurt the brain feels it, when we pon
der it, is the brain that thinks, when our
passions or affections are excited it is through
the instrumentality of the brain. Let us
endeavor to be a little more precise here. I
hardly imagine that any profound scientific
thinker, who has reflected upon the subject,
exists, who would not admit the extreme
probability of the hypothesis, that for every
fact of consciousness, whether in the domain
of sense, of thought, or of emotion, a cer
tain definite molecular condition is set up
in the brain; that this relation of physics
to consciousness is invariable, so that, given
the state of the brain, corresponding thought
or feeling might be inferred; or giving
thought nr feeling, the corresponding state
of the brain might be inferred. But how
inferred ? It is at bottom not a case of
logical inference at all, but of empirical as
sociation. You may reply that many of the
inferences nf science are of this character ;
the inference, for example, that an electric
current of a given direction will deflect a
magnetic needle in a definite way ; but the
cases differ in this, that the passage -from
the current to the needle, If not demonstra
ble, is thinkable, and we entertain: no doubt
as to the,,,,fliaal mechanical solution of the
problem ;Int, the passage from the physics
of the brain rto- the corresponding facts of
consdioustiess , is unthinkable. Granted that
a definite thought, and a definite molecular
action in the brain?. occursimultaneously,
we do gotTossess the intaz.llectual organ,
nor- apparently any rudiment of the organ,
which would enable us .- td pass by a process
of reasoning from the one phenomena to the
other. .They appear together ' but we do
not know - Why. Were our minds and senses
I so expanded, strengthened and illuminated
as to enable us,to see and feel the very mol
eculeefof the brain-; were- we capable of fol
lowing all their motions, all theirgroupings,
all' dash- electric dischargek if Mich' there
be, and were`we intimately acquainted with
the :corresponding states
,of thought and
feeling, we should be as far is ever from; the
solution,of the problem. How are- these
physioal processes connected with the•facts
of .Consciousness ?' The chasm between the
two classes - of phenomena would still remain
intellectually impassable. Let the con
sciousness of love, for example, be associated
with a right-handed spiral motion of the
Molecules of the brain, and .the conscious
ness of hate with a left-hand spiral motion.
We should then know when we love, that
the motion is in one direction, and when we
hate that the motion is in the'other ; bit
the.' why ?' would still remain unanswered.
"In affirming that the growth of the body
is mechanical, and that,thought, as exercis
ed by us, has its correlative, in the physics
of the brain, I think the position of •the
Materialist' is stated as far as that posi
tion is a tenable one. I think the materialist
will be able finally to maintain this position
against all attacks,; but do, not think, as
the human mind is at presentmonstituted,
that he can pass beyond it. Ido not think
that he is entitled - to say that his molecular
groupings and his molecular motions explain
everything. In reali , ty, they explain noth
ing. The utmost he can affirm is the asso
ciation of, two classes of phenomena, of
whose real bond of union he -is in absolute
ignorance. The. problem of the connection
of body and'-soul is as insoluble in its mod
ern form. as it was in the pre-scientific ages.
Plidephoruk is 'ktioWn enter 'into the
quiPositioriof the:bußari hpairi t ,.and a eour
ageous,.wrirter has exclaimed, inbis ~trenc
har' t•German,.‘Ohne.Plaonphor.kein,Gredan
ke.i ~i litiart mayor may not betthe case; but
even if We , knew it , tin be the•riase;the••know
ledte'WOrild not heighten our darkness. On
bosh eideg zdrie l hcre asSigned to the
materialist,'l'f you
ask, him whenceisthis::MaAter' of 4hich we
have .beendiecoureing, who., orrwhat .divided
it into molecules, who , or what impressed
upon them thisnecessity . of running into
organic formshe 'hair no answer. Scienco
also is mute inießly:t4TheneiiiightiCits: But
if the materialist is confounded and Science
rendered dumb, who ,else is, entitrecli to an
swer ? To. whom has the secret been re
vealed? Let us lower our heads and ac
knowledge our ignorance - one and all. Per
haps.the mystery "may resolve itself into
knoWledge.at some future' day." '
GEOLOGICAL RESTORATION.
`Mr..B. Waterhouse Hawkins, the distal
gnished English naturalist, well knoWn as
theauthor of the thirty-six restorations of
extinct animals which add so much interest
t 6 the Crystal palace, London, says Lippin
cott tor November is now in this city. - Hav
ing concluded arrangements with the`Com
missioners of the Central Park, N. Y., for a
similar series of restorations,leir.,,Hawkios
is engaged in studying the immense fossil
rbptiles, the remains of which are deposited
in the museum of our Academy of _Natural
Sciences.' rt is his intention to erect in the
Ceara' Park restored .fitures Of Lcelaps
aquilunguis (Cope),, , 'Heidr i psintius
(Leidy), and Elasmosaw - u4,pktorms (Cope).
They will be'dilsposed, we believe, as a group
of four, there being =two figures.of the first
named animal, in the centre of a grand geo
logical saloon to be erected dir•in the Park.
The work when eonipleted Will give an ex
traordinary impetus ,to ; the study of Geolo
gy, as thero,om ' if Abe' idea is fully carried
out,Will afford facilities for pursuing the
study of that , scienee to be found at present
newhereelseion this continent.°
As an acknowledgment' of his indebted
neis to. the Academy for free access to the
magnificent collection of fossil . remains in
its possession, Mr. Hawkins .proposes to
erect in their natural relations the' bones of
Hadrcisaurus, which are •now lying in an ob
scure Clark case of the museum in such con
dition that.very few can realize the immense
size of the creature to which, they once be
longed. We are, happy to hear that the
Academy has• accepted the, proposition.
The bones - will be sustained by iron bars,
in the lower museum, probably in front of
the skeleton of the whale, and when erect
ed will convey 'a very accurate idea of the
size of Hadfosauius Foulkii, the equivalent
on this continent of the ponderous Iguano
don of Europe.