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INTRODUCTION

Virgil—Publius Vergilius Maro—was born at Andes near Mantua, in the year 70 B.C. His life was uneventful, though he lived in stirring times, and he passed by far the greater part of it in reading his books and writing his poems, undisturbed by the fierce civil strife which continued to rage throughout the Roman Empire, until Octavian, who afterwards became the Emperor Augustus, defeated Antony at the battle of Actium. Though his father was a man of humble origin, Virgil received an excellent education, first at Cremona and Milan, and afterwards at Rome. He was intimate with all the distinguished men of his time, and a personal friend of the Emperor. After the publication of his second work, the Georgics, he was recognized as being the greatest poet of his age, and the most striking figure in the brilliant circle of literary men, which was centred at the Court. He died at Brindisi in the spring of 19 B.C. whilst returning from a journey to Greece, leaving his greatest work, the Aeneid, written but unrevised. It was published by his executors, and immediately took its place as the great national Epic of the Roman people. Virgil seems to have been a man of simple, pure, and loveable character, and the references to him in the works of Horace clearly show the affection with which he was regarded by his friends.

Like every cultivated Roman of that age, Virgil was a close student of the literature and philosophy of the Greeks, and his poems bear eloquent testimony to the profound impression made upon him by his reading of the Greek poets. His first important work, the Eclogues, was directly inspired by the pastoral poems of Theocritus, from whom he borrowed not only much of his imagery but even whole lines; in the Georgics he took as his model the Works and Days of Hesiod, and though in the former case it must be confessed that he suffers from the weakness inherent in all imitative poetry, in the latter he far surpasses the slow and simple verses of the Boeotian. But here we must guard ourselves against a misapprehension. We moderns look askance at the writer who borrows without acknowledgment the thoughts and phrases of his forerunners, but the Roman critics of the Augustan Age looked at the matter from a different point of view. They regarded the Greeks as having set the standard of the highest possible achievement in literature, and believed that it should be the aim of every writer to be faithful, not only to the spirit, but even to the letter of their great exemplars. Hence it was only natural that when Virgil essayed the task of writing the national Epic of his country, he should be studious to embody in his work all that was best in Greek Epic poetry.

It is difficult in criticizing Virgil to avoid comparing him to some extent with Homer. But though Virgil copied Homer freely, any comparison between them is apt to be misleading. A primitive epic, like the Iliad or the Nibelungenlied, produced by an imaginative people at an early stage in its development, telling its stories simply for the sake of story telling, cannot be judged by the same canons of criticism as a literary epic like the Aeneid or Paradise Lost, which is the work of a great poet in an age of advanced culture, and sets forth a great idea in a narrative form. The Greek writer to whom Virgil owes most perhaps, is Apollonius of Rhodes, from whose Argonautica he borrowed the love interest of the Aeneid. And though the Roman is a far greater poet, in this instance the advantage is by no means on his side, for, as Professor Gilbert Murray has so well said, 'the Medea and Jason of the Argonautica are at once more interesting and more natural than their copies, the Dido and Aeneas of the Aeneid. The wild love of the witch-maiden sits curiously on the queen and organizer of industrial Carthage; and the two qualities which form an essential part of Jason—the weakness which makes him a traitor, and the deliberate gentleness which contrasts him with Medea—seem incongruous in the father of Rome.' But though Virgil turned to the Greek epics for the general framework and many of the details of his poem, he always remains master of his materials, and stamps them with the impress of his own genius. The spirit which inspires the Aeneid is wholly Roman, and the deep faith in the National Destiny, and stern sense of duty to which it gives expression, its profoundly religious character and stately and melodious verse, have always caused it to be recognized as the loftiest expression of the dignity and greatness of Rome at her best. But the sympathetic reader will be conscious of a deeper and more abiding charm in the poetry of Virgil. Even in his most splendid passages his verses thrill us with a strange pathos, and his sensitiveness to unseen things—things beautiful and sad—has caused a great writer, himself a master of English prose, to speak of 'his single words and phrases, his pathetic half lines, giving utterance as the voice of Nature herself to that pain and weariness, yet hope of better things, which is the experience of her children in every age.'

The task of translating such a writer at all adequately may well seem to be an almost impossible one; and how far any of the numerous attempts to do so have succeeded, is a difficult question. For not only does the stated ideal at which the translator should aim, vary with each generation, but perhaps no two lovers of Virgil would agree at any period as to what this ideal should be. Two general principles stand out from the mass of conflicting views on this point. The translation should read as though it were an original poem, and it should produce on the modern reader as far as possible the same effect as the original produced on Virgil's contemporaries. And here we reach the real difficulty, for the scholar who can alone judge what that effect may have been, is too intimate with the original to see clearly the merits of a translation, and the man who can only read the translation can form no opinion. However, it seems clear that a prose translation can never really satisfy us, because it must always be wanting in the musical quality of continuous verse. And our critical experience bears this out, since even Professor Mackail with all his literary skill and insight has failed to make his version of the Aeneid more than a very valuable aid to the student of the original. The meaning of the poet is fully expressed, but his music has been lost. That oft-quoted line—

'Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt'

haunts us like Tennyson's

'When unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,'

and no prose rendering can hope to convey the poignancy and pathos of the original. The ideal translation, then, must be in verse, and perhaps the best way for us to determine which style and metre are most suited to convey to the modern reader an impression of the charm of Virgil, will be to take a brief glance at some of the best-known of the verse translations which have appeared.

The first translation of the Aeneid into English verse was that of Gawin Douglas, bishop of Dunkeld in Scotland, which was published in 1553. It is a spirited translation, marked by considerable native force and verisimilitude, and it was certainly unsurpassed until that of Dryden appeared. In the best passages it renders the tone and feeling of the original with extreme felicity—indeed, all but perfectly. Take for instance this passage from the Sixth Book—

'Thai walking furth fa dyrk, oneth thai wyst
Quhidder thai went, amyd dym schaddowys thar,
Quhar evir is nycht, and nevir lyght dois repar,
Throwout the waist dongion of Pluto Kyng,
Thai voyd boundis, and that gowsty ryng:
Siklyke as quha wold throw thik woddis wend
In obscure licht, quhen moyn may nocht be kenned;
As Jupiter the kyng etheryall,
With erdis skug hydis the hevynnys all
And the myrk nycht, with her vissage gray,
From every thing hes reft the hew away.'

But in spite of its merits, its dialect wearies the modern reader, and gives it an air of grotesqueness which is very alien to the spirit of the Latin. One other sixteenth-century translation deserves notice, as it was written by one who was himself a distinguished poet; namely, the version of the second and fourth books of the Aeneid written by Henry, Earl of Surrey. It gained the commendation of that stern critic Ascham, who praises Surrey for avoiding rhyme, but considers that he failed to 'fully hit perfect and true versifying'; which is hardly a matter for wonder since English blank verse was then in its infancy. But it has some fine passages—notably the one which relates the death of Dido—

'As she had said, her damsell might perceue
Her with these wordes fal pearced on a sword
The blade embrued and hands besprent with gore.
The clamor rang unto the pallace toppe,
The brute ranne throughout al thastoined towne,
With wailing great, and women's shrill yelling,
The roofs gan roare, the aire resound with plaint,
As though Cartage, or thauncient town of Tyre
With prease of entred enemies swarmed full,
Or when the rage of furious flame doth take
The temples toppes, and mansions eke of men.'

Of the translations into modern English, that of Dryden may still be said to stand first, in spite of its lack of fidelity. It owes its place to its sustained vigour, and the fact that the heroic couplet is in the hands of a master. In its way nothing could be better than—

'Just in the gate, and in the jaws of hell,
Revengeful cares, and sullen sorrows dwell,
And pale diseases, and repining age—
Want, fear, and famine's unresisted rage,
Here toils and death, and death's half-brother sleep,
Forms terrible to view, their sentry keep.
With anxious pleasures of a guilty mind,
Deep frauds, before, and open force behind;
The Furies' iron beds, and strife that shakes
Her hissing tresses, and unfolds her snakes.'

But though the heroic couplet may have conveyed to Dryden's age something of the effect of the Virgilian hexameter, it does nothing of the kind to us. Probably we are prejudiced in the matter by Pope's Homer.

Professor Conington's translation certainly has spirit and energy, but he was decidedly unfortunate in his choice of metre. To attempt to render 'the stateliest measure ever moulded by the lips of man' by fluent octosyllabics was bound to result in incongruity, as in the following passage, where the sombre warning of the Sibyl to Aeneas becomes merely a sprightly reminder that—

'The journey down to the abyss
Is prosperous and light,
The palace gates of gloomy Dis
Stand open day and night;
But upward to retrace the way
And pass into the light of day,
There comes the stress of labour; this
May task a hero's might.'

The various attempts that have been made to translate the poem in the metre of the original have all been sad failures. And from Richard Stanyhurst, whom Thomas Nash described as treading 'a foul, lumbering, boistrous, wallowing measure, in his translation of Virgil,' down to our own time, no one has succeeded in avoiding faults of monotony and lack of poetical quality. A short extract from Dr. Crane's translation will illustrate this very clearly—

'No species of hardships,
Longer, O maiden, arises before me as strange and unlooked for:
All things have I foreknown, and in soul have already endured them.
One special thing I crave, since here, it is said, that the gateway
Stands of the monarch infernal, and refluent Acheron's dark pool:
Let it be mine to go down to the sight and face of my cherished
Father, and teach me the way, and the sacred avenues open.'

Nor is William Morris' attempt to devise a new metre anything but disappointing. It is surprising that so delightfully endowed a poet should have so often missed the music of Virgil's verse as he has done in his translation, and the archaisms with which his work abounds, though they might be suitable in a translation of Homer, are only a source of irritation in the case of Virgil.

For the best metre to use we must look in a different direction. Virgil made use of the dactylic hexameter because it was the literary tradition of his day that epics should be written in that metre. In the same way it might be argued, the English tradition points to blank verse as the correct medium. This may be so, but its use demands that the translator should be as great a poet as Virgil. Had Tennyson ever translated the Aeneid, it would doubtless have been as nearly faultless as any translation could be, as is shown by the version of Sir Theodore Martin, which owes so much of its stately charm to its close adherence to the manner of Tennyson. A typical passage is the description of Dido's love for Aeneas—

'Soothsayers, ah! how little do they know!
Of what avail are temples, vows, and prayers,
To quell a raging passion? All the while
A subtle flame is smouldering in her veins,
And in her heart a silent aching wound.
* * * * *
Now Dido leads
Aeneas round the ramparts, to him shows
The wealth of Sidon, all the town laid out,
Begins to speak, then stops, she knows not why.
Now, as day wanes, the feast of yesterday
She gives again, again with fevered lips
Begs for the tale of Troy and all its woes,
And hangs upon his lips, who tells the tale.
Then, when the guests are gone and in her turn
The wan moon pales her light, and waning stars
Persuade to sleep, she in her empty halls
Mourns all alone, and throws herself along
The couch where he had lain: though he be gone
Far from her side, she hears and sees him still.'

Of the merits of the present translation the reader will judge for himself; but it may perhaps be said of the usual objections urged against the Spenserian stanza—that it is cumbrous and monotonous, and presents difficulties of construction—that the two former criticisms will be just or the reverse, according to the skill of the writer, while it is quite possible that the last is really an advantage, for the intricate machinery imposes a restraint on careless or hasty composition. And finally we must turn a deaf ear, even to so high an authority as Matthew Arnold, when he says that it is not suited to the grand manner. When he said this he cannot have remembered either the lament of Florimell in the Faerie Queene or the conclusion of Childe Harold.

Edward Fairfax Taylor, whose translation of the Aeneid is now published, was descended from the Taylors of Norwich, a family well known for their culture and intellectual gifts. He was the only son of John Edward Taylor, himself an accomplished German and Italian scholar, and the first translator of the Pentamerone into English, who lived at Weybridge near his aunt, Mrs. Sarah Austin. Brought up among books, young Taylor early showed an intense love for classical literature, and soon after going to Marlborough he began the present translation as a boy of sixteen. His admiration for Spenser led him to adopt the Spenserian stanza, and in the preface to his translation of the first two books he gives detailed reasons for considering it peculiarly well adapted for the Aeneid. He was a favourite pupil of the late Dr. Bradley, Dean of Westminster, at that time headmaster of Marlborough, and who much wished that he should follow in the footsteps of 'that brilliant band of Marlborough men,' as they have been called, who at that time, year after year, gained the Balliol scholarship. But circumstances made him decide otherwise, and in 1865 he passed the necessary examination for a clerkship in the House of Lords. The long vacations gave him time to continue this labour of love, and in the intervals of much other literary work, and in spite of ill health, he completed the translation of the twelve books of the Aeneid. He looked forward to re-editing it and bringing it out when he should have retired from his work in the House of Lords, but this day never came, and he died from heart disease in January 1902. His was a singularly charming disposition, and he was beloved by all who knew him; while the courage and patience with which he bore ever-increasing suffering, and the stoicism he showed in fulfilling his duties in the House of Lords, have left a deep impression on all his friends.

The Edisso Princeps, of Virgil is that printed at Rome by Sweynham and Pannartz. It was not dated, but it is almost certain that it was printed before the Venice folio edition of V. de Spira, which was issued in 1470. The best modern critical editions of the text are those of Ribbeck (4 vols. 1895) and F. A. Hirtzel (Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis, 1900). Of the editions containing explanatory notes, that of Conington and Nettleship, revised by Haverfield, is the standard English commentary. That of A. Sidgwick (2 vols. Cambridge) is more elementary, but will be found valuable. Those of Kennedy (London, 1879) and of Papillon and Haigh (Oxford, 2 vols. 1890-91) may also be referred to.

Virgil was first introduced to English readers by William Caxton in 1490. But his Eneydos was based, not on the Aeneid itself, but on a French paraphrase, the liure des eneydes, printed at Lyons in 1483.

The best modern prose translations are those of Mackail (London, 1885) and Conington (London, 1870).

The following is a list of the more important verse translations of the Aeneid which have appeared. The name of the translator, and the date at which his translation appeared, are given:—Gawin Douglas, 1553 (see Introduction); Henry, Earl of Surrey, 1557 (Books II. and IV. only); J. Dryden, 1697; C. R. Kennedy, 1861; J. Conington, 1866; W. Morris, 1876; W. J. Thornhill, 1886; Sir Charles Bowen, 1887 (Books I.-VI. only); J. Rhoades, 1893 (Books I.-VI. only); Sir Theodore Martin, 1896 (Books I.-VI. only); T. H. D. May, 1903; E. Fairfax Taylor, 1903.

Students of Virgil would also do well to consult Sellar, Poets of the Augustan Age (Oxford, 1883), and Nettleship, Introduction to the Study of Vergil.

Function means the peculiar action of some particular organ or part. There can be no vital action without change, and no change without organs. Every living thing has a structure, and Anatomy treats of the structures of organized bodies. Several chapters of this work are devoted to Physiological Anatomy, which treats of the human organism and its functions.

The beginning of life is called generation; its perpetuation, reproduction. By the former function, individual life is insured; by the latter, it is maintained. Since nutrition sustains life, it has been pertinently termed perpetual reproduction.

Latent Life is contained in a small globule, a mere atom of matter, in the sperm-cell. This element is something which, under certain conditions, develops into a living organism. The entire realm of nature teems with these interesting phenomena, thus manifesting that admirable adjustment of internal to external relations, which claims our profound attention. We [pg 12]are simply humble scholars, waiting on the threshold of nature's glorious sanctuary, to receive the interpretation of her divine mysteries.

Some have conjectured that chemical and physical forces account for all the phenomena of life, and that organization is not the result of vital forces. Physical science cannot inform us what the beginning was, or how vitality is the result of chemical forces; nor can it tell us what transmutations will occur at the end of organized existence. This mysterious life-principle eludes the grasp of the profoundest scientists, and its presence in the world will ever continue to be an astonishing and indubitable testimony of Divine Power.

The physical act of generation is accomplished by the union of two cells; and as this conjugation is known to be so generally indispensable to the organization of life, we may fairly infer that it is a universal necessity. Investigations with the microscope have destroyed the hypothesis of "spontaneous generation." These show us that even the minutest living forms are derived from a parent organization.

Generation. So long as the vital principle remains in the sperm-cell, it lies dormant. That part of the cell which contains this principle is called the spermatozoÖn, which consists of a flattened body, having a long appendage tapering to the finest point. If it be remembered that a line is the one-twelfth part of an inch in length, some idea may be formed of the extreme minuteness of the body of a human spermatozoÖn, when we state that it is from 1/800 to 1/600 part of a line, and the filiform tail 1/50 of a line, in length. This life-atom, which can be discerned only with a powerful magnifying glass, is perfectly transparent, and moves about by executing a vibratile motion with its long appendage. Within this speck of matter are hidden the multifarious forces which, under certain favorable conditions, result in organization. Magnify this infinitesimal atom a thousand times, and no congeries of formative powers is perceived wherewith to work out the wonders of its existence. Yet it contains the principle, which is the contribution on the part of the male toward the generation of a new being.

The ovum or germ-cell, is the special contribution on the [pg 13]part of the female for the production of another being. The human ovum, though larger than the spermatozoÖn, is also extremely small, measuring not more than from 1/20 to 1/10 of a line, or from 1/240 to 1/120 of an inch, in diameter.

Illustration: Fig. 1.
Fig. 1. A. Human SpermatozoÖn magnified about 3,800 diameters. B. Vertical and lateral views of spermatozoa of man. C, D, E, F. Development of spermatozoa within the vesicles of evolution. G. Cell of the sponge resembling a spermatozoÖn. H. Vesicles of evolution from the seminal fluid of the dog in the parent cell I. Single vesicles of different sizes. J. Human spermatozoÖn forming in its cell. K. Rupture of the cell and escape of the spermatozoÖn.

The sperm and the germ-cells contain the primary elements of all organic structures, and both possess the special qualities and conditions by which they may evolve organic beings. Every cell is composed of minute grains, within which vital action takes [pg 14]place. The interior of a cell consists of growing matter; the exterior, of matter which has assumed its form and is less active.

When the vital principle is communicated to it, the cell undergoes a rapid transformation. While this alteration takes place within the cell, deteriorating changes occur in the cell-wall. Although vital operations build up these structures, yet the animal and nervous functions are continually disintegrating, or wasting, them.

Throughout the animal kingdom, germ-cells present the same external aspect when carefully examined with the microscope. No difference can be observed between the cells of the flowers of the oak and those of the apple, but the cells of the one always produce oak trees, while those of the other always produce apple trees. The same is true of the germs of animals, there being not the slightest apparent difference. We are unable to perceive how one cell should give origin to a dog, while another exactly like it becomes a man. For aught we know, the ultimate atoms of these cells are identical in physical character; at least we have no means of detecting any difference.

Species. The term species is generally used merely as a convenient name to designate certain assemblages of individuals having various striking points of resemblance. Scientific writers, as a rule, no longer hold that what are usually called species are constantly unvarying and unchangeable quantities. Recent researches point to the conclusion that all species vary more or less, and, in some instances, that the variation is so great that the limits of general specific distinctness are sometimes exceeded.

Our space will not permit us to do more than merely indicate the two great fundamental ideas upon which the leading theories of the time respecting the origin of species are based. These are usually termed the doctrine of Special Creation and the doctrine of Evolution. According to the doctrine of Special Creation, it is thought that species are practically immutable productions, each species having a specific centre where it was originally created, and from which it spread over a certain area until its further progress was obstructed by unfavorable conditions. The advocates of the doctrine of Evolution hold, on the contrary, that species are not permanent and immutable, but that they are subject to modification, and that "the existing forms of life are [pg 15]descendants by true generation of pre-existing forms."^[1] Most naturalists are now inclined to admit the general truth of the theory of evolution, but they differ widely respecting the mode in which it occurred.

THE PROCESS OF GENERATION.

The vital principle, represented in the sperm-cell by a spermatozoÖn, must be imparted to a germ-cell in order to effect impregnation. After touching each other, separate them immediately, and observe the result. If, with the aid of a powerful lens, we directly examine the spermatozoÖn, it will be perceived that, for a short time, it preserves its dimensions and retains all its material aspects. But it does not long withstand the siege of decay, and, having fulfilled its destiny, loses its organic characteristics, and begins to shrink.

If we examine the fertilized germ, we discover unusual activity, the result of impregnation. Organic processes succeed one another with wonderful regularity, as if wrought out by inexplicable intelligence. Here begin the functions which constitute human physiology.

Generation requires that a spermatozoÖn be brought into actual contact with a germ that fecundation may follow. If a spermatic cell, or spermatozoÖn, together with several unimpregnated ova, no matter how near to one another, if not actually touching, be placed on the concave surface of a watch-crystal, and covered with another crystal, keeping them warm, and even though the vapor of the ova envelops it, no impregnation will occur. Place the spermatozoÖn in contact with an ovum, and impregnation is instantly and perfectly accomplished. Should this vitalizing power be termed nerve-force, electricity, heat, or motion? It is known that these forces may be metamorphosed; for instance, nervous force may be converted into electricity, electricity into heat, and heat into motion, thus illustrating their affiliation and capability of transformation. But nothing is explained respecting the real nature of the vital principle, if we assert its identity with any of these forces; for who can reveal the true nature of any of these, or even of matter?

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ALTERNATE GENERATION.

In several insect families, the species is not wholly represented in the adult individuals of both sexes, or in their development, but, to complete this series, supplementary individuals, as it were, of one or of several preceding generations, are required. The son may not resemble the father, but the grandfather, and in some instances, the likeness re-appears only in latter generations. Agassiz states: "Alternate generation was first observed among the SalpÆ. These are marine mollusks, without shells, belonging to the family Tunicata. They are distinguished by the curious peculiarity of being united together in considerable numbers so as to form long chains, which float in the sea, the mouth(m) however being free in each.

Illustration: Fig. 2.
Fig. 2.

Illustration: Fig. 3.
Fig. 3.

"Fig. 2. The individuals thus joined in floating colonies produce eggs; but in each animal there is generally but one egg formed, which is developed in the body of the parent, and from which is hatched a little mollusk.

"Fig. 3, which remains solitary, and differs in many respects from the parent. This little animal, on the other hand, does not produce eggs, but propagates, by a kind of budding, which gives rise to chains already seen in the body of their parent(a), and these again bring forth solitary individuals, etc."

It therefore follows that generation in some animals require? two different bodies with intermediate ones, by means of which and their different modes of reproduction, a return to the original stock is effected.

Universality of Animalcular Life.—Living organisms are universally diffused over every part of the globe. The gentle zephyr wafts from flower to flower invisible, fructifying atoms, which quicken beauty and fragrance, giving the promise of a golden fruitage, to gladden and nourish a dependent world. Nature's own sweet cunning invests all living things [pg 17]constraining into her service chemical affinities, arranging the elements and disposing them for her own benefit, in such numberless ways that we involuntarily exclaim,

"The course of Nature is the art of God."

The microscope reveals the fact that matter measuring only 1/120000 of an inch diameter may be endowed with vitality, and that countless numbers of animalcules often inhabit a single drop of stagnant water. These monads do not vary in form, whether in motion or at rest. The life of one, even, is an inexplicable mystery to the philosopher. Ehrenberg writes: "Not only in the polar regions is there an uninterrupted development of active microscopic life, where larger animals cannot exist, but we find that those minute beings collected in the Antarctic expedition of Captain James Ross exhibit a remarkable abundance of unknown, and often most beautiful forms."

Even the interior of animal bodies is inhabited by animalcules. They have been found in the blood of the frog and the salmon, and in the optic fluid of fishes. Organic beings are found in the interior of the earth, into which the industry of the miner has made extensive excavations, sunk deep shafts, and thus revealed their forms; likewise, the smallest fossil organisms form subterranean strata many fathoms deep. Not only do lakes and inland seas abound with life, but also, from unknown depths, in volcanic districts, arise thermal springs which contain living insects. Were we endowed with a microscopic eye, we might see myriads of ethereal voyagers wafted by on every breeze, as we now behold drifting clouds of aqueous vapor. While the continents of earth furnishes evidences of the universality of organic beings, recent observations prove that "animal life predominates amid the eternal night of the depths of the liquid ocean."

THE ORIGIN OF LIFE.

The ancients, rude in many of their ideas, referred the origin of life to divine determination. The thought was crudely expressed, but well represented, in the following verse:

"Then God smites his hands together,
And strikes out a soul as a spark,
Into the organized glory of things.
From the deeps of the dark."

[pg 18]According to a Greek myth, Prometheus formed a human image from the dust of the ground, and then, by fire stolen from heaven, animated it with a living soul. Spontaneous generation once held its sway, and now the idea of natural evolution is popular. Some believe that the inpenetrable mystery of life is evolved from the endowments of nature, and build their imperfect theory on observations of her concrete forms and their manifestations, to which all our investigations are restricted. But every function indicates purpose, every organism evinces intelligent design, and all proclaim a Divine Power. Something cannot come out of nothing. With reason and philosophy, chance is an impossibility. We, therefore, accept the display of wisdom in nature as indicative of the designs of God. Thus "has He written His claims for our profoundest admiration and homage all over every object that He has made." If you ask: Is there any advantage in considering the phenomena of nature as the result of DIVINE VOLITION? we answer, that this belief corresponds with the universally acknowledged ideas of accountability; for, with a wise, and efficient Cause, we infer there is an intelligent creation, and the desire to communicate, guide and bless, is responded to by man, who loves, obeys, and enjoys. Nothing is gained by attributing to nature vicegerent forces. Is it not preferable to say that she responds to intelligent, loving Omnipotence? Our finiteness is illustrated by our initiation into organized being. Emerging from a rayless atom, too diminutive for the sight, we gradually develop and advance to the maturity of those conscious powers, the exercise of which furnishes indubitable evidence of our immortality. We are pervaded with invisible influences, which, like the needle of the compass trembling on its pivot, point us to immortality as our ultimate goal, where in the sunny clime of Love, even in a spiritual realm of joy and happiness, we may eternally reign with Him who is all in all.

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