are themselves similarly
collected by particles of still denser sort, these again by others
denser yet, and so on, until, as results of this particular action,
several masses are formed which in like manner would converge towards
and be united with the largest and densest of their number, were it not
that the counter principle of repulsion now comes into play. This
principle--familiarly exemplified in the elasticity of vapours, the
emanations from strong smelling substances, and the expansion of all
spirituous substances--causes the vertical movements of the converging
masses to be deflected laterally, so as ultimately to enclose the
central mass within circles which, at first intersecting each other in
all directions, are at length, by dint of mutual collision, made all to
revolve in the same direction, and nearly the same plane.

Now I most earnestly protest against being suspected of what in me would
be the intolerable impertinence of desiring to cast ridicule on these
magnificent speculations, the grandeur of which I thoroughly appreciate
so far as my scant mathematics enable me to follow them. I take
exception to them only because the language in which they are couched
seems to imply that operations, of whose nature one of the most powerful
of human intellects could, at its utmost stretch, catch only a faint
hazy inkling, may yet have been initiated and perfected without the
intervention of any intellect at all. This is a falsism against which my
respect for philosophy and philosophers makes me only all the more
indignant when I find any of the latter falling into it, as those of
them inevitably must who, busying themselves, early or late,

With a mighty debate,
A profound speculation about the creation
And organical life, and chaotical strife,
With various notions of heavenly motions,
And rivers and oceans, and valleys and mountains,
And sources of fountains, and meteors on high,
And stars in the sky,--propose by and bye,

like John Hookham Frere's Aristophanic Birds,

If we'll listen and hear,
To make perfectly clear

how creation took place without a conscious Creator. All their fancied
solutions of this hopeless puzzle have one feature in common--a family
likeness which the wickedest wit finds it difficult to caricature. There
is a note to Frere and Canning's 'Loves of the Triangles' which the
reader will be grateful to me for transcribing here, the more frequently
he may