oment there are
probably as many busy brains studying, reflecting, collecting
scattered truths, as there were thinkers--effectual thinkers--in
all the recorded eighty centuries gone by. Daily and hourly the
noble army swells its numbers, and the sound of its mighty march
grows louder; the inscribed roll of its victories fills the heart
with exultation.

There is a slight rustle among the bushes and the fern upon the
mound. It is a rabbit who has peeped forth into the sunshine. His
eye opens wide with wonder at the sight of us; his nostrils work
nervously as he watches us narrowly. But in a little while the
silence and stillness reassure him; he nibbles in a desultory way at
the stray grasses on the mound, and finally ventures out into the
meadow almost within reach of the hand. It is so easy to make the
acquaintance--to make friends with the children of Nature. From the
tiniest insect upwards they are so ready to dwell in sympathy with
us--only be tender, quiet, considerate, in a word, _gentlemanly_,
towards them and they will freely wander around. And they have all
such marvellous tales to tell--intricate problems to solve for us.
This common wild rabbit has an ancestry of almost unsearchable
antiquity. Within that little body there are organs and structures
which, rightly studied, will throw a light upon the mysteries hidden
in our own frames. It is a peculiarity of this search that nothing
is despicable; nothing can be passed over--not so much as a fallen
leaf, or a grain of sand. Literally everything bears stamped upon it
characters in the hieratic, the sacred handwriting, not one word of
which shall fall to the ground.

Sitting indoors, with every modern luxury around, rich carpets,
artistic furniture, pictures, statuary, food and drink brought from
the uttermost ends of the earth, with the telegraph, the
printing-press, the railway at immediate command, it is easy to say,
'What have _I_ to do with all this? I am neither an animal nor a
plant, and the sun is nothing to me. This is _my_ life which I have
created; I am apart from the other inhabitants of the earth.' But go
to the window. See--there is but a thin, transparent sheet of
brittle glass between the artificial man and the air, the light, the
trees, and grass. So between him and the other innumerable organisms
which live and breathe there is but a thin feeble crust of prejudice
and social custom. Between him and those irresistible laws which
keep the sun