od miracle might have
been unadultterated with the usual operations of nature. The bridge
might have collapsed as the train approached, driver Hargraves might
have said his prayer, the train might have leapt across the chasm,
picked up the connection on the other side, and pursued its way to
Brighton as if nothing had happened. But as the case stands, Providence
and the safety-brake act together, and it is difficult to decide their
shares in the enterprise. Further, the miracle is sadly mixed. Any human
being would have planned it better, and made it stand out clearly and
firmly.

This Norwood miracle, however, seems the best obtainable in these days.
It is a minute return for all the prayers of the clergy, to say nothing
of pious engine-drivers; a miserable dividend on the gigantic investment
in supernaturalism. We pity the poor shareholders, though we must
congratulate the directors on the large salaries they draw from the
business. We also pity poor old Providence, who seems almost played
out. Once upon a time he was in fine form; miracles were as common as
blackberries; Nature seldom got an innings, and Jehovah was all over
the field. But nowadays Nature seems to have got the better of him. She
scarcely leaves him a corner for his operations, and what little he does
(if he does anything) has to be done in obscurity. Poor old Providence,
we fancy, has had his day. His vigor is gone, his lively fancy
has degenerated into moping ineptitude, the shouts of millions of
worshippers cannot stimulate his sluggishness into any more effective
display than this Norwood miracle. Most sincerely we offer him our
condolence as the sleeping partner in the business of religion. By and
bye we may offer our condolence to the active partners, the priests of
all denominations, who still flourish on a prospectus which, if once
true, is now clearly fraudulent. When their business dwindles, in
consequence of a failing supply of good supernatural articles, they will
only live on the price of actual deliveries, and a Norwood miracle will
hardly afford six of them a mouthful apiece.

JESUS ON WOMEN.

"For religions," says Michelet, "woman is mother, tender guardian, and
faithful nurse. The gods are like men; they are reared, and they die,
upon her bosom." Truer words were never uttered. Michelet showed in _La
Sorciere_, from which this extract is taken, as well as in many other
writings, that he fully understood the fulcrum of priestc