eized upon by another, and out of the Eternal comes a particle of the
Divine Energy that makes these cells its home. Growth follows, cell is
added to cell, and there develops a man--a man whose body, two-thirds
water, can be emptied by a single dagger-thrust and the spirit given back
to its Maker.

This being, which we call man, does not last long.

Fifty-seven generations have come and gone since Caesar trod the Roman
Forum. The pillars against which he often leaned still stand, the
thresholds over which he passed are there, the pavements ring beneath your
tread as they once rang beneath his. Three generations and more have come
and gone since Napoleon trod the streets of Toulon contemplating suicide.

Babes in arms were carried by fond mothers to see Lincoln, the candidate
for President. These babes have grown into men, are grandfathers possibly,
with whitened hair, furrowed faces, looking calmly forward to the end,
having tasted all that life holds in store for them.

And yet Lincoln lived but yesterday! You can reach back into the past and
grasp his hand, and look into his sad and weary eyes.

A man! weighted with the sins of his parents, grandparents,
great-grandparents, who fade off into dim spectral shapes in the dark and
dreamlike past; no word of choice has he in the selection of his father
and mother, no voice in the choosing of environment--brought into life
without his consent and thrust out of it against his will--battling,
striving, hoping, cursing, waiting, loving, praying; burned by fever, torn
by passion, checked by fear, reaching for friendship, longing for
sympathy, clutching--nothing.

* * * * *

Doctors and priests attend us at both ends of the route. We can not be
born, neither can we die, without consulting the tax-collector, and
interviewing those who look after us for a consideration.

The doctor who sought to assist George Gordon Byron into the world
dislocated the bones of his left foot in the operation. Forsooth, this
baby would not be born as others---he selected a way of his own and paid
the penalty. "It is a malformation--take these powders--I'll be back
tomorrow," quoth the busy doctor.

The autopsy proved it was not a malformation, but a displacement.

"Doctor, now please tell me just what is the matter with me," once asked
an anxious patient.

"Tut, tut!" replied the absent-minded physician; "can't you wait? The
post-mortem will reveal all that