below the register of our hearing; and light-waves of which our eyes were able to take no cognizance; and therefore it followed, a priori, that nature might possess an infinite number of forms of life which our senses were not fitted to perceive.  For instance, he added, there might be right here, in this very hall, the houses and work-shops and markets of a multitude of beings, who swarmed about us, but of such tenuity that they passed through our substance, and we through theirs, without the slightest disturbance of their continuity.  All that we knew of Nature taught us that she was tireless in the prodigality of her creative force, and boundless in the diversity of her workmanship; and we now knew that what the ancients called spirit was simply an attenuated condition of matter.

The audience were evidently keenly intellectual and highly educated, and they listened with great attention to this discourse.  In fact, I began to perceive that the office of preacher has only survived, in this material age, on condition that the priest shall gather up, during the week, from the literary and scientific publications of the whole world, the gems of current thought and information, digest them carefully, and pour them forth, in attractive form, for their delectation on Sunday.  As a sort of oratorical and poetical reviewer, essayist and rhapsodist, the parson and his church had survived the decadence of religion.

“Nature,” he continued, “is as merciless as she is prolific.  Let us consider the humblest little creature that lives—­we will say the field-mouse.  Think what an exquisite compendium it is of bones, muscles, nerves, veins, arteries—­all sheathed in such a delicate, flexible and glossy covering of skin.  Observe the innumerable and beautiful adjustments in the little animal:  the bright, pumping, bounding blood; the brilliant eyes, with their marvelous powers; the apprehending brain, with its sentiments and emotions, its loves, its fears, its hopes; and note, too, that wonderful net-work, that telegraphic apparatus of nerves which connects the brain with the eyes and ears and quick, vivacious little feet.  One who took but a half view of things would say, ’How benevolent is Nature, that has so kindly equipped the tiny field-mouse with the means of protection—­its quick, listening ears; its keen, watchful eyes; its rapid, glancing feet!’ But look a little farther, my brethren, and what do you behold?  This same benevolent Nature has formed another, larger creature, to watch for and spring upon this ’timorous little beastie,’ even in its moments of unsuspecting happiness, and rend, tear, crush and mangle it to pieces.  And to this especial work Nature has given the larger animal a set of adjustments as exquisitely perfect as those it has conferred on the smaller one; to-wit:  eyes to behold in the darkness; teeth to tear; claws to rend; muscles to spring; patience to wait; and a stomach that clamors for the blood of its innocent fellow-creature.