ll nature, with her
numberless and unseen powers, is ready to avenge herself on him, and on
his children after him, he knows not when nor where. He, on the other
hand, who obeys the laws of nature with his whole heart and mind, will
find all things working together to him for good. He is at peace with
the physical universe. He is helped and befriended alike by the sun
above his head and the dust beneath his feet: because he is obeying the
will and mind of Him who made sun, and dust, and all things; and who has
given them a law which cannot be broken.

THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

The more I have contemplated that ancient story of the Fall, the more it
has seemed to me within the range of probability, and even of experience.
It must have happened somewhere for the first time; for it has happened
only too many times since. It has happened, as far as I can ascertain,
in every race, and every age, and every grade of civilisation. It is
happening round us now in every region of the globe. Always and
everywhere, it seems to me, have poor human beings been tempted to eat of
some "tree of knowledge," that they may be, even for an hour, as gods;
wise, but with a false wisdom; careless, but with a frantic carelessness;
and happy, but with a happiness which, when the excitement is past,
leaves too often--as with that hapless pair in Eden--depression, shame,
and fear. Everywhere, and in all ages, as far as I can ascertain, has
man been inventing stimulants and narcotics to supply that want of
vitality of which he is so painfully aware; and has asked nature, and not
God, to clear the dull brain, and comfort the weary spirit.

This has been, and will be perhaps for many a century to come, almost the
most fearful failing of this poor, exceptional, over-organised, diseased,
and truly fallen being called man, who is in doubt daily whether he be a
god or an ape; and in trying wildly to become the former, ends but too
often in becoming the latter.

For man, whether savage or civilised, feels, and has felt in every age,
that there is something wrong with him. He usually confesses this
fact--as is to be expected--of his fellow-men, rather than of himself;
and shows his sense that there is something wrong with them by
complaining of, hating, and killing them. But he cannot always conceal
from himself the fact that he, too, is wrong, as well as they; and as he
will not usually kill himself, he tries wild ways to make himself at