succession; that the same is true of
other localities, in Germany, in Southern Europe, in England, where the
most complete collections have been made from all these deposits; and
there has never been brought to light a single fact leading us to
suppose that any intermediate forms have ever existed through which more
recent types have been developed out of older ones. For thirty years
Geology has been gradually establishing, by evidence the fulness and
accuracy of which are truly amazing, the regularity in the sequence of
the geological formations, and distinguishing, with ever-increasing
precision, the specific differences of the animals and plants contained
in these accumulations of past ages. These results bear living testimony
to the wonderful progress of the kindred sciences of Geology and
Palaeontology in the last half-century; and the development-theory has
but an insecure foundation so long as it attempts to strengthen itself
by belittling the geological record, the assumed imperfection of which,
in default of positive facts, has now become the favorite argument of
its upholders.

THE NEW SANGREAL.

"Show me the Sangreal, Lord! Show me Thy blood!
Thy body and Thy blood! Give me the Quest!
Lord, I am faint and tired; my soul is sick
Of all the falseness, all the little aims,
The weary vanities, the gasping joys,
The slow procession of this satiate world!
Dear Lord, I burn for Thee! Give me Thy Quest!
Down through the old reverberating time,
I see Thy knights in wonderful array
Go out to victory, like the solemn stars
Fighting in courses, with their conquering swords,
Their sad, fixed lips of purity and strength,
Their living glory, their majestic death.
Give me Thy Quest! Show me the Sangreal, Lord!"

He lay upon a mountain's rocky crest,
So high, that all the glittering, misty world,
All summer's splendid tempests, lay below,
And sudden lightnings quivered at his feet;
So still, not any sound of silentness
Expressed the silence, nor the pallid sun
Burned on his eyelids; all alone and still,
Save for the prayer that struggled from his lips,
Broken with eager stress. Then he arose.
But always, down the hoary mountain-side,
Through whispering forests, by soft-rippled streams,
In clattering streets, or the great city's roar,
Still from his never sated soul went up,
"Give me Thy Quest! Show me the Sangreal, Lord!"

Through all the land there pour