ccia of exhausted nature,
that animal creation derives its support; and it is the grand axiom of
the universe, that _animal life can only be supported by animal
remains_. From the meanest insect that crawls upon the ground, to man
in his perfection, life is supported and continued by animal and
vegetable food; and it is only the decayed matter returned to the earth,
which enables the lofty cedar to extend its boughs, or the lowly violet
to exhale its perfume. This is a world of eternal reproduction and
decay--one endless cycle of the living preying on the dead--a phoenix,
yearly, daily, and hourly springing from its ashes, in renewed strength
and beauty. The blade of grass, which shoots from the soil, flowers,
casts its seed, and dies, to make room for its offspring, nourished by
the relics of its parent, is a type of the never-changing law,
controlling all nature, even to man himself, who must pass away to make
room for the generation which is to come."

The boat which, returning from the ship, appeared like a black speck on
the water, indicated that the dinner-hour was at hand; and Price and the
purser, who had come on shore with Macallan, now joined him and Willy,
who were sitting down on the rocks at the water's edge.

"Well, Macallan," said Price, "it's a fine thing to be a philosopher.
What is that which Milton says? Let me see!--sweet--something--divine
philosophy--I forget the exact words. Well, what have you caught?"

"If you've caught nothing, doctor, you're better off than I am," said
the purser, wiping his brow, "for I've caught a headache."

"I have been very well amused," replied Macallan.

"Ay, I suppose, like what's-his-name in the forest--you recollect?"

"No, indeed, I do not."

"Don't you? Bless my soul--you know, sermons in stones, and good in
everything. I forget how the lines run. Don't you recollect, O'Keefe?"
continued Price, speaking loud in the purser's ear.

"No, I never _collect_. I don't understand these things," replied the
purser, taking his seat by Macallan, and addressing him--"I cannot think
what pleasure there can be in poking about the rocks as you do."

"It serves to amuse me, O'Keefe."

"_Abuse_ you, my dear fellow! Indeed I never meant it--I beg your
pardon--you mistook me."

"It was my fault. I did not speak sufficiently loud. Make no apology."

"Too _proud_ to make an apology!--No, indeed--I only asked what
amusement you could find?--that's all."

"What