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tained shafts as that which is at due times relaxed? Can the horse that is never rested do aught, in the end, in comparison with that duly fed and tended? And, having a spiritual nature, which is of chief account, we have, too, an animal nature, which God never made to be entirely neglected. Hath He not provided tenderly and carefully for its need? Pleasant sound for the ear, and


wood hath its choir; forms of beauty for the eye, from the daisy to the firmament; for the palate, for the smell, for the touch; He hath given just that which suits. And will it please Him that we disdain the banquet He hath spread?

“ Thy distaste for work was no carnal sin, it was but physical weakness and overstrain. Take more food, more sleep, more recrcation. Our self-denial there sins, at the least, grievously errs, when, sapping our health, it renders us less able to serve God.

And are morbid fancies and depressions, nervousness and irritability, aids in our serving Him?

“I said indeed that recreation should not be the business of life; but now I say that, for the continuance and healthy action of life, for the better performing of its great and solemn ends, some recreation is a duty."

Wonder had changed to thoughtfulness in the Monk Ernestus' face, as he listened to such advice from his old reprover. Such thoughts in his own mind he had rebuked and resisted; but surely this stern Monitor deserved at least attention. And the plain clear sense in his words almost brought resolve to a mind not yet, however, quite prepared to right itself, after that strong conviction. At last he said, musingly, "What, then, wouldst thou have me to do ?”

“In the first place, get thee to thy couch and rest thee till morn. Refuse not the gift of God to His beloved; for, saith the Psalmist, slep is such a gift. I will lie here in my cloak, on the morrow we will talk further.”

Almost mechanically Ernestus obeyed: and the wearied, childhearted man slept with a tranquil slumber, feeling in some mannerthough having, as yet, not sorted his ideas into a resolve-as though a burden heavier than he could bear were about to be lifted from his shoulders. The sense of sinful yielding to what, indeed, had been but the demands of nature, but which his distorted imagination had held to be carnal indulgence, seemed to be leaving him, though he felt almost a pang and a fear lest all was not well, as the change crept gradually over his thought.

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The Dark Monk yet lingered in the cell, though the hour of noon had passed. The Monk Ernestus, always gentle-hearted and easily guided, seemed docile and reliant as a child in the presence of one whose admonition had so changed his life, and so convulsed his whole

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nature. The truth had indeed commended itself now to his mindrecommended by a guide who, he knew, would not mislead him; and, as this guide reasoned and Ernestus listened, the whole bearing of the matter orbed clear and perfect into his apprehension. Hitherto alternate half moons had given him imperfect light, but now the moon was full.

Yet from one persuasion of his adviser he still shrank. He could not make up his mind to return to that art which had once been his delight. Dead, his love for it had long seemed. It did but sleep under a frosty ground, ready to come up like the snowdrop, if a spring air

But so long had he striven against the very thought of it as sinful, that he almost shuddered at the idea of ever disinterring his buried delight.

The stranger took the key from his reluctant hand; one by one he replaced the paintings on the walls; he drew out the colours—those old loved tints—and ranged them on the bench, the cunning brushes he laid beside them; last, he fitted the easel, and årew out that gorgeous gospel of St. Matthew, and opened the page to that glad Lark singing above the nest. He beckoned to Ernestus.

“Nay,” he said, sadly,“ never again. Thy ban is upon these things, and thy word of reproof would tarnish the gold and dim the colours while I painted.”

“Let it be thy recreation, not thy work, brother Ernestus. Thy work shall then be better done, and even thy recreation be, in its sense, a serving of God. But Ernestus turned sadly away.

• Thou dost but concede to my weakness. Thcu wouldst not thus bestow thy leisure.”

The Dark Monk replied not. He drew a stool to the desk, carefully selected a brush, examined the colours, and drew the unfinished work towards him. Ernestus stood by, wondering. But the fellow wing of the soaring lark came first, exquisitely perfect in hue and feather, on

And on the other side of the Text there grew, under the master's hand, a new design. A robin sat beside his nest upon a bent spray of silver cherry-blossom, and, though not soaring like the lark, he yet looked and sang with heavenward regard.

“In thy soarings thou mayst worship and serve, like the lark, that forsakes all of earth for his orisons. But in thy repose and resting times, while rejoicing to find earth fair, thou mayst yet look stedfastly heavenward, like the robin.”

The stranger smiled to sce the wonder of the Monk Ernestus.

“Hast thou heard,” he said, “ of the calligrapher Thcodulus? That rich Missal lying on thy table at my first visit was the work of these hands. I came at the first to visit a brother in art, as well as a brother in heavenly love and labour. But finding the people uncared

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for, and the Monastery self-indulgent, I spake as I did without discovering myself. I meant not my words to be taken as thou understoodest them. Now, my brother, fear not to do as I; some days, indeed, abstaining wholly, yet ordinarily, I allot a time for rest and relaxation, when the time for labour, for prayer, and for meditation has been cared for and satisfied. I sit not down unless I feel the relaxation earned ; but then my quiet hour refreshes mind and body for new work when it cometh round.

So my work is better done, and, two ways, God is served.”

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Not for some weeks after these things did Ernestus leave his cell. Body and brain had been overtasked, and had given way.

His illness was long, and his weakness so great, that Theodulus, his constant attendant, often thought at times that work and recreation alike were over for that worn mind and wasted form. But he rose, and went out to his work again, blessed of the people, a new and fresh man. Again we might behold him, after the work of the day was done, sitting with his bright and gorgeous work in his little turret cell. Again would he pass into the wood, ere the sun's final sinking, to meditate on God's Word, with the commentary of God's works.

And his eye grew kindly and bright again, and his heart expansive, human, and warm. A sadness and a fear still checked him at times, lest he should let the lighter part of his service encroach on the more solemn and sacred duties. But there was a safeguard which he laid to heart, and illumined with an according practice, as with a goodly border-even that ancient and wise precept,“ Watch and Pray."

And thus guarded, he had no need to fear, but preserved still the safe, wise mean; perceiving and avoiding, in a life of cheerful diligent labour, " the falsehood of extremes."




Classification. The vast assemblage of living beings by which we are surrounded has been arranged into certain great divisions, each of which comprehends a great number of organisms possessing certain well-marked characters in common, although many of these organisms differ from each other in most important particulars. The beings in each division are arranged so as to form several groups. Those included in each group differ from those in every

other group

in important characters. Every group has been further sub-divided into subordinate groups, the individual members of which agree

in very many characters, but nevertheless exhibit well-marked points of difference.

Some of these groups thus artificially made by man, agree so closely in character that they scem to pass into one another, while between others there is, as it were, a most distinct and impassable line of demarcation. Certain members of one subordinate


арproximate very closely in character to those of another subordinate group just above or below the first, so that several groups appear, as it were, to shade into those near them, and in certain cases we may pass by almost insensible gradations from a class of organisms possessing one set of characters into another exhibiting very different peculiarities. We have thus certain great families which may be arranged in a sort cf series, and may be compared to an extended chain, every link of which differs but very slightly, and perhaps inappreciably, from its immediate neighbours, but in a most important degree from those situated at a distance from it. In other parts of the animated world there is no indication of such connecting links.

The difficulties of classification or grouping, therefore, assumo much greater proportions in certain grades of living beings than in others, and in some great families sub-division has not been found practicable. Moreover, as our knowledge of these beings is now advancing, and must continue to advance, it is obvious that from time to time the discovery of new characters necessitates a revision of the system upon which the grouping has been made. It will, therefore scarcely excite surprise that authorities should differ from each other to some extent, with regard to the particular characters which should be taken for the purpose of classification, especially in the subordinato grouping or sub-division. At the same time, the main principles established by the fathers of zoological science remain unshaken, and in



spite of our advancing knowledge, still continue to form the foundation upon which our present system of classification is based.

Origin of species.-Although our knowledge of the countless beings which surround us is very imperfect, and the incessant labour of a vast number of observers continued even for many years will scarcely enable us to arrive at any general conclusions with regard to the manner in which they are developed, the changes occurring during their growth, and the mode of formation of the different structures of which they are composed; the mystery of their origin, their first creation, will again and again obtrude itself as a subject of contemplation and inquiry upon the thoughtful mind. The speculation is one that has always possessed a very wide interest. That this of late years has greatly increased, is sufficiently evident from the fact that in one form or other the discussion appears in almost every one of the numerous publications forming our periodical literature. Even the editors of our great political journals, conscious of the wide-spread zeal for information on one of the most abstruse questions which science can propose, have not hesitated to devote leading articles to the consideration of the origin of species and the precise relation which man bears to the lower animals. These and other great problems have long been debated by scientific men, but it is only within the last few years that the public generally has taken any interest in such discussions.

One of the most ingeniously constructed theories upon the origin of the different forms of living beings supposes that all have originally sprung from one, or, at most, a few simple primitive forms, and that the descendants of these primitive forms have gradually undergone modi. fication according to the different and constantly altering conditions under which they lived and increased. Certain of the modifications in structure thus induced being transmitted from generation to generation, it is supposed that after the lapse of ages, the millions of different creatures which have been, or are now, on our globe, resulted. Nor does this theory stop here, but it extends to all time, and boldly assumes that, like causes continuing in operation, progressive variations in the results will manifest themselves. According to this view, all things living and those that have lived, have one common parentage; and their individual peculiarities do not depend upon any peculiar and special powers with which they were originally endowed, but result from the action of certain external conditions. It is supposed that of a family, the descendants of certain members gradually die out, while those of others, having undergone advantageous and transmissible modifications, become the parents of a modified race. Their characters are not fixed and permanent, but endless modifications may continue to be induced. By the influence of continually varying external circumstances upon struc

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