...part passu, the qualities of the living creatures which subsist under these varying conditions — ' So careful of the type ? ' but no, From scarped cliff...types are gone, I care for nothing, all shall go.' Hitherto we have confined our attention to systems which, however their members may differ from the...

...soul reposes as if on a rock. How nobly and how philosophically does Tennyson sketch the conflict. ' " So careful of the type." But, no. From scarped cliff, and quarried stone She cries, u A thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. ' " Thou makest thine appoal to me...

...and ghosts as fluttering about like birds or fairies. The poet of the nineteenth century says ; — " The spirit does but mean the breath, I know no more." And the same thought was expressed by Cicero two thousand years ago : " Whether the soul is air or fire,...

...and ghosts as fluttering about like birds or fairies. The poet of the nineteenth century says; — " The spirit does but mean the breath, I know no more." And the same thought was expressed by Cicero two thousand years ago : '• Whether the soul is air or fire,...

...So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life ? ' So careful of the type !' hut no, From scarped cliff and quarried stone, She cries....all shall go : Thou makest thine appeal to me ; I hring to life, I bring to death ; The spirit does but mean the breath. I know no more.' And he, —...

...God and Nature in the modern expositions of science, he pauses over Nature's fancied response : — ' I bring to life, I bring to death, The spirit does but mean the breath; I know no more !' But it is only to turn anew to the sure hope, and wait for answer and redress ' behind the veil.'...

...which he adduces the evidence that Nature, as Nature, cares for neither individual nor typo ; that " She cries, 'A thousand types are gone, I care for nothing, all shall go ; ' " that she is utterly indifferent whether or not Man, " Who loved, who suffered countless ills,...

...matest thine appeal to me: I hring to lite, I hring to death : The spirit does hnt mean the hreath: I know no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who scem'd so fair, Snch splendid pnrpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who hnilt...

...bestowed only with a niggardly hand on their successors ! Nature gives us no explanation of the mystery. " From scarped cliff and quarried stone, She cries — 'A thousand types are gone.' " But why or how one was taken and another left she is silent, and I believe must continue to be so,...

...and ghosts as fluttering about like birds or fairies. The poet of the nineteenth century says :— ' The spirit does but mean the breath, I know no more.' And the same thought was expressed by Cicero two thousand years ago: ' Whether the soul is air or fire,...