that mind has been everywhere before it; that things are constructed together in a universe, whose fundamental relations are relatively few, and whose facts lie together in the field of knowledge. In the same spirit we personify nature as the invisible, pervasive personality, whose presence we feel, by whose constructive forces we are surrounded. If we resent this intrusion of the personal, if we refuse to carry it forward to its theistic fullness, nevertheless it returns to us after a little as "The Unknown," as "The-not-ourselves-that-makes-for-righteousness." The unities of thought and of purpose in the world are too strong for us; they push back upon us some recognition of their existence, and cast upon us some shadow of a personal presence. No matter how far, with the simple clues of science, we may have pushed our solitary way into the silence and darkness, we do not escape the fascination of personality, and just at the end we face about with a personification on our lips, a faint return of hope and life to our thoughts, the flash of a departing day. An absolute blank in rational life the mind will not confront; the instinct of self-preservation is too deeply planted. If we miss the true presence, we people the world with sprites and spirits; or, failing of these, with the shadows of our cold personification, testifying all the while to ourselves of the discovery we have made of pure spiritual elements.

Herein is undeniably the obscure germ of a new development, as truly as was consciousness when it arose faintly among stimuli, its sensations hardly