distributes it, first upon one point, and then upon the other. Bloom is the highest term of life reached by the flower. The rose is in its glory when covered with blossoms; after it has reached this climax, its individual life wastes; petals fall off, and leaves shrivel, for its force is turned on the transfer of life through the seeds in its scarlet pods.

Organisms are built upon two types,-about a centre, and about an axis; that is, force is concentrated on, and radiates from one point in cellular plants and cystic animalcules, whereas in trees and animals it operates along an axis, precipitating itself now on one pole and now on the other. The latter type is probably a development of the former. It is obvious that, when the accretive power is great, and the capability of the plant or animal to expend it on individual expansion is limited, it must discharge its superabundant force and matter in some other way. An individual of the Foraminifera, genus Triloculina, has been observed to reproduce itself by protruding its sarcoid substance through the foramina of its shell, and floating away in the shape of minute independent granules, leaving the parent shell empty. Thus the life of one individual, having felt itself straitened within the calcareous shell of its own construction, subdivided itself into some forty or fifty separate centres of action. other Foraminifera present a different mode of reproduction. The primitive gelatinous grain secretes around itself a rigid envelope, and having grown too large for its habitation, it protrudes a portion of itself through one of the orifices, and forms a second segment. If by a process of spontaneous fission this portion becomes detached from the parent, it repeats the life and reproductive method of

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the latter, and a series of monothalamous shells is the result. But if, by means of a sarcoid thread, the primitive segment maintains its connexion with its immediate offspring, a polythalamous shell is the result, and a compound form of life is presented in which the vital force acts from a succession of centres as numerous as are the buds successively protruded.

An advance is made in the mode of life when each of these centres assumes a different office; when, for instance, one becomes a force-absorbing centre, and another a force liberator. In the plant, the life acts along the axis of the structure; and though at every point it operates centripetally and centrifugally, yet at the roots the force-accumulating power is exhibited most prominently, and at the other extremity of the stalk is the chief expenditure of force. The process of nature in a tree is this. In spring, the root-fibres select from the soil those substances which are necessary for the well-being of the plant and convert them into a fluid, which ascends from the roots between the bark and the wood, gradually coagulating as it mounts. On reaching the leaves it gives off through the pores of one of the leaf-surfaces a gas, and inhaling another gas through the other surface, redescends the plant to the extremities of the roots, whose growth it determines.

The position of a plant or animal in the scale of beings is determined by the complexity in the differentiation of the parts. In the lowest forms of animal and vegetable life, every portion of the organism is equally fitted to act any part.

In the Protozoa, the lowest known form of animal life, those vital operations which we are accustomed to see carried on by elaborate apparatus, in the higher structures, have no special instruments provided for the performance

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of distinct functions. "A little particle of apparently homogeneous jelly changes itself into a greater variety of form than the fabled Proteus, laying hold of its food without members, swallowing without a mouth, digesting it without a stomach, appropriating its nutritious material without absorbent vessels, feeling (if it has any power to do so) without nerves, multiplying itself without eggs.”1 A polype may be sliced into fifty pieces, and each portion will become a different animal; a fragment of begonia leaf planted in the soil, and kept at the requisite temperature, will take upon itself the functions of a seed, and will produce young plants.

In the vertebrate animals, and in man especially, the differentiation is most complete. In man, the vital action lies along an axis in which the kidneys, the stomach, the heart, and the brain, are the principal acquisitive and secretive cores. Each has a function peculiar to itself, which it does not share with any other, but all are bound together by a common necessity. The vital force may be directed on any one of these nodes, and set it in action, leaving the others partially quiescent. Thus, after a meal, the vital energy is occupied in the assimilation of food, and at that time the brain is deserted. If, immediately after a meal, intense mental exertion is required, the food remains undigested. We shall return to this point shortly.

It has been said above, that organized life has before it two clearly perceptible aims, the development of the individual, and the propagation of the kind.

Life having assimilated force, must liberate it. In order that it may assimilate and liberate matter and force, it needs a certain amount of consciousness. This may be

1 Dr. W. B. Carpenter: Introd. to the Study of Foraminifera; London,

very low, where the organic structure is low; but as the differentiation of force increases in complexity, consciousness must be proportionately illumined.

Life, said Leibnitz, sleeps in the mineral, dreams in the flower, wakens in man; this is because man is the most complex in structure.

race.

This consciousness must consist of a will to live and grow, and to produce offspring, and an instinct by means of which it may know how to grow and how to propagate its Without instinct it could not select what is suitable for its development from what is unsuitable, and without a will to live it would make no use of its knowledge. Two powers are seated, and must be seated, in the conscious life, a vis motrix and a vis directrix.

The instinct is obviously the measure of development. It is nicely adjusted to the necessities of each being; it is neither more nor less than is required to lead the will to its two aims. For if the instinct were not thus adjusted, the creature would expend its force in vain striving after what was unattainable; its reproductive powers would suffer, and the race dwindle and die out. A plant demands light for its proper development. One grown in a warm dark closet expends all the force derived from the soil in straining after what it cannot get; and when its powers fail, it dies without fruit. In the same way, suppose a plant craved for locomotion; it would exhaust its energies in the endeavour to uproot itself, and would die in the attempt.

In the plant we see the consciousness balancing exactly the wants of its being. In order that it may come to perfection, it requires a certain number of chemical constituents, some five or six in all, and these it has the discriminating power to select from the ground in which its

roots are fixed, and from the air in which its leaves expand.

As long as the mechanism of life and the place where it functionates are such that the locality supplies all that the life requires, the organic machinery is devoid of all other powers than the assimilation of what is necessary, and the rejection of what is unnecessary for its perfection. The elements requisite for the sustentation and development of animal life are not gathered into one spot, but are distributed over an extended area, and to collect them the animal requires locomotive power. With this, Nature has furnished it.

The animal is also given a stimulus which is not possessed by the plant; this stimulus is the sensation of pleasure, when it does that which conduces to its perfect development; and of pain, when it does that which will arrest or impede its progress. If the animal did not feel pain in its vitals, it would not eat, and would die of inanition; if it did not smart when running among thorns, it would tear itself to pieces before it was aware of what it was doing.

The senses excite the will and educate the instinct; but they do not precede or produce either. The little bird not only thinks in the egg, but it acts, for it breaks the shell to escape; and when it has issued forth, it opens its beak for food. A sense of restraint no doubt prompted the little will which set the muscles in motion and broke the shell; but it was instinct, not experience, which taught it to burst through its closed white prison into the liberty without; and instinct, not experience, bids its gape for food, rather than perform any other muscular action. The tiny creature lives, and desires to live. Life has been given to it, and with life a love of life; and it claims a