44 NEW THEORY OF THE ORIGIN OF THE EARTH. 



every wliere, even in the output of the fiery furnace of the iron niill. 

 Look at a steel rail. What kind oi a home is that for a liviiiji- 

 thing? But life has been discovered is such a dwelling place. The 

 eternal and indestructible life principle has asserted itself even in 

 the heart of a steel rail. A creature has been born there, breeds 

 there, and lives there, slowly but surely consuiiiing the walls of 

 the house in which it dwells an^l destroying its usefulness as a 

 rail. How did it get there? Is it not the offspring of the life 

 principle that belongs to matter? The life principle asserts itself, 

 but the nature of the steel rail governs the size and shape and 

 character of the creature that is produced within it, just as 

 excessive moisture produces swamp and jungle, and swamp 

 and jungle produce saurians and beasts of prey. 



Visit the electric light works, to see how light is produced, and 

 you will see wheels and drums and shafting revolving rai)idly for 

 its production, driven by power — mechanical energy transforming 

 the darkness of night into the light of day. Take a seat in a railway 

 carriage, Monday morning, and travel from ocean to ocean, from 

 Atlantic to Pacific, before the coming of Saturday night, drawn l)y 

 giant locomotives — past the Great Lakes, over the prairies, through 

 the Rocky Mountains, among the hills of British Columbia, 

 Make a voyage in an oceari steamship, and go tearing through 

 great seas on the bosom of the mighty deep, night and day, day 

 and night, in the teeth of the gale, regardless of the storm. Watch 

 the throbbing, listen to the heartbeats, of the powerful engines that 

 drive the ship so swiftly. What mighty magic is it that turns the 

 machinery, gives wings to the locomotive, and drives the great 

 steamship? It is only steam, you say. And what is steam? 

 Merely water expanded by heat. In the drop of water that 

 sparkles as dew on the bosom of a flower that opens under the 

 caresses of the morning sun, in the teardrop that wets the cheek of 

 beauty in distress, is the mighty power, the great magician, that 

 calls forth the electric light, hauls the train and drives the ship. 

 And so why may there not be, in a microscopic cell, all the 

 potency and productiveness of life in all its mvriad forms? The 



