because they tend to make possible a still more fortunate kind than
any now existing. But the man who devotes himself to science cannot-
-with the rarest, if any, exceptions--belong to this most fortunate
class himself. He occupies a lower place, both scientifically and
morally, for it is not possible but that his drudgery should somewhat
soil him both in mind and health of body, or, if this be denied,
surely it must let him and hinder him in running the race for
unconsciousness. We do not feel that it increases the glory of a
king or great nobleman that he should excel in what is commonly
called science. Certainly he should not go further than Prince
Rupert's drops. Nor should he excel in music, art, literature, or
theology--all which things are more or less parts of science. He
should be above them all, save in so far as he can without effort
reap renown from the labours of others. It is a lache in him that he
should write music or books, or paint pictures at all; but if he must
do so, his work should be at best contemptible. Much as we must
condemn Marcus Aurelius, we condemn James I. ever more severely.

It is a pity there should exist so general a confusion of thought
upon this subject, for it may be asserted without fear of
contradiction that there is hardly any form of immorality now rife
which produces more disastrous effects upon those who give themselves
up to it, and upon society in general, than the so-called science of
those who know that they know too well to be able to know truly.
With very clever people--the people who know that they know--it is
much as with the members of the early Corinthian Church, to whom St.
Paul wrote, that if they looked their numbers over, they would not
find many wise, nor powerful, nor well-born people among them. Dog-
fanciers tell us that performing dogs never carry their tails; such
dogs have eaten of the tree of knowledge, and are convinced of sin