"
"Which," suggested Becker, "does not prevent us believing ourselves a
well of science, nor hinder us from piling Pelion on Ossa to scale the
skies."
"What becomes, in the presence of these facts, of the metaphysics and
cosmogonies that have succeeded each other for two thousand years?
What of all the theories, from Ptolemy to Copernicus, from Copernicus
to Galileo, Descartes and his zones, Leibnitz and his monads, Wolf and
his fire forces, Maupertuis and his intelligent elements, Broussais,
who, in his anatomical lectures, has oftener than once shown to his
pupils, on the point of his scalpel, the source of thought; what, I
say, becomes of all these?"
"There is less wisdom in such vain speculation than in these simple
words: '_I believe in God the Father, the Creator of all things_.'"
"Worlds," says Isaiah, "are, before Him, like the dew-drops on a blade
of grass."
"We are now, however, getting into the clouds," remarked Wolston; "let
us return to the earth by the shortest route. What do you mean to do
with the chimpanzee?"
"Why, we must cage him in some way," replied Becker; "to let him loose
again would be to create fresh uneasiness for ourselves. To kill him
would be almost a kind of homicide."
"Can I come in now?" inquired Willis, thrusting his head into the
gallery.
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