counter action, the end sought is doubtless attained; and it is through the same agencies that He reduces to Order, Law, and Symmetry the———"
I could go no further, for the reason that my conception and descriptive power had run against the wall. He saw and pitied, while he completed the sentence for me:
———"Nebulous Systems, which lie beyond the pale of the inhabited and waking Universe of Forms."
Whoever reads these pages, and clearly comprehends the meaning of his last fifteen words, can but agree that here was a stretch of thought amazing, and absolutely awful to even contemplate. They distinctly imply that God is still making worlds—worlds hereafter to be peopled with glowing forms of a life, intellect, and beauty, that shall put to the blush the highest ideal of the loftiest Seraph, now in being, when the present Universe shall have died of hoary age.
Yes; Thotmor's thought is a vast and mighty one. Do you not think so, my reader? Try to compass and master this idea, so terrifically great and sublime, and you will forthwith coincide with me.
What becomes of many of the ordinary conceptions of God's character now extant among even the philosophers—conceptions so unjust, puerile, and even contemptible, as many of them are; what becomes of them all, in the presence of the estimate of the great Creative Energy just conveyed to your brain? They fall and sink into utter nothingness, while this one looms up before our mind's eye in proportions majestic and grand. We catch an intuitive glimpse of its outlines—its edges; but the whole thought is too great for our puny brains to contain. Try to master it, and ere
