bandaged arm under my coat. "Try a tenderer
bit."

"No, thank you," I replied, turning from the
table to brood over the fire. "I can eat no more.
Please take it away."

I had never been struck at so keenly, for my
thanklessness to Joe, as through the brazen
impostor Pumblechook. The falser he, the truer
Joe; the meaner he, the nobler Joe.

My heart was deeply and most deservedly
humbled as I mused over the fire for an hour or
more. The striking of the clock aroused me,
but not from my dejection or remorse, and I got
up and had my coat fastened round my neck, and
went out. I had previously sought in my pockets
for the letter, that I might refer to it again, but
could not find it, and was uneasy to think that
it must have been dropped in the straw of the
coach. I knew very well, however, that the
appointed place was the little sluice-house by
the limekiln on the marshes, and the hour nine.
Towards the marshes I now went straight,
having no time to spare.

            FRIAR BACON.

THERE are two very different ways by which
we acquire knowledge, and the more intelligent
and thoughtful men in all ages have been
divided into corresponding groups; each man
following and recommending, by example and
precept, that method which his own instincts have
found most satisfactory. A little consideration
will show how natural and how complete this
separation is; for, while some of us obtain ideas
and take interest in studying those objects which
are perceptible only by the senses, others dwell
almost entirely on the nature and powers of the
intellect, the qualities of the mind, and ideas
derived only from thought and reflection. The
acute and subtle mind of the more intellectual
of the Eastern people sees things in a light
entirely different from that which we call
practical, and which characterises the Western, and
especially the Saxon races. The Greeks afford
the most striking examples of the former kind
of intellect, and perhaps our own, the Anglo-
Saxon race, carries to extremes the more material
tendency of the opposite kind.

It is, however, unquestionable that an undue
devotion to either method prevents the due
advance of either moral or physical science.
Among the ancient Greeks there were frequent
brilliant exceptions to the peculiarly unpractical
and subtle intellect that has always characterised
that people, and no one seems to have combined
with it, accurate knowledge, deep reflection, and
acute logical demonstration, so thoroughly as
Aristotle did.

For ages there was not only no improvement
on what Aristotle did and taught, but
knowledge was actually lost in the vague, and at last
mischievous, worship of this wonderful man and
the systems he put forth. Thus the very
excellence of his intellect and the extent to which he
advanced knowledge and directed thought, served
ultimately to clog independent exertion, and
kept men who might otherwise have done good
work in the narrow path supposed to have been
indicated by him.

Shortly before the discovery of printing,
Europe seemed buried in a deep sleep of the
intellect, except, indeed, that the fine arts
remained, exercising their vast and wholesome
influence: humanising the feelings of
society, and keeping alive, to some extent, a
habit of observation. But at that time the
habit of watching nature and studying the
appearances of natural things with a view to
learn their causes was altogether dormant.
There were no naturalists, no experimenters, and
no inquirers after physical truths. The few
men who studied were churchmen, and school
divinity was the only subject taught. Even
the Greek language, in which alone could
be fitly studied the works of Aristotle himself,
was entirely neglected, and formal logic was
the only means and the only object of education;
the Latin language being everywhere in use for
teaching and for all literature.

To rouse Europe from this deep sleep, it was
necessary to discover and point out the way to
conduct the minds of cultivated men out of the
tangled maze in which they had been wandering.
No one could of himself move the mighty engine
that was to complete the task of improvement,
but the time had come when one man would be
rendered capable of guiding and influencing ten
thousand. When once, by the discovery of
printing, a way had been opened for this result,
it became comparatively easy to awaken a spirit
and determination in the few that would again
react on the masses, and lead ultimately to
important results little anticipated even by those
to whom these results were chiefly due. Men's
minds were then ready to be excited, and
listened greedily to the voice that addressed
them. Thus it was, that out of an obscure
corner of England proceeded the germ of a
philosophy which in time altogether replaced
and overturned the so-called philosophy of the
middle ages.

It is now six hundred years ago that there
was born in our island the very remarkable
man who performed this work, and first lighted
the torch of modern science. The name of this
man was ROGER BACON.

Bacon is said to have come of good and
ancient family, at Ilchester, in the county of
Somerset, and was certainly brought up amongst,
and became the associate of, all the most
eminent men of his day. Like almost all men of
learning at that time, he was an ecclesiastic,
and at an early age he became a Franciscan
monk.

In the thirteenth century the University of
Paris had the reputation of being the principal
seat of knowledge, and to this place Bacon
repaired, after completing a course of studies at
Oxford. Education at that time at Oxford included
chiefly instruction in languages and logic,
departments which have always been there regarded
as of primary importance. At Paris, Bacon
found that "though there never was so great