And it was nothing more.
But it was something more. He, perhaps, attended not to the eloquent teaching of its pure, pale leaves: he might not have been conscious of the mysterious singing of that lowly flower: he might, perchance, have crushed it beneath his rude foot rather than quaff the draught of wisdom which it secreted in its cell; but the flower still ministered to that mere sensualist, and in its strange, tongueless manner, reproved his passions, and kept him “a wiser and a better man,“ than if it had pleased God to have left the world without the lovely primrose.
The psychology of flowers has found many students—than whom not one read them more deeply than that mild spirit who sang of the Sensitive Plant, and in wondrous music foreshadowed his own melancholy fate.[248] That martyr to sensibility, Keats, who longed to feel the flowers growing above him, drew the strong inspiration of his volant muse from those delicate creations which exhibit the passage of inorganic matter into life; and other poets will have their sensibilities awakened by the æsthetics of flowers, and find a mirror of truth in the crystal dew-drop which clings so lovingly to the purple violet, and draws fresh beauties from its coloured petals.
If we examine carefully all the conditions of matter which we have made the subject of our studies, we cannot but perceive how gradual is the progress of the involved action of the physical forces, as we advance from the molecule—the mere particle of matter—up to the organic combination. At first we detect only the action of cohesion in forming the rude mass; then we have the influence of the crystallogenic powers giving a remarkable regularity to bodies; we next discover the influences of heat and electrical force in determining condition, and of chemical action as controlled by them. Yet, still we have a body without organization. Light exerts its mysterious powers, and the same elements assume an organized form; and, in addition to the recognized agencies, we dimly perceive others on which vitality evidently depends. These empyreal influences become more and more complicated to us: ascending in the scale, they rise beyond our science; and, at length, we find them guiding the power of intelligence, while instinct and reason are exhibited in immediate dependence upon them.
Let it not be imagined that this view has any tendency to materialism. The vital energy is regarded as a spiritualization, and reason as a divine emanation; but they are connected with materialities, on which they act, and by which they are themselves controlled. The organic combinations, and the physical powers by which these unions of matter are effected and retained, have a direct action over that ethereality which is life, and the powers of life again control these more material forces. The spirit, in whatever state, when connected with matter, is, like Prometheus chained to his rock, in a constant struggle to escape from its shackles, and assert the full power of its divine strength.
We have seen variety enough in the substances which make up the inorganic part of creation; but infinitely more varied are the forms of organization. In the vegetable world which is immediately around us, from the green slime of our marshes to the lustrous flowers of our gardens and the lordly trees of our forests, what an extraordinary diversity of form is apparent! From the infusoria of an hour, to the gigantic elephant roaming in his greatness in the forests of Siam—the noble lion of the caves of Senegal—the mighty condor of the Andes—and onward to man, the monarch of them all, how vast are the differences, and yet how complete are they in their respective conditions! In the creation we have examined, we have had conclusive evidence, that from the combination of atoms every peculiar form has been produced. In the creation we are about to examine, we shall discover that all the immense diversity of form, of colour, and condition which is spread over the world in the vegetable and animal kingdoms, results from the combination of cells. The atom of inorganic nature becomes a cell in organic creation. This cell must be regarded as the compound radical of the chemist, and by decomposing it, we destroy the essential element of organization.
With the mysterious process by which the atom is converted into a cell, or a compound radical, we are unacquainted; but we must regard the cell as the organic atom. It is in vain that the chemist or the physiologist attempts to examine this change of the inorganic elements to an organized state; it is one of the mysteries of creation, which is to be, in all probability, hid from our eyes, until this “mortal coil” is shaken off, and we enjoy the full powers of that intelligence which we are promised we shall enjoy in an immortal state.
Again and again has the attention of men been attracted to the generatio æquivoca; they have sometimes thought they have discovered a generatio primitiva or spontanea; but a more careful examination of these organisms has shown that an embryo existed—a real germination has taken place.
Count Rumford[249] stated that threads of silk and wool had the power of decomposing carbonic acid in water in the sunshine; and hence some have referred organization to a mere chemical change produced by luminous excitation; and we have heard of animal life resulting from pounded siliceous matter. All such statements must be regarded as evidences of imperfect investigation.
Dr. Carus, alluding to the experiments of Gruithuisen, Priestley, and Ingenhousz,[250] says:—“These show, more than any other experiments, that, in the purest water, under the influence of air, light, and heat, beings are formed, which, oscillating as it were between the animal and the plant, exhibit the primitive germs of both kingdoms.”[251] Treviranus[252] repeated, and appeared to confirm these results; but in these experiments we have no evidence that the germ did not previously exist in the spring-water which was employed.