And the fact that the domesticated animals of all races of men, equally with the white race, vary among themselves in the same way and differ in the same way from the wild Species, makes it still more evident that domesticated varieties do not explain the origin of Species, except, as I have said, by showing that the intelligent will of man can produce effects which physical causes have never been known to produce, and that we must therefore look to some cause outside of Nature, corresponding in kind, though so different in degree, to the intelligence of man, for all the phenomena connected with the existence of animals in their wild state.  So far from attributing these original differences among animals to natural influences, it would seem, that, while a certain freedom of development is left, within the limits of which man can exercise his intelligence and his ingenuity, not even this superficial influence is allowed to physical conditions unaided by some guiding power, since in their normal state the wild Species remain, so far as we have been able to discover, entirely unchanged,—­maintained, it is true, in their integrity by the circumstances that were established for their support by the power that created both, but never altered by them.  Nature holds inviolable the stamp that God has set upon his creatures; and if man is able to influence their organization in some slight degree, it is because the Creator has given to his relations with the animals he has intended for his companions the same plasticity which he has allowed to every other side of his life, in virtue of which he may in some sort mould and shape it to his own ends, and be held responsible also for its results.

The common sense of a civilized community has already pointed out the true distinction in applying another word to the discrimination of the different kinds of domesticated animals.  They are called Breeds, and Breeds among animals are the work of man;—­Species were created by God.

* * * * *

THE STRASBURG CLOCK.

  Many and many a year ago,—­
  To say how many I scarcely dare,—­
  Three of us stood in Strasburg streets,
  In the wide and open square,
  Where, quaint and old and touched with the gold
  Of a summer morn, at stroke of noon
  The tongue of the great Cathedral tolled,
  And into the church with the crowd we strolled
  To see their wonder, the famous Clock. 
  Well, my love, there are clocks a many,
  As big as a house, as small as a penny;
  And clocks there be with voices as queer
  As any that torture human ear,—­
  Clocks that grunt, and clocks that growl,
  That wheeze like a pump, and hoot like an owl,
  From the coffin shape with its brooding face
  That stands on the stair, (you know the place,)
  Saying, “Click, cluck,” like an ancient hen,
  A-gathering the minutes home again,
  To the kitchen knave with its wooden stutter,
  Doing equal work with double splutter,
  Yelping, “Click, clack,” with a vulgar jerk,
  As much as to say, “Just see me work!”