“Better the savage in his dance
    Than these acute and syllogistic! 
  Better a reverent ignorance
    Than knowledge atheistic!

  “Have they dispelled one cloud that lowers
    So darkly on the human creature? 
  They with their irreligious powers
    Have subjugated nature.

  “But, as a satyr wins the charms
    Of maiden in a forest hearted,
  He finds, when clasped within his arms,
    The outraged soul departed.”

When I had done reading these verses, he clergyman glanced slyly along to see the effect of his shot.  The doctor drew two or three hurried whiffs, gave a huge grunt of scorn, then, turning sharply, asked, “What is ‘a reverent ignorance’?  What is ’a knowledge atheistic’?” The clergyman, skewered by the sudden question, wriggled a little, and then began to explain,—­with no great heart, however, for he had had his little joke out, and did not care to carry it further.  The doctor listened for a little, and then, laying down his pipe, said, with some heat, “It won’t do.  ’Reverent ignorance’ and such trash is a mere jingle of words; that you know as well as I. You stumbled on these verses, and brought them up here to throw them at me.  They don’t harm me in the least, I can assure you.  There is no use,” continued the doctor, mollifying at the sight of his friend’s countenance, and seeing how the land lay,—­“there is no use speaking to our incurious, solitary friend here, who could bask comfortably in sunshine for a century, without once inquiring whence came the light and heat.  But let me tell you,” lifting his pipe and shaking it across me at the clergyman, “that science has done services to your cloth which have not always received the most grateful acknowledgments.  Why, man,” here he began to fill his pipe slowly, “the theologian and the man of science, although they seem to diverge and lose sight of each other, are all the while working to one end.  Two exploring parties in Australia set out from one point; the one goes east, and the other west.  They lose sight of each other, they know nothing of one another’s whereabouts; but they are all steering to one point,”—­the sharp spirt of a fusee on the garden-seat came in here, followed by an aromatic flavour in the air,—­“and when they do meet, which they are certain to do in the long run,”—­here the doctor put the pipe in his mouth, and finished his speech with it there,—­“the figure of the continent has become known, and may be set down in maps.  The exploring parties have started long ago.  What folly in the one to pooh-pooh or be suspicious of the exertions of the other.  That party deserves the greatest credit which meets the other more than half way.”—­“Bravo!” cried the clergyman, when the doctor had finished his oration; “I don’t know that I could fill your place at the bedside, but I am quite sure that you could fill mine in the pulpit.”—­“I am not sure that the congregation would approve of the change,—­I might disturb their slumbers;” and, pleased with his retort, his cheery laugh rose through a cloud of smoke into the sunset.