but a science of which he knew but little, and which he liked still less.  So it came to pass that a good part of the hour of lecture was often filled up with familiar conversations.  These conversations took us far away from church history, which we were supposed to be learning.  The misplaced botanist reverted, by a natural impulse, to his much-loved science; and I have seen him shed tears of tender emotion, in his Professor’s chair, as he spoke to us of the God who made the primrose of the spring, and concealed the violet under the hedge by the wayside.  Therefore is the recollection of that old man not only living in my memory, but also dear to my heart.  Still he was a savant, an enthusiastic naturalist; and, in the broad light of the nineteenth century, he felt and spoke like Linnaeus.

Let us pass to the study of animals.  I had the wish, some years ago, to procure the best of modern treatises upon physiology.  I was directed to the work of Professor Mueller, of Berlin.  This book has not lost its value,—­for, this very morning, a student of our faculty of sciences came to me to borrow it, by the advice of his masters.  Mueller was a great physiologist, and he made an open profession of the Christian religion.  Have we not the right to conclude that he believed in God?  In France, I could cite more than one name in support of my thesis; I confine myself to a single fact.  The attention of the scientific world has very recently been occupied with the discoveries of M. Pasteur.  M. Pasteur has ascertained that the decomposition of organized bodies, after death, is effected by the action of small animals almost imperceptible, the germs of which the larger animals carry in themselves, as living preparatives for their interment.  The design of Providence reveals itself to his understanding, and he writes:  “The immediate elements of living bodies would be in a manner indestructible, if from the beings which God has created were taken away the smallest, and, in appearance, the most useless.  Life would thus become impossible, because the return to the atmosphere and to the mineral kingdom of all that has ceased to live would be all at once suspended."[110] In other words:  I have studied facts hitherto incompletely observed, and my study has revealed to me a new manifestation of that Divine wisdom of which the universe bears the impression.

England possesses a naturalist of the first order, whom his fellow-countrymen take a pleasure in comparing to George Cuvier—­Professor Owen.  This savant lectured, a few months ago, before a numerous auditory, on the relations of religion and natural science.[111] He is fully possessed of all the information which the times afford,—­is not ignorant of modern discoveries,—­is, in fact, one of the princes of contemporary science.  Well, Gentlemen, Mr. Owen repeats, with reference to animals, what Newton was led to say by his contemplation of the heavens, and Linnaeus by his study of the plants.