Three weeks ago I was a man myself, and thought and felt as men think and feel; I have lived 3,000 years since then [microbic time], and I see the foolishness of it now.  We live to learn, and fortunate are we when we are wise enough to profit by it.

In matters pertaining to microscopy we necessarily have an advantage here over the scientist of the earth, because, as I have just been indicating, we see with our naked eyes minutenesses which no man-made microscope can detect, and are therefore able to register as facts many things which exist for him as theories only.  Indeed, we know as facts several things which he has not yet divined even by theory.  For example, he does not suspect that there is no life but animal life, and that all atoms are individual animals endowed each with a certain degree of consciousness, great or small, each with likes and dislikes, predilections and aversions—­that, in a word, each has a character, a character of its own.  Yet such is the case.  Some of the molecules of a stone have an aversion for some of those of a vegetable or any other creature and will not associate with them—­and would not be allowed to, if they tried.  Nothing is more particular about society than a molecule.  And so there are no end of castes; in this matter India is not a circumstance.

“Tell me, Franklin [a microbe of great learning], is the ocean an individual, an animal, a creature?”

“Yes.”

“Then water—­any water-is an individual?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose you remove a drop of it?  Is what is left an individual?”

“Yes, and so is the drop.”

“Suppose you divide the drop?”

“Then you have two individuals.”

“Suppose you separate the hydrogen and the oxygen?”

“Again you have two individuals.  But you haven’t water any more.”

“Of course.  Certainly.  Well, suppose you combine them again, but in a new way:  make the proportions equal—­one part oxygen to one of hydrogen?”

“But you know you can’t.  They won’t combine on equal terms.”

I was ashamed to have made that blunder.  I was embarrassed; to cover it I started to say we used to combine them like that where I came from, but thought better of it, and stood pat.

“Now then,” I said, “it amounts to this:  water is an individual, an animal, and is alive; remove the hydrogen and it is an animal and is alive; the remaining oxygen is also an individual, an animal, and is alive.  Recapitulation:  the two individuals combined constitute a third individual—­and yet each continues to be an individual.”

I glanced at Franklin, but . . . upon reflection, held my peace.  I could have pointed out to him that here was mute Nature explaining the sublime mystery of the Trinity so luminously—­that even the commonest understanding could comprehend it, whereas many a trained master of words had labored to do it with speech and failed.  But he would not have known what I was talking about.  After a moment I resumed: