employed in popular phraseology; often (as Mr. Mill has shown) to designate the occurrence that immediately preceded the effect—as when it is said that the spark which falls into a barrel of gunpowder is the cause of its explosion, or that the slipping of a man's foot off the rung of a ladder is the cause of his fall. But even a very slightly-trained intelligence can distinguish the power which acts in each case from the conditions under which it acts. The force which produces the explosion is locked up, as it were, in the powder; and ignition merely liberates it by bringing about new chemical combinations. The fall of the man from the ladder is due to the gravity which was equally pulling him down while he rested on it; and the loss of support, either by the slipping of his foot or by the breaking of the rung, is merely that change in the material conditions which gives the power a new action.
Many of you have doubtless viewed with admiring interest that truly wonderful work of human design, the Walter printing-machine. You first examine it at rest; presently comes a man who simply pulls a handle toward him, and the whole inert mechanism becomes instinct with life—the blank paper, continuously rolling off the cylinder at one end, being delivered at the other, without any intermediate human agency, as large sheets of print, at the rate of 15,000 in an hour. Now, what is the cause of this most marvellous effect? Surely it lies essentially in the power or force which the pulling of the handle brings to bear on the machine from some extraneous source of power, which we in this instance know to be a steam-engine on the other side of the wall. This force it is, which, distributed through the various parts of the mechanism, really performs the action of which each is the instrument; they only supply the vehicle for its transmission and application. The man comes again, pushes the handle in the opposite direction, detaches the machine from the steam-engine, and the whole comes to a stand; and so it remains, like an inanimate corpse, until recalled to activity by the renewal of its moving power.
But, say the reasoners who deny that force is any thing else than a fiction of the imagination, the revolving shaft of the steam-engine is "matter in motion;" and, when the connection is established between that shaft and the one that drives the machine, the motion is communicated from the former to the latter, and thence distributed to the several parts of the mechanism. This account of the operation is just what an observer might give who had looked on with entire ignorance of every thing but what his eyes could see; the moment he puts his hand upon any part of the machinery and tries to stop its motion, he takes as direct cognizance, through his sense of the effort required to resist it, of the force which produces that motion as he does through his eye of the motion itself.
Now, since it is universally admitted that our notion of the external world would be not only incomplete, but erroneous, if our visual
