foundations of whose histories were laid in truth, while the structure was reared by fancy. The Egyptians informed Herodotus that their deities—the last of whom was Orus son of Osiris, the Apollo of the Grecians—were originally their kings. Others affirm that myths are but symbolic ideas deified; that they are but the embodiment of a maxim in the form of an allegory, and that under these allegorical forms were taught history, religion, law and morality.

Intermingled with all these hypotheses are elements of truth, and yet none of them appear to be satisfying explanations. All imply that religion, in some form, is an essential constituent of humanity, and that whatever its origin and functions, it has exercised from the earliest ages and does yet exercise the most powerful influence upon man; working like leaven in the lump, keeping the world in a ferment, stirring up men to action, banding and disrupting nations, uniting and dividing communities, and forming the nucleus of numberless societies and institutions.

RISE OF THE PRIMITIVE PRIESTHOOD.

In every society, small and great, there are undoubtedly certain intellects of quicker than ordinary perception, which seize upon occasions, and by a skillful use of means obtain a mastery over inferior minds. It is thus that political and social, as well as ecclesiastical power arises. Not that the leader creates a want—he is but the mouth-piece or agent of pent-up human instincts. One of these instincts is dependence. That we are created subordinate, not absolute nor unrestrained, is a fact from which none can escape. Thraldom, constant and insurmountable, we feel we have inherited. Most naturally, therefore, the masses of mankind seek from among their fellows some embodiment of power, and ranging themselves under the banner of leaders, follow blindly whithersoever they are led. Perceiving the power thus placed in their hands, these born leaders of men are not slow to invent means for retaining and increasing it. To the inquiry of the child or unsophisticated savage, who, startled by a peal of distant thunder, cries, "What is that?" the explanation is given; "That is the storm-god speaking." "I am afraid, protect me!" implores the supplicant. "I will, only obey," is the reply. The answer is sufficient, curiosity is satisfied, and terror allayed; the barbarian teacher gains a devotee. In this manner, the superstructure of creeds, witchcrafts, priestcrafts, may have arisen; some gods may thus have been made, forms of worship invented, and intercourse opened with beings supernal and infernal. Then devotion advances and becomes an art; professors by practice become experts. Meanwhile, craft is economized; the wary Shamán rain-doctor—like the worthy clergyman of civilized orthodoxy, who refused to pray for rain "while the wind was in that quarter"—watches well the gathering ripeness of the cloud before he attempts to burst it with an arrow. And in the end, a more than ordinary skill in the exercise of this power, deifies or demonizes the possessor.

But whence arises the necessity for craft and whence the craft? The faculty of invention implies skill. Skill successfully to play upon the instincts of humanity can only be acquired through the medium of like instincts, and although the skill be empirical, the play must be natural. Craft alone will not suffice to satisfy the desire; the hook must be baited with some small element of truth before the most credulous will seize it. If religious beliefs are the fruits of invention, how shall we account for the strange coincidences of thought and worship which prevail throughout all myths and cults? Why is it that all men of every age, in conditions diverse, and in countries widely sundered, are found searching out the same essential facts? All worship; nearly all have their creation-myth, their flood-myth, their theory of origin, of distribution from primitive centres, and of a future state. In this regard as in many another, civilization is but an evolution of savagism; for almost every principle of modern philosophy there may be found in primitive times its parallel.

The nature and order of supernatural conceptions are essentially as follows: The first and rudest form of belief is Fetichism, which invests every phenomenon with an independent personality. In the sunshine, fire, and water, in the wind and rock and stream, in every animal, bird, and plant, there is a separate deity; for every effect there is a cause. Even Kepler, whose intellect could track the planets in their orbits, must needs assume a guiding spirit for every world. It is impossible for the mind to conceive of self-creative or self-existent forces.

In time the personalities of the fetich-worshiper become to some extent generalized. Homogeneous appearances are grouped into classes, and each class referred to a separate deity, and hence Polytheism. Pantheism then comes in and makes all created substance one with the creator; nature and the universe are God. From the impersonating of the forces of nature to the creation of imaginary deities there is but a step. Every virtue and vice, every good and evil becomes a personality, under the direct governance of which lie certain passions and events; and thus in place of one god for many individuals, each individual may have a multitude of his own personal gods. The theogony of Hesiod was but a system of materialized love and hate; while, on the other hand, the gods of Homer, although personating human passions, were likewise endowed with moral perceptions. In them the blind forces of nature are lighted up into a human-divine intelligence.