The partizans of zoological unity learned that a minister was about to inspect the precious Zebra, and fearing intrigue, the worthy disciples of our great opponent flocked to see the illustrious Marmus. My masters obstinately refused to exhibit me, as I had not acquired my giraffe step, and the chemical application to my Zebra bands had not yet completed the illusion. A young disciple discoursed on the new discovery with eloquence and force, and my cunning masters profited by his learning.” “Our Zebra,” said the journalist, “carries conviction to the most incredulous.” “Zebra,” said Marmus. “It is no longer a Zebra, but a fact which engenders a new science.” “Your science,” responded the unitariste, “strengthens the ground taken up by Sir J. Fairnight on the subject of Spanish, Scotch, and Swiss sheep, who eat more or less, according to the sort of herbage in pasture lands.” “But,” exclaimed our friend, “the products, are they not also different in different latitudes and under different atmospheric conditions. Our Zebra explains why butter is white in the Brie in Normandy, and the butter and cheese yellow in Neufchâtel and Meaux.” “You have placed your finger on the point of greatest vitality,” {146} cried the enthusiastic disciple; “little facts solve great problems. The question of cheese bears a subtle affinity to the greater questions of zoological form and comparative instinct. Instinct is the entire animal, just as thought is man concentrated. If instinct is modified and changed according to the latitude in which it is developed, it is clear that it must be the same with the _Zoon_, with the exterior living form. There is but one principle of instinct.” “One for all beings,” said Marmus. “Then,” continued the disciple, “nomenclatures are all very well for us to indicate the different degrees of instinct, but they no longer constitute a science.” “This, sir,” said the journalist, “is death to the Mollusks, the Articulata, the Radiata, Mammifera, Cirropedia, Acephala, and Crustacea. In fact, it breaks down all the strongholds of natural history, and simplifies everything so thoroughly as to destroy accepted science. “Believe me,” said the disciple, “men of science will defend their position. There will be much ink spilt and pens spoiled in the contest, to say nothing of the reams of paper that will be destroyed in keeping the wounds open. Poor naturalists! No, they will hardly allow a single genius to wrest from their hands the labours of so many lives.” “We shall be as much calumniated as your great philosopher himself. Ah! Fontenelle was right. When we have secured truth, let us close our fists tightly over it.” “Shall you be afraid, gentlemen?” said the disciple; “shall you be traitors to the sacred cause of the animals?” “No, sir,” cried Marmus, “I shall never abandon the science to which I have devoted the best days of my life; and to prove my sincerity we must conjointly edit the history of the Zebra.”