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diff --git a/old/53772-0.txt b/old/53772-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7eb77cf..0000000 --- a/old/53772-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10689 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, -Science, and Art, Volume XLI, No. 5, May, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, Volume XLI, No. 5, May 1885 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: December 20, 2016 [EBook #53772] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - -[Illustration: An open book, listing contents as Literature, Art, - Science, Belleslettres, History, Biography, Astronomy, Geology, etc.] - - - Eclectic Magazine - - OF - - FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - - ———————————— - New Series. } { Old Series complete - Vol. XLI., No. 5. } May, 1885. { in 63 vols. - ———————————— - - - - - THE POLITICAL SITUATION OF EUROPE. - - BY F. NOBILI-VITELLESCHI, SENATOR OF ITALY. - - -I. - -It is a matter worthy of consideration why the progress which is in our -time so unexpectedly rapid in all which concerns the physical world, -should be so slow, or rather so limited, in the sphere of morals. We -might almost say that, like a line ascending in a spiral form, progress -can in each historical period only be made within the given orbit in -which the period itself revolves. - -With respect to the two principal questions which interest mankind in -its complex—that is, in its political and social—existence, the orbit -in which the historical period preceding our own revolved, as far as -politics are concerned, circled round what we may term the State, -although this does not precisely correspond to our present conception -of the word; and socially it revolved round an absolute system of -proprietorship, together with the rights and duties which were to -a varying extent attached to it, and which included a relative and -practically obsolete exercise of charitable customs. - -That which was called a State was not always a combination which -had, in accordance with the modern conception, the public welfare as -its sole and supreme object, but it generally depended on certain -rights which had their origin in facts of extreme antiquity. These -combinations were of two kinds. The most usual, which was indeed -almost universal in Europe, was the monarchy, in which a given family -governed and represented the interests of a more or less extensive -number of peoples, which in virtue of ancient rights, of conquests, of -treaties, or in any other way belonged to her. In a few rare instances -these monarchies were elective, and the rulers, who were elected by -a college, a caste, or in some other manner, found themselves in the -same conditions as hereditary sovereigns. The least common, but not -the least important and successful, form of government was that of -the communities which governed themselves. But even this form relied -for its existence on the same elements as the monarchies—that is, on -rights, conquests, and treaties, or similar reasons—on which alone the -political state of Europe was based up to the year 1815. - -By this we mean that up to 1815 no right was recognised in political -life except that which derived its origin from some fact or facts which -were supposed to constitute rights, such as successions, conquests, -concessions, or gifts. Spain, in virtue of one or other of these -titles, ruled the Low Countries and the kingdom of Naples, nor did it -occur to any one to discuss the fitness of this strange aggregation of -different peoples, united in a single State. It would be tedious to -cite all the instances of curious combinations to which the ancient -European rights gave rise. Although they had a tendency to dissolve -under the influence of recent times, yet the system was maintained -up to 1815, the date of the last great treaty which was made on this -basis, and of which the effect remained up to 1845. - -Throughout this protracted period, of which the beginning is confounded -with that of European civilisation, a certain progress did, however, -take place in the conditions of European society, which advanced from -the capitulations of Charles the Great to the English Great Charter, -from arbitrary decrees to the statutes of the republic of Florence, -and finally, to the legislative acts of Joseph the Second in Austria, -of Leopold in Tuscany, Charles the Third in the kingdom of Naples, and -of all the contemporary governments which uttered their last word on -such progress as was possible to politicians of that period, and which -consisted in adapting as far as possible the inflexible exigencies of -ancient rights to the necessities of modern facts, and in inducing -those who governed by divine right to consider the interests of the -people. But this was only up to a certain point, and the relative -conditions of the governors and the governed did not cease to be the -basis of European policy. - -Speaking of these things at this day is like speaking of another -world. A State which is not governed in the interests of those of whom -it consists would be a tyranny. It is held to be an iniquity to hold -a people subject to a rule which is independent of ethnographical, -geographical, or economical considerations, and such a people would -be considered justified in throwing off the yoke, if possible. A war -undertaken to maintain a purely dynastic title would be regarded as an -intolerable burden, to which no nation is bound to submit. - -The arguments which are used to stigmatise and condemn the old system -as unjust and out of date are naturally derived from its evils, -dangers, and inconveniences. The people were subject to laws, taxation, -and wars, for causes which did not concern them, and which for that -very reason multiplied without control. The Thirty Years’ War and the -War of Succession cut down whole peoples, not for their own benefit, -but in order to decide to whom they should belong. A permanent state -of war appeared to be the inevitable result of the conflagration of -all these rights, which were contested at the expense of the happiness -of peoples. Meanwhile science had changed the basis of rights, and the -famous principles of 1789, which had their birth in the intoxication of -the nascent revolution and were nourished by the blood of its maturer -age, found their way into codes and constitutions. The old system, -condemned both in theory and practice, was anathematised by the rising -generation, which claimed to have discovered the secret of true policy, -and the grand panacea for all the evils of humanity. - -Nor was it otherwise with social questions. The conception that every -man might do what he pleased with his own, and might transmit it to -others both before and after his death, was more or less present in the -constitution of all civil societies. But this system deprived of the -enjoyments of life all those who were unable to acquire property for -themselves, and to whom no one could or would transmit it. In one word, -in this system there were no official dispositions for the poor, who -nevertheless constitute the eternal problem of human society. In fact, -money enough for the permanent and complete relief of the poor could -not be found, nor the mode of useful legislation on this subject. But -an appeal beneath the beneficent influence of Christianity was made -to the most refined sentiments of humanity, and created duties which, -however imperfectly fulfilled, were imperious, and relied on a divine -sanction. In this way charity provided for the variable and indefinite -needs which exist in all human societies, from the richest and most -fortunate to the poorest and most unhappy, and did so with the buoyant -and indefinite force inspired by sentiment, which contrasts strongly -with similar laws and provisions enacted by the State. - -The modern phase of thought does not venture openly to attack socially -property, as politically it has attacked divine right, because it -has not known what to substitute in its place. It was less difficult -to sustain universal suffrage, which met with fewer obstacles in its -translation into fact than communism or socialism. There has therefore -been no direct attack on property, but for a long while circuitous -means have been taken to undermine its rights. By the destruction of -the feudal system, the bonds which connected property with the exercise -of political power were burst asunder, and another blow was struck -at its stability by the abolition of the rights of eldest sons, and -of all the other privileges belonging to it, according to ancient -usage. Later, legitimate successions and those of intestate persons -have been regulated, and thus the disintegration has been gradually -prepared. Finally, the laws of taxation for purposes of the State or -of public welfare have further confiscated a large portion of private -property. Hence it may be said that on great part of the Continent -property of every kind—rural, urban, movable, or immovable—has become -a merchandise, great part of which is administered by trustees for -the benefit of the State, while the rest is subject to a number of -laws, contracts, and combinations which cause it to pass from one -person to another with the utmost rapidity, so that its enjoyment -may be extended to as large a number as possible, since the mode of -distributing it to all has not yet been discovered. - -Charity has been overthrown by the same blow. It has shared the -unpopularity of her preachers, and it also, without being directly -attacked, has been subjected, under different pretexts, to the -destruction and conversion of a very large number of institutions -founded under its banner, and discredit has been thrown on its -practices and provisions, while the struggle for existence has been -brutally substituted for charity. So much the worse for the man who -cannot help himself out of a difficulty. The motto of our time is a -species of _sauve qui peut_, which begins in the transactions of the -money market and leads some to the temple of fortune and others to the -river or to the lunatic asylum. - -We do not, however, assert that the inexhaustible source of human -kindness with which God has mercifully endowed our nature does not -still find means of doing good, and great good. Institutions, which -are for the most part beneficent, abound on every side, and supply -the place of the ancient foundations which have disappeared. But -the conception and its mode of execution are different and do not -correspond with the old usage. Everything is done according to rule -in modern philanthropy. There are free municipal schools in which -instruction is given to those who do or do not desire it. There are -hospitals in which a definite number of patients afflicted by certain -diseases are collected, and if the number is exceeded or the symptoms -are not the same, they are left to die until a hospital is founded -which is intended for such cases. If a man is in want of bread he -receives a garment, because the institution which might help him only -provides clothes; and if a whole family is dying of hunger they will -receive a mattress if directed to an institution which only supplies -beds. The liberal charity which is personal and intelligent, and -which corresponds to the infinite variety and combinations of human -necessities, lingers, thank God! in the hearts of the beneficent, but -its form is discredited and its means are abridged. The great mass -of the funds which were devoted to charity is now diverted into the -official and semi-official channels of modern philanthropy. In my -opinion, the relief which is now given does good without remedying the -evil, since a dinner for to-day is always welcome, but it will not -prevent a man from dying of hunger next week, or of cold if he has -not wherewithal to cover himself; while a loaf or a cloak given at a -propitious moment may save the life of a man or of a whole family. So -it may be said that the place of charity has been taken by the struggle -for existence, only modified by administrative philanthropy. - -This second revolution was produced by the growing discredit which -resulted from the evils and inconveniences which had their source -in the ancient conception of property, and from those which were -attributed to the free and sentimental charity. Property, when in the -hands of a few privileged classes, made few happy while the many were -unhappy. Charity created miseries by encouraging idleness. Such were -the principal arguments which overthrew the old system. - -Thus political power of an exclusive and egotistic character, which -was founded on divine right, was destroyed in order to constitute -governments on a popular basis; labor was substituted for charity. It -appeared to the philosophers who carried out this great revolution that -nothing more was needed to inaugurate a new golden age in which the -rivers would flow with milk, and ripe fruits would fall on every man’s -table. It is needless to add that peace and general satisfaction were -to be the results of this profound and laborious revolution. - - -II. - -The old order of things was, however, hardly demolished before two -distinct and menacing questions were raised upon its ruins—Nationality -and Socialism. Let us begin with the first. - -Since the country (_patria_), in the limited sense of the word, had -disappeared—that is, the political unity which was represented by the -dynasty or flag or even simply a steeple, the early symbol of the old -societies—the sentiment of association took its concrete form in a -fresh combination, more in harmony with the democratic tendencies of -our times. It assumed the widest possible basis—to constitute a society -which should unite all common interests, and should be governed in -conformity with these. It is, indeed, not surprising that men who -speak the same language, inhabit the same zone, who are alike in their -customs and dispositions, who are, in short, what is now called a -nation, should present all these characteristics, and should therefore -become the new political unit both of the present and the future, thus -replacing the earlier units formed by heredity or conquests without -respect to the interests of all the component elements. - -Nothing in nature is produced at one stroke; and some races had -already advanced towards nationality, and especially France, which had -laboriously constituted herself into a nation, before the word was used -in its political meaning. But the country to which it was allotted to -assert loudly and explicitly this new form of political life was Italy -in 1859. The formula of nationality as the basis of right was first -proposed by her and obtained acceptance by international jurisprudence, -and this basis had scarcely been established before it led to the -overthrow of six thrones which boasted of different origins, among -which was the most ancient and most venerable of all—the temporal -power of the Popes. The experiment was favorably received, and Germany -lost no time in adopting it, since the old system had produced in that -country the same conditions of divisions and of relative weakness which -had occurred in Italy. The campaigns of 1866 and of 1870 served to -contribute to the new theory the force which was necessary to convince -European diplomacy. - -Even those who most reluctantly accept modern ideas do not now speak -of anything but nationality. It might be supposed that there had never -been any other basis for politics, since this has in a very short time -been so completely and universally accepted. - -The production of these nationalities has, however, been accompanied by -all the defects of the system which preceded them. They have brought -with them all the rancours of ancient Europe. The rancours of Francis -I. and of Charles V. have been transmuted into the deadly enmity -which exists between French and Germans. The testament of Frederic -II. has led to the programme of the German people, and the ambitious -projects of Catherine II. have issued in the aspirations of the Slave -race. So though the new era which began with nationality indicates a -real progress in the internal constitution of the different States, -and in the fundamental reasons for their several governments; still -with respect to their international relations to universal justice -and to general peace, in a word, with respect to the progress of the -human race in morals, we find ourselves—to make use of the metaphor we -employed at first—in a fresh spiral, equally limited in space, in which -there is a relative progress, but it has only a slight influence on the -general progress of humanity. And, to turn from abstract principles to -the concrete limits of politics, the present state of things is not -promising nor hopeful for the peace of Europe. - -The first and most curious phenomenon which accompanied the affirmation -of different nationalities as a guarantee of peace in Europe, has -been compulsory service—a euphemism which implies that the whole male -population of Europe is trained and educated for war; thus men are -fashioned into as deadly instruments as were ever found in barbarous -ages and during the warfare of the old system. Military education, -both technical and gymnastic, is brought to such perfection that whole -generations are trained like hounds for mortal conflict, and each man -may on an average kill ten others in the course of a minute. Even in -traversing Europe by the railway we may observe near the fortresses, -and indeed in the great centres of population, arenas, gymnasia, -drilling grounds, and young men clothed in the prescribed warlike -uniform. This strange spectacle is unnoticed because it is concealed -and confounded with the attractions of modern civilisation; but it must -strike all who seek to penetrate its external phenomena: and certainly -those who established the present civilisation did not anticipate such -a result. - -We must, however, leave the speculative side of the question to -philosophers, since what concerns us in the interests of this same -civilisation is to examine the practical results of the situation -in Europe in its political aspect, with which we are at this moment -occupied. Briefly, we wish to ascertain what is now the political -situation of Europe, in consequence and in presence of the new basis on -which European rights are established. - -And primarily, since the application of these new rights, all -nationalities, if they do not feel the present necessity, yet they have -potentially a tendency to assimilate the elements which properly belong -to them. And each forms a judgment of the situation in accordance with -his standard and purpose. - -Thus, for example, Russia, under the pretext of consisting for the most -part of Slav peoples, begins to nourish in her bosom the ambition of -uniting all the Slav races under the well-known name of Pan-Slavism. No -matter that the Slavs of Poland and Bohemia differ widely from those -of Russia proper in their language, religion, and habits, perhaps more -widely than from those of another nationality. Panslavists extend to -the race the privileges of the nation, and as it would be difficult -to define logically where the one begins and the other ends, so among -them, and especially among those who believe, perhaps rightly, that -they speak in the name of Russia, the Slav nation consists of a third -of Europe, reaching from the North Pole to the Adriatic. In order to -unite it under Russian rule, it would be necessary to overthrow, or at -any rate seriously to mutilate, the dominions of Turkey and of Austrian -Hungary. - -The demolition of the Turkish empire and the diminution of Austrian -Hungary would be carried still further by the nationality of Greece, -which requires for its proper development to absorb another portion of -Turkey, and to deprive Austria of such access to the sea as the Slavs -might leave to her. - -The Italian nationality would also propose some modifications of the -geography of Europe, less searching than the above, but not without -their importance. - -France and Spain are the countries which have least to ask in the way -of expansion; the former because her territory was acquired before the -enunciation of the principle was formulated, the latter because of her -limited proportions, unless, following the interpretations of Russia, -she should entertain the ambition, which up to this time is scarcely -perceptible if it exists at all, of acquiring the whole Iberian -peninsula. - -If we continue our circuit of the continent we come to the two small -nationalities of Flanders and Scandinavia. These two, although their -populations are the least numerous, seem less sensible of the necessity -of political reunion. It is certain that no one in Belgium and Holland -has seriously formulated the idea of a fusion, nor yet among the -Scandinavians. These States enjoy a certain ease of circumstances -and unusual prosperity, without being tormented by the demon of -aggrandisement; they allow the claims of nationality to remain dormant -in order that they may enjoy in prosperity and contentment what they -have acquired by political shrewdness and indefatigable labor; but it -may be said that in these conditions they stand alone in Europe. - -The circuit we have made from the extreme north to the centre of Europe -includes the most complete, successful, and indisputable instance of -a compact and homogeneous nationality in that of Germany. Twenty-five -years ago this was hardly regarded as an ethnographical or historical -designation, and it was certainly not political, since the tendencies -and interests of the different States of Germany were quite dissimilar, -even when, as in many of the most important questions, they were not -altogether opposed to each other. Now that the nationality has arisen, -has grown and reached maturity, and in two memorable campaigns has -swept all obstacles from its path, it would be as useless to try to -arrest its development and divert it from its path as to try and make -the Rhine flow back to its source. - -The German nation must absorb a few more States in order to constitute -itself into a political unity, but since the most important would shake -to its foundations the Austro-Hungarian empire, this last annexation -will be deferred as long as possible. The fraction of Germans which -remains to be absorbed into the empire would only augment the number -of its constituents by some millions, and its territory by some -provinces; meanwhile in its present condition it fulfils the mission -of a colony detached from the parent nation, impressed with the -same characteristics, and adhering to the same interests, and thus -constituting a weighty instrument for carrying out the national views -throughout the Austro-Hungarian empire, which, amidst the conflict -of the different nationalities of which it consists, is clearly and -irresistibly impelled towards that which is the nearest, the most -energetic, and the most powerful. This state of things is too favorable -to Germany to allow her to hasten to exchange her independent colonies -in Austria into faithful subjects of the German Emperor. There -remain other tendencies to assimilation on the side of Russia and of -Switzerland. The first are so problematical that they may be regarded -as a pretext rather than a claim. The second have not, up to this time, -acquired any appearance of probability, since Switzerland has had the -privilege of constituting an artificial and political nationality -out of such as are truly geographical and ethnographical, and has -gallantly resisted any encroachment, so that on this side also any -assimilation must be regarded as immature. We must not, however, forget -the homogeneity of race, if Germany should be for any cause impelled -to approach or to cross the Alps. In such a case the effects of this -homogeneity must make themselves felt. - -These tendencies are not, however, all equally active, nor have they -all the same intensity. Up to this time some of them are still latent, -and give no sign of their existence, nor are they the only factors -of the political state of Europe. Besides their tendencies to become -complete, nationalities have certain other tendencies, objects, and -ends, which may be said to be peculiar to each of them, since they -correspond with their special needs, relate to certain conditions, and -are in conformity with the mission which each State has, or thinks it -has, in the political concert of nations. - -Since, therefore, we are considering the subject from the political -point of view, as it now exists, we shall only regard those tendencies -which actually demand satisfaction, and which, therefore, constitute -an element and a factor of contemporary politics. The more important -tendencies may be reduced to few, intense in character, and wielding -mighty forces. The others may be considered as depending by those -which are greater and stronger, only differing in degree of intensity -and power. They generally take an intermediate place, and receive their -satisfaction second-hand, according to their position on the right or -wrong side in the great conflict of interests. They usually follow the -fortune of the conquered or conquering leaders. - -Russia, the dominant Slav race of the north, in addition to the desire -of assimilation with her brethren, tends towards the sun, in order to -exert an influence over the temperate zone, in which the most vital -interests of Europe are at issue. This is the popular tradition which -goes by the name of the testament of Peter the Great. Russia has -persistently and indefatigably extended her conquests in the direction -of the East. If this movement appears to be at present less decided, -it is because her want of success in the last war and last treaty has -reacted on the constitution of the empire, which is thus weakened and -hindered in its efforts at expansion. But as soon as this impulse -of internal dissatisfaction is subdued, her activity abroad will be -renewed. The man or the government which is able to lead Russia back -into her old course will solve the enigma by which she is now agitated. - -She advances towards the east from two sides—the north and west. In -the former direction she is impelled by the force of circumstances. -The only element of order amid the nomadic and barbarous peoples which -overspread the country extending from the sides of the Caucasus to the -interior of Asia, the endless controversies about frontiers enable -her to advance stealthily and insensibly, owing, as we have said, -to the very nature of things. On the western side she makes her way -deliberately, and in spite of all the obstacles opposed to her. These -are of two kinds—the resistance of the Ottoman empire; and that of -the European Powers, which are either interested in maintaining it or -desire to succeed to its territory. England stands first in the first -category, Austria in the second, if, indeed, she is not alone in the -desire to succeed to Turkey. - -Russia would have overcome the first obstacle, in spite of the -tenacity of the Ottoman policy and the bravery of the army, if it were -not complicated by the second. The great and moribund empire of Turkey -has still vitality enough to respond to the affectionate care of the -more or less interested physicians who take charge of her. - -But since 1870 the political attitude of Europe with respect to -Turkey has completely changed. Each of the three Powers which with a -somewhat elaborate disinterestedness assumed her defence in 1855 has -modified its views. Italy, to whom it was hardly more than a pretext -for inaugurating her political constitution, has attained her object -and will no longer apply herself with the same tenacity of purpose -to the maintenance of the Ottoman empire. France and England have -abandoned their office of guardians, to assume the more profitable one -of heirs—the one in Tunis, the other in Egypt. As for Russia, with -which we are now occupied, her position is also different. Now that -France has taken her share, she has no great interest in upholding the -tottering giant against whom she has directed one of the most recent -and most decisive blows; and, on the other hand, she is by no means -interested in opposing the plans of Russia or in offending her, since -she recognises in this Power the only hope of vengeance remaining to -her in the present state of things. - -England, on the other hand, who has taken her share of the succession, -wishes, if possible, to prolong the existence of the dying man, -especially since Russia is with more or less reason considered by a -certain section of public opinion in England to menace her influence -and even her possessions in the East, as well as in the West. The -influences of Russia and England are so heterogeneous, one to the -other, that whenever they come in contact, although it may be in the -distant future, it must be a reciprocal source of danger. But now that -England has secured Egypt, she has perhaps no longer the same intense -interest in the preservation of the Turkish empire by which she was -actuated in 1855. - -From 1870 onwards, a new and very important actor appeared on the -Oriental stage. Austria, repulsed by the different nationalities—by -Italy in 1859, by Germany in 1866—for the very reason that she was the -only European State which did not rely on nationality, that exclusive -and jealous factor of modern politics, has been obliged to depend on -one of those already in existence, and also to create for herself a -scope and office which might justify her own existence. She has found -these two objects fulfilled by the Oriental question. - -Since the Hapsburg dynasty found itself placed on the confines of -German nationality, and close to all the fractions of different -nationalities which the storms of past ages had thrown on the shores -of the Danube on one side, and on the Balkan peninsula on the other, -it quickly took the part of ruling all these different nationalities, -which, owing to their insignificance, could not aspire to form a -political unit, and therefore relied on the great German nationality -which was behind them. But, as we have said, this did not suffice; -another object was presented to them, dictated by the nature of -things—that is, to substitute the Mohammedans in the supremacy of -Eastern Europe, as they were incompatible with European civilisation, -and at the same time to prevent this, which is commonly called the -key of Europe, from falling into the hands of a really numerous -nationality, which would on many accounts have excited the fears of all -European interests. - -Through this act, dictated, as we have said, by the necessities of -things, Austria has found herself inextricably bound to Germany -and opposed to Russia, with whom she contests the two objects most -dear to the latter—the acquisition of the Catholic Slav races which -Austria jealously cherishes in her bosom, and her progress towards -the sun, or towards whatever obstructs her advance to the East. The -indissoluble bonds which unite the policy of Germany with that of -the Austro-Hungarian empire enable the former country to enjoy the -inestimable advantage of exerting a powerful influence on Eastern -diplomacy without, however, showing the hand which she neither could -nor would withdraw. - -Consequently, Russia finds in the German nationality upon her western -frontier a much more serious and permanent barrier than that which -was raised by the political combinations of 1855. Her development -in the East is opposed, as well as the expansion of her influence -in Europe, which is still more important. We see these two great -nationalities fatally opposed to each other by their most vital -necessities, and in the objects they most ardently desire. The wise and -prudent combinations of the statesmen of these two great countries are -applied to smooth difficulties and distract attention from these fatal -conditions; and owing to the calm temperament of these nations, and to -the discipline still maintained by their Governments, they have been -successful up to a certain point. The ancient alliance of the three -emperors has, however, already become that of two. On the one side -there is a true and serious alliance established between the two houses -of Germany and Austria; on the other, a close, warm, and probably -sincere friendship between the houses of Germany and Russia. But none -such can be firmly established between the three; and as for the two -most numerous and powerful nationalities of Europe, they may (and the -God of Peace will reward them for it) dissimulate, soften, temporise—do -everything in their power to avert too rapid or too violent a collision -of the important interests of their subjects, but they cannot change -the nature of things. The two great nationalities, Slav and German, -are essentially rivals, both in geographical position and in their -political aims. - -These considerations naturally lead us to speak of the German -nationality. - -This nationality, like all those of recent origin, desires to feel -itself secure. On the one side there is an instinctive fear of the -possible conflagrations to which the influence of their powerful -neighbor may give rise; on the other, it cannot lose sight of the -strong antagonism between Germany and France which dates from 1870. It -will for a long period be difficult to overcome this antagonism, since -it is founded on the great frontier interests which have been contested -on both sides. As long as France is deprived of her traditional -frontier she will never feel herself secure, and if it were surrendered -by Germany, she would lose all the fruits of her loss and bloodshed in -1870. Even if it were only a contest for influence and supremacy, it -is not in the French nature to submit to defeat without feeling from -time to time the desire for revenge. This impulse alone in so excitable -a nation is enough to keep Germany watchful in this direction. -Certainly such an occurrence is not at present either certain or -threatening, but it is always possible that their two formidable -neighbors may combine, and this would re-act also on the different -nationalities which compose the Austro-Hungarian empire. It is this -danger which keeps the German nation in an indefinite and indefinable -state of uneasiness, to her own economical ruin, as well as to that of -all the European States which are compelled to imitate her. - -To this feeling of uneasiness must be referred the feverish activity of -the Imperial _Cabinet_, who never ceases to make and unmake plans and -combinations, dominated by the single idea which was cherished by the -rival nationality of France from the time of Louis the Fourteenth to -that of Thiers—namely, to keep all Europe in a divided state. This is -not only in order to carry out the famous maxim, _Divide et impera_, -but because among all the possible combinations, some might be, if not -fatal, yet dangerous to the existence of Germany. - -This possibly was foreseen in 1870, and it is known that lengthy -negotiations secured the neutrality of Russia in that war. The -concessions made to Russia in the East were part of the price of that -neutrality, and chief among these was the revision of the Treaty of -Paris. - -It was readily believed that the opportunity of securing predominance -in Europe, for which Germany had been so elaborately prepared, and -which a chance unlikely to occur twice in the lifetime of peoples so -liberally offered her, would not be let slip by the German Government. -The war with France has been justly called a Punic War, or a deadly -strife for supremacy in Europe. And therefore the second Punic War was -looked for in a period in which it should not be possible for Russia -to intervene. According to the plan by which the Roman Horatius fought -with his rivals one by one, it seemed that the dominion, if not of the -world, at any rate of Europe, was secured to Germany. - -This opinion was confirmed, inasmuch as the first question which arose -after 1870 was the Eastern question. The part taken by Germany is -well known, and certainly the peace was concluded at Berlin, where -the Treaty of San Stefano, which had secured to Russia the price of -her action, was cancelled. Russia issued from the struggle seriously -shaken, nor has she yet recovered from the shock. The Russian nation, -deluded in its most cherished expectations, has been given up to a -state of discontent which it is not necessary to study in its forms but -in its essence. The people are conscious of having been misdirected in -their course, and are displeased with whoever has failed to interpret -their wishes. - -It seemed as if this might have been the moment for a second war with -France, and especially since it was unlikely that Russia would forget, -when her strength returned, the _auto da fé_ made at Berlin of the -Treaty of San Stefano. To this end all the manœuvres of the Berlin -Cabinet seem to have tended, as if the powerful hand of the German -Chancellor had only been exerted to effect its conclusion. - -The mountain did not, however, bring forth a mouse but a _canard_, for -such it must appear to our calmer judgment, in the unexpected rumor -of a Franco-German alliance. We are not now in a position to examine -the reasons of this abortive birth. It only concerns us to show that -when the hypothesis of this solution was overthrown by the power so -ably and opportunely exerted, the question was reproduced to the -German nation in its integrity. Placed between and in collision with -the interests of two great nationalities, the one consisting of nearly -sixty and the other of forty million inhabitants, Germany was still -uneasy and insecure. Her people are, however, strictly disciplined, -trained for conflict, and of a naturally brave temperament, and all -means have been used to develop this quality in them. We know that when -men conscious of strength are uncomfortable or of evil humor they soon -try to mend their condition, and that they expend their wrath on some -thing or person until they have regained security and calmness. This -constitutes one of the most serious questions now presented to Europe, -and whence issues much of the uncertainty and dangers which menace its -peace. - -The Chancellor, with the ability and diplomatic genius which no one -can dispute that he possesses, involves this phantasm in all sorts of -wrappings, with the double aim of appeasing it and of rendering it less -alarming to Europe. He expends all the energy which was accumulated in -the violent struggle in diplomatic combinations. Hence the friendly -relations with Russia have continually become closer; hence the triple -alliance again, the courteous treatment of Spain, the favorable -recognition of the French occupation of Tunis, so acceptable to France, -although received with dissatisfaction by Italy; hence also the English -occupation of Egypt was not opposed by Germany from the first, while -it was very displeasing to France. All this incessant activity of -German diplomacy, which appeared to be ably directed, and very probably -really was so directed, to procure the isolation of France, was on -that account supposed to lead the way to a second Franco-German war. -But at the present it should rather be regarded as a long succession -of manœuvres and a complicated diplomatic strategy, which had lost -sight of its immediate object and had for the time no other interests -than those which the episodes of this grave question present to the -curiosity of all Europe—a question of which the issue is so uncertain -and indefinite that at the moment when the object in view appeared -to be obtained in the complete isolation of France, we hear of a -Franco-German alliance. Incredible as it may appear, this is the fact. -The alliance is spoken of, and this is enough to show that everything -is possible in the state of tension in which things are in Central -Europe. - -The sudden transition from a state of mortal war to that of an alliance -might have been contemplated in the political exigencies of the times -of Cardinal Richelieu—that is, when foreign politics were of a kind of -sacerdotalism, only transacted by Cabinets, on which public opinion -exercised little or no influence. But it is difficult to believe, in -the present state and exigencies of public opinion, and especially in -France, that it would be easy or possible to stifle in a diplomatic -combination, however able and useful, the memories of Metz and Sedan, -the loss of the Rhine Provinces and the occupation of Paris. - -Such an opinion may be to some extent accepted by the victors, but -not by those on whom the burden of the war of 1870 fell. We mean by -this that when such combinations are contemplated and the attempt -is made to carry them into effect, they will not change the actual -state of things. The rivalry, incompatibility, and rancours produced -by interests which are different and in many cases opposed to each -other in two neighboring and powerful nations, may be subdued for a -while, but they must sooner or later revive until the question is -substantially resolved by the triumph of one side or the other. It is -precisely because she has been unwilling or unable to resolve it, that -Germany remains in this condition of profound disquietude—a condition -which has taken no certain and definite direction, but which is -pregnant with possible dangers for the rest of Europe. - -We have said that the movement has not yet taken a definite direction, -but not that its tendency does not begin to declare itself. While -setting aside for a little and adjourning to a more or less distant -future the question of its own safety, the German nation, in common -with others, has certain objects in view beyond that of mere existence; -it has natural aspirations which give a purpose to life. We have said -that the Slav races of Russia are drawn towards the sun, and the -Germans are as strongly attracted towards the sea. - -The people of Germany are very poor, owing to the natural conditions -of the soil and climate, poor also owing to compulsory military -service, to which, however, they willingly submit for the sake of -their national existence. If a strong people does not long tolerate an -uneasy condition, neither can it tolerate poverty. One which is strong -and poor is a dangerous neighbor to richer peoples. Now, from whatever -side we cross the German frontier, we are struck by the prosperity -and riches of the neighboring nations, whether agricultural, -manufacturing, or mercantile. The only advertisement posted up in every -German village is the name of the company, battalion, and regiment -to which it belongs, instead of the numerous advertisements which we -find in similar villages of Belgium, France, and Holland, announcing -transactions of trade, commerce, and manufactures. When we see the poor -and humble villages which are thus classified, we might say that the -German nation is merely encamped in the midst of Europe. - -In the present conditions of Europe, and precisely on account of -the nationalities to which the credit must be given, territorial -acquisitions among neighbors and the subjection of one people to -another have become hardly possible except in a few limited cases which -cannot enter the mind of any statesman as having any large significance -in the political future. Since European nations can no longer, as of -old, obtain expansion at the expense of one another, they now seek for -it in distant lands, amid lower civilisations and in societies which -are less firmly constituted. This is done not only by conquest, but by -colonisation and commercial establishments of every kind, which assure -influence, and still more riches and prosperity to their founders. For -this end, it is important that a nation should have easy access to -the sea. The German nation is eminently continental and has only an -inconsiderable extent of seaboard. Hence Germany has need of the sea, -and this tendency attracts her equally towards the north and east of -Europe. This has probably influenced her policy in the late Eastern -war, and this subsidiary necessity is the complement of the more -important need of securing her own safety which has been the object -of the policy of the German Chancellor in its varying transitions. It -agrees with the colonising tendencies which have come openly to a head -within the last few months. - -We have thus briefly indicated the tendencies of two among the -principal nationalities. France comes next in importance, and since -she is in fact the most ancient, so that her customs and interests are -firmly welded in spite of all her misfortunes, she need not greatly -concern herself about the fact of her existence. It would be difficult -to make any breach in the unity of France, since the traces of her -ancient divisions no longer exist. Her external borders may be enlarged -or restricted wherever the popular characteristics are less marked, or -even ambiguous, so that their affections and interests may oscillate -towards neighborly nations. But the great nucleus of the people has -no fear of being other than it is, and this is not now the source of -agitation in France. It is precisely because she has long been secure -in the enjoyment and free exercise of all her faculties as a nation -that her tendencies are more clearly and explicitly displayed. - -Unfortunately these tendencies are towards domination and empire as the -scope and means of her prosperity. As soon as France was constituted -into a nation, or from the Revolution onwards, her history is only a -history of aggressions which nothing but superior force from without -and exhaustion within could arrest. The necessity of expansion by -warlike means is so intense in the French nation that she is hardly -subjected to foreign compulsion before there is an outbreak of internal -disturbances. France, conquered in 1815, only remained quiet until she -had recovered strength. The blood hardly begins to circulate in her -veins when she either overthrows her Government or makes war on foreign -Powers. The dilemma imposed like an incubus on all the rulers of France -for the last hundred years issues in this—either war or revolution. - -The present Government, instinctively conscious of this state of -things, and not feeling strong enough to make war on its more powerful -neighbors lest it should be ruined in its turn, has invented a -diversion by transposing the problem—waging war in Asia and Africa, -and carrying fire and flames into all parts of the world which could -offer no resistance. The first idea of this policy must be ascribed -to Louis Philippe, who owed the tranquillity of the early years of -his reign to the conquest of Algeria. Other European nations have -undertaken colonisation or conquest of distant lands with reference to -their material prosperity, but conquest has been the primary object of -France. Economic views take a secondary place, out of proportion with -the scale of the enterprise, and are, indeed, rather a pretext. This -constitutional restlessness of France, which is only arrested by force, -has long constituted one of the gravest perils which threaten the peace -of Europe. - -Italy, as well as Germany, feels the need of security, and this common -need has, since 1870, united the interests of the two countries. There -are insuperable obstacles in the tendency natural to all nationalities -to absorb unconsciously the congenial elements of other States. The -only symptoms of this tendency have been displayed on the side of -Austria, which is not herself a nation, but those who so improvidently -in any respect promoted it were also perhaps not aware that behind -Austria stands Germany, and that Trieste on the Adriatic corresponds to -that nation’s tendency towards the sea. But as far as her own existence -is concerned, Italy is irrevocably bound to all the combinations which -may secure her, and is the irreconcilable enemy of all those who -threaten her. - -The path of Greece is equally barred by Austria and Russia, nor has she -much hope of making way against these two great Powers, unless their -antagonism can nourish such hopes. - -We have reserved England to the last, because her political condition -as it concerns her nationality is altogether distinct from those -with which we have been hitherto occupied. If by nationality we -mean homogeneous characteristics of race, a similarity in language, -religion, and customs, the Anglo-Saxon nationality extends beyond -the United Kingdom into both hemispheres. If, on the other hand, -we regard the United Kingdom as an actual political unit, we find -that it is composed of different races, in which are included the -English, Scotch, and Irish, which have nothing in common with each -other but their official language. And yet, while the English nation -has for good reasons never posed, morally speaking, as the champion -of nationalities, she presides over the most cultured, numerous, and -energetic nationality in the world. But the Anglo-Saxon nationality -does not need nor desire, and indeed is unable, to be a political -unit. It may be said that the Anglo-Saxon race has passed through -the historical period of a nationality without observing it. It has -advanced beyond this period to attain to the ideal of a civilisation -forming whole parts of the world, in which only one language is spoken, -in which we find the same customs, interests, and religion, or, at any -rate, the faculty of accepting, each man for himself, what seems good -to him, without allowing this diversity to produce, either in theory or -practice, a distinction which has any political efficacy. - -In those parts of the world there are not five or six groups of men -which look askance at each other with a hostile air, and which, because -they speak a different language, have a different history and religion, -believe themselves to be justified as a matter of duty and honor in -exterminating each other two or three times in a century. Because a -scrap of ground belongs to one set of people, does not that appear to -be a sufficient reason to the others to maintain millions of armed men -trained for their reciprocal destruction? Geographical degrees do not -suffice to create different and conflicting interests which may justify -them in mutual injuries, and in inflicting on one another the long -series of small and great miseries which begin with protracted wars and -fiscal duties and end in the imposition of quarantine. - -This fact gives to the English people, which represents that -nationality in Europe, an exceptional power and authority. The English -people may become decadent as an European Power, but as a nationality -it will be unmenaced, since it does not represent a limited political -unit, but the half of the world. If the German nationality should -ever be baffled in the political combination made since 1870, she -would lose her political importance in the world. But if Britain were -attacked and conquered, the Anglo-Saxon nationality would still remain -the greatest political power in the universe. Hence this nationality -or race is exalted above all the narrow sentiments which underlie the -policy of the different European States; but England herself as a State -and political unit is jealous of the power which has in less than two -centuries produced the miraculous development of the Anglo-Saxon race -to its present extent; but if this jealousy is shown by the legitimate -defence of a greatness achieved by what was, comparatively speaking, -a handful of men from a remote island in the Atlantic, it does not -express itself in the palpitations of a whole people struggling for -their existence, which is the case with continental nations. - -It follows from her exceptional circumstances that the aims of England -in Europe are few, and different from those of other States, and that -her policy has gradually become more disinterested in the contests -which divide continental Europe. She has witnessed the supremacy of -France, as she now witnesses the supremacy of Germany; she has watched -the rise of Italy and the decline of the Mussulman empire, to which -she formerly appeared so warmly attached, and it has not affected -her political position. The political vicissitudes of this half of -the century have disturbed the balance of all the States of Europe, -while England has during the same half century pursued her unalterable -course through all these changes, not only without adopting compulsory -service, but also without adopting conscription, and with an army which -a continental Power would scarcely consider sufficient for a grand -review. One point, however, England holds it necessary for her honor -and interests to maintain—namely, her maritime supremacy and the free -action of her eminently commercial people, in order to carry on her -mission of civilisation, which is at once noble and lucrative. She will -strive for this object with her last penny and with the last drop of -her blood, and it is on this side only that the English nation takes -its place as a great factor in European politics. She will strive for -this object with her accumulated materials of character, power, and -wealth, and at all events she will for a long time strive with the -success and efficacy which no one can deny that she possesses. But with -this exception her points of contact with Europe are few, and there -is little probability of friction since her object is remote. Instead -of striving for her nationality in Europe, she carries on without a -conflict the advance of civilisation throughout the world. - -But she cannot, we have said, be indifferent to any attacks on her -maritime supremacy, nor to the serious rivalry with her colonial -policy displayed by the European States. For this reason, and with -a recollection of all which the continental blockade cost her, she -regards with displeasure the excessive preponderance of any one of the -great European Powers. England consists of a belly and brain nourished -by scattered members which include in their manifold organism all -parts of the world. If any one member is severed or paralysed, the -blow is felt in the centre. The inclination to found colonies aroused -in different European nationalities, which is, indeed, the necessary -consequence of their development, naturally interests England in the -highest degree, nor can the cases be rare when these new aspirations -must be checked by the appearance of the British flag. - -We have now indicated all the perils and difficulties which threaten -the peace of Europe under the present political conditions that come -from the principles established with so much difficulty by philosophers -who were actuated by humanitarian motives, and who inscribed on the -banner which floated above the ancient citadel of their cherished -theories, the magic word “Fraternity.” - -On their banner there was also inscribed “Equality,” which would -lead me to speak of socialism, if space allowed it: as in Europe the -progress in social questions has not been more fortunate. And just as -monarchy had hardly been called in question before it was face to face -with the republic, so the rights of property have hardly been discussed -before riches and poverty are confronted, and the whole problem of the -distribution of wealth rises again like a phantom before society. But -this article has already reached such a length that I must postpone -to a future occasion the treatment of that important and extensive -subject. What I have said, however, is quite enough to show that if in -Europe the present state of opinion on these subjects should not be -modified, national wars as well as civil wars could eventually carry us -at least through a temporary period of barbarism. - -Yet we do not believe that we should lose confidence in progress, and -repudiate it in order to revert to the old state of things, nor yet -that the principles and ideas of which we have spoken are not really -progressive. Progress is a law of humanity which, if it were not, as it -undoubtedly is, beneficial, must be fatal to it; and it is certainly a -mark of progress that community of language, customs, and tendencies is -regarded as a reason for political union rather than certain arbitrary -or fortuitous combinations of successions, treaties, conquests, and -the like. Above all, it is well to have substituted the right of good -government for that which is merely arbitrary. We must again regard as -progressive some of the modifications introduced in the laws relating -to property. I say some of them, since it was perhaps dangerous to -shake prematurely the foundations of the systems by which it has been -ordered up to this time, when those which are to replace them are still -imperfect and untried. - -But a long process of moral discipline is required, which may by -instruction modify the ideas about the two great modern conceptions of -politics and society. - -Besides, and in the meantime as a compensation, our gentler customs, -a real progress in the education of sentiments and general culture, -greatly neutralise the effect of this violent state of things. After -the Russian has made a long tirade on the future of the Slav race, he -sets out for the Rhine or Paris, and forgets the mystical and obscure -visions of Holy Russia in the genuine pleasures of civilisation. When -the German lays aside his deadly arms in order to re-enter civic -life, his prejudices against the Latin race often fade before the -amenity of a Frenchman and the glorious sun of Italy. Undoubtedly the -multiplicity, the facility and gentleness of intercourse produced by -modern civilisation, are of great efficacy in paralysing the effects of -national antagonism and of social hatreds, but our watchfulness must -not therefore relax. But, notwithstanding all these considerations, -we persist in believing that until European opinion is modified on -these important subjects, European policy must always take account of -them, constantly on the watch lest she should be surprised by wars and -unforeseen catastrophes, which would compromise the long and laborious -work of her refined civilisation. - -As long as nationalities are compelled to be rivals, it is necessary -to find some compensation for this rivalry. The ancient system of -the balance and equilibrium of power, which has seemed to be old -and disused armour, was perhaps never more opportune than now. If a -general confederation after the American manner seems visionary, as -opposed to the actual state of things in Europe, it might be practical -and efficacious to substitute this system of equilibrium for partial -alliance, and to establish the political balance of Europe in a normal -position. But it is necessary that this work should be effected in -time, before the preponderance of different Powers should become more -marked, and especially before the ambitions and greed which are now -upon the surface should strike deeply into the basis of international -policy. A well-planned system of approximating those elements which -are in any sense homogeneous or guided by common interests would tend -to secure peace and strengthen governments, and would at the same time -keep in check the social discontent which is nourished by political -dissensions, gathers strength from the uncertainty and weakness of our -present institutions, and triumphs in our misfortunes. - -Here we must break off on the brink of conclusions and remedies. A few -words will not suffice to sum up the moral of this long dissertation, -nor was it our intention to do so either in few words or many. The -question is too large for solution in the pages of a Review. - -It simply appeared to be an opportune moment for pointing out the -singular situation created by the progress of modern ideas, and to -indicate the dangers involved in it. - -We do not wish to exaggerate these dangers, and have ourselves pointed -out that modern civilisation also includes their correctives, and that -they do not imply the end of all things, nor that another flood of -Deucalion is needed to renovate the human race from its very beginnings. - -But precisely because European civilisation is so elaborate and -complex, it would be an error to suppose that catastrophic causes are -needed in order seriously to affect the conditions of our comparative -civility. Feudal and tyrannical wars took place in barren lands, -amid rude castles and squalid villages; those which are national and -social must be fought out amidst gardens and the monuments of art -and manufacture. The last wars recorded by history had Lombardy and -Champagne as their theatre, or were fought in the streets of Paris. -Any of the tendencies indicated by us in the foregoing considerations -which should terminate in a conflict would take place under analogous -conditions and in the same degree of civilisation which, while it might -mitigate the modes of warfare, must make its effects more grievous. And -the same ambition to possess distant countries which are more or less -civilised may also be equally full of danger to commerce, international -relations, the peace of Europe, and the interests of civilisation. - -The privileged rules of the policy of the old world imposed upon -themselves a limit to excessive power, and used the saying, _Noblesse -oblige_. A new motto might be proposed to the builders and destroyers -of Governments in our day, which would be equally noble and might be -more fertile of results—_Progrès oblige_.—_Nineteenth Century._ - - - - -ORGANIC NATURE’S RIDDLE. - -BY ST. GEORGE MIVART. - - -Amongst the many sagacious sayings of the patient and profound thinkers -of Germany, not the least noteworthy was Schelling’s affirmation -that the phenomena of instinct are some of the most important of all -phenomena, and capable of serving as a very touch-stone whereby the -value of competing theories of the universe may be effectually tested. -His prescience has been justified by our experience. The greatest -scientific event of the present time is the wide acceptance of the -theory of evolution, and its use as a weapon of offence and defence. -It is used both against the belief that intelligent purpose is, as it -were, incarnate in the living world about us, and also in favor of -a merely mechanical theory of nature. Now it would be difficult to -find a more searching test of that theory’s truth than is supplied -by a careful study of instinct. The essence of that view of nature -which is associated with the name of Professor Haeckel,[1] a negation -of the doctrine of final causes and an assertion of what he calls -“Dysteleology,” that is, the doctrine of the purposelessness of the -organs and organisms which people a purposeless planet. That doctrine -may be called the gospel of the irrationality of the universe, and it -is a doctrine to which a proof of the real existence of such a thing -as “instinct” must necessarily be fatal. Instinct has been defined[2] -as a “special internal impulse, urging animals to the performance of -certain actions which are useful to them or to their kind, but the -use of which they do not themselves perceive, and their performance -of which is a necessary consequence of their being placed in certain -circumstances.” Such an impulse is always understood to be the result -of sensations: actions which take place in response to _unfelt_ -stimuli being referred, not to instinct, but to what is termed _reflex -action_. In such action it is commonly supposed that the mechanism of -a living body occasions a prompt responsive muscular movement upon -the occurrence of some unfelt stimulation of the nervous system. The -nervous system, or total mass of nerve-stuff—which is technically -called “nerve-tissue”—in the body of an animal, such as a beast, bird, -reptile, or fish, is composed of two parts or divisions. One of these -divisions consists of a voluminous and continuous mass—the brain and -spinal cord (or spinal marrow), which form what is called the central -part of the nervous system. The second division consists of a multitude -of white threads or cords—the nerves, which form what is called the -peripheral part of the nervous system. Of these nerves one set proceed -forth from the central part of the nervous system to the different -muscles, which they can cause to contract by a peculiar action they -exert upon them, thus producing motion. Another set of nerves proceed -inwards, from the skin to the central part of the nervous system, and -by their peculiar action give rise to various sensations, according as -different influences or stimulations are brought to bear upon the skin -at, or in the vicinity of, their peripheral extremities. Under ordinary -circumstances, different stimulations of the surface of the body convey -an influence inwards, which produces sensation, and give rise to an -outwardly proceeding influence to the muscles, resulting in definite -and appropriate motions. - - [1] It is often associated unfairly with the illustrious name of - the late Mr. Darwin. His special views lend themselves indeed to - Haeckelianism, and have been pressed into its service; yet they are by - no means to be identified therewith. As Professor Huxley has pointed - out with his usual lucidity and force, Darwin’s theory can be made to - accord with the most thoroughgoing teleology. - - [2] See Todd’s _Cyclopædia of Anatomy and Physiology_, vol. iii. p. 3. - -There are cases in which responsive actions take place under very -abnormal conditions—as after a rupture of part of a man’s spinal -cord, or the removal of the whole brain in lower animals, such as the -frog. A man so injured may have utterly lost the power of feeling -any stimulation—pricking, cutting, or burning—of his legs and feet, -the injury preventing the conveyance upwards to the brain of the -influence necessary to ordinary sensation, and stopping short at the -spinal cord below the point of injury. Nevertheless, such a man may -execute movements in response to stimuli just as if he did feel, and -often in an exaggerated manner. He will withdraw his foot if tickled -with a feather just as if he felt the tickling, which he is utterly -incapable of feeling. Similarly a decapitated frog will make with his -hind legs the most appropriate movements to remove any irritating -object applied to the hinder part of its body. Such action is termed -“reflex action,” on the supposition that the influence conveyed inwards -by nerves going from the skin to the spinal cord is reflected back -from that cord to the muscles by the other set of nerves without any -intervention of sensation. This action of the frog may be carried to -a very singular extreme. At the breeding season the male frog tightly -grasps the female behind her arms, and to enable him the more securely -to maintain his hold, a warty prominence is then developed on the inner -side of each of his hands. Now if such a male frog be taken, and not -only decapitated, but the whole hinder part of the body removed also, -so that nothing remains but the fragment of the trunk from which the -two arms with their nerves proceed, and if under these circumstances -the warty prominences be touched, the two arms will immediately -close together like a spring, thus affording a most perfect example -of reflex action. It has been objected by the late Mr. G. H. Lewes -and others that we cannot be sure but that the spinal cord itself -“feels.” But there is often an ambiguity in the use of the term “to -feel.” By it we ordinarily mean a “modification of consciousness;” but -experiences such as those just adverted to, and others in ourselves to -which I shall next advert, show clearly that surrounding agents may -act upon our sense organs without the intervention of anything like -consciousness, and yet produce effects otherwise similar to those which -occur when they do arouse consciousness. Without, then, entering into -any discussion as to whether “sentiency” may or may not be attributed -to the spinal cord, it seems evident that some definite term is -required to denote such affections or modifications of living beings as -those just referred to. Inasmuch as they are affections of creatures -possessing a nervous system, which is the essential organ of sensation, -and as they resemble sensation in their causes and effects though -feeling itself may be absent, they may be provisionally distinguished -as “unfelt sensations.” Such are some of the actions with which -instinct is contrasted, because, unlike instinct, they are not carried -on by the aid of felt sensations, the highest of such insentient action -being reflex action. - -There are also a number of actions which constantly recur in -ourselves, which more or less nearly approximate to reflex action. -Thus the respiratory movements, the various muscular motions by the -aid of which we breathe, are ordinarily performed by us without -advertence, though we can, if we will, perform them with self-conscious -deliberation. It is well also to note that when our mind is entirely -directed upon some external object, or when we are almost in a -state of somnolent unconsciousness, we have but a vague feeling of -our existence—a feeling resulting from the unobserved synthesis -of our sensations of all orders and degrees. This unintellectual -sense of “self” may be conveniently distinguished from intellectual -consciousness as “consentience.” We may also, as everybody knows, -suddenly recollect sights or sounds which were quite unnoticed at the -time we experienced them; yet our very recollection of them proves -that they must, nevertheless, have affected our sensorium. Such -unnoticed modifications of our sense organs may also be provisionally -included in the category of those actions of the lower animals, before -provisionally denominated “unfelt sensations.” It is not, however, with -such inferior activities as reflex and other insentient actions that -instinct is commonly contrasted, but with “reason.” Now “reasonable,” -“consciously intelligent”conduct is understood by all men to mean -conduct in which there is a more or less wise adaptation of means to -ends—a conscious, deliberate adaptation, not one due to accident only. -No one would call an act done blindly a reasonable or intelligent -action on the part of him who did it, however fortunate might be its -result. Instinctive actions, then, hold a middle place between (1) -those which are rational, or truly intelligent, and (2) those in which -sensation has no place. But a great variety of actions of different -kinds occupy this intermediate position, and we must next proceed to -separate off from the others, such actions as may be deemed _truly_ -instinctive. - -M. Albert Lemoine, who has written the best treatise[3] known to us on -instinct and habit, distinguishes instinctive actions as those which -are neither due to mechanical or chemical causes, nor to intelligence, -experience, or will. They are actions which take place with a general -fixity and precision, are generally present in all the individuals of -each species, and can be perfectly performed the very first time their -action is called for, so that they cannot be due to habit. Instinct, he -very truly says, is more than a want and less than a desire. Instinct -is a certain felt internal stimulus to definite actions which has its -foundation in a certain sense of want, but is not definite feeling of -want of the particular end to be attained. Were that recognised, it -would not be _instinct_, but _desire_. It is but a vague craving to -exercise certain activities the exercise of which conduces to useful -or needful, but unforeseen, end. Instinct often sets in motion organs -quite different from those which feel the prick of want, and which -do not (experience apart) seem to have relation with it. Hunger does -not stimulate to action the organs of digestion which suffer from it, -but excites the limbs and jaws to perform acts by which food may be -obtained and eaten. In examining into instinct, we must be careful not -to omit the consideration of it as it exists in man, since we can know -no creature so well as we can, by the help of language and reflection, -know ourselves and our own species. Nevertheless, it may be well to -begin by calling attention to certain apparently undeniable cases of -instinct in other animals, since in them instinct is much more apparent -and complex than in man, in whom it is indeed reduced to a minimum. -It might naturally be expected to be so reduced in him—if it is a -power serving to bridge over the gulf which exists between such almost -mechanical action as reflex action, and true intelligence—since in -man acts of intelligence, or habits originated through intelligence, -come so constantly into play. But before enumerating cases of animal -instinct, a word should be said as to one character which M. Lemoine -attributes to instinctive action, namely, “consciousness,” This term -is an exceedingly ambiguous one, as it is often referred, not only -to our distinct intellectual perception of our own being and acts, -but also to every state of feeling however rudimentary it may be. I -would therefore avoid the use of so equivocal a term, while fully -admitting that no sensation in any animal is possible without some -subjective psychical state analogous to what I have before denominated -“consentience.” Now, as to the lower animals: birds unquestionably -possess instinctive powers. Chickens, two minutes after they have left -the egg,[4] will follow with their eyes the movements of crawling -insects, and peck at them, judging distance and direction with almost -infallible accuracy. They will instinctively appreciate sounds, readily -running towards an invisible hen hidden in a box, when they hear her -“call.” Some young birds, also, have an innate, instinctive horror of -the sight of a hawk and of the sound of its voice. Swallows, titmice, -tomtits, and wrens, after having been confined from birth, are capable -of flying successfully at once, when liberated, on their wings having -attained the necessary growth to render flight possible. The Duke of -Argyll[5] relates some very interesting particulars about the instincts -of birds, especially of the water ousel, the merganser, and the wild -duck. Even as to the class of beasts I find recorded:[6] “Five young -polecats were found comfortably embedded in dry withered grass; and -in a side hole, of proper dimensions for such a larder, were forty -frogs and two toads, all alive, but merely capable of sprawling a -little. On examination the whole number, toads and all, proved to have -been purposely and dexterously bitten through the brain.” Evidently -the parent polecat had thus provided the young with food which could -be kept perfectly fresh, because alive, and yet was rendered quite -unable to escape. This singular instinct is like others which are yet -more fully developed amongst insects—a class of animals the instincts -of which are so numerous, wonderful, and notorious that it will be, -probably, enough to refer to one or two examples. The female carpenter -bee, in order to protect her eggs, excavates, in some piece of wood, -a series of chambers, in special order with a view to a peculiar mode -of exit for her young: but the young mother can have no conscious -knowledge of the series of actions subsequently to ensue. The female -of the wasp, _sphex_, affords another well-known but very remarkable -example of a complex instinct closely related to that already mentioned -in the case of the polecat. The female wasp has to provide fresh, -living animal food for her progeny, which, when it quits its egg, -quits it in the form of an almost helpless grub, utterly unable to -catch, retain, or kill an active, struggling prey. Accordingly the -mother insect has only to provide and place beside her eggs suitable -living prey, but so to treat it that it may be a helpless, unresisting -victim. That victim may be a mere caterpillar, or it may be a great, -powerful grasshopper, or even that most fierce, active, and rapacious -of insect tyrants, a fell and venomous spider. Whichever it may be, the -wasp adroitly stings it at the spot which induces, or in the several -spots which induce, complete paralysis as to motion, let us hope as to -sensation also. This done, the wasp entombs the helpless being with -its own egg, and leaves it for the support of the future grub. Another -species feeds her young one from time to time with fresh food, visiting -at suitable intervals the nest she has made and carefully covered -and concealed with earth, which she removes and replaces, as far as -necessary, at each visit. If the opening be made ready for her, this, -instead of helping her to get at her young, altogether puzzles her, and -she no longer seems to recognise her young, thus showing how thoroughly -“instinctive” her proceedings are. Other instances of instinct, such as -those of the stag-beetle and emperor moth, I will refer to presently. -But most wonderful, perhaps, of all are the instincts of social -insects, such as bees, where there are not only males and females, but -a large population of practically neuter insects, the special instincts -and peculiarities of which have of course to be transmitted, not -directly by an antecedent set of neuter animals, but by females, the -instincts and peculiarities of which are very different from those of -the neutral portion of their progeny. - - [3] _L’Habitude et l’Instinct._ Baillière. Paris. 1875. - - [4] As Mr. Spalding has shown. To him I am indebted for the other - facts about young birds given in the text. - - [5] _The Unity of Nature_, chap. iii. - - [6] See _Magazine of Natural History_, vol. iv. p. 206. - -The instincts we have hitherto noticed, and, I may say briefly, the -instincts of animals generally, are destined to subserve two functions, -(1) the preservation and, mainly, the nutrition, of the individual, -and (2) the reproduction of the species. Armed with the facts we have -now noticed, let us turn to consider instinct as it displays itself in -ourselves. As one example, there is the instinct action by which an -infant first sucks the nipple, and then swallows the thence-extracted -nourishment with which its mouth is filled. This action must be -reckoned as instinctive, because it is done directly after birth, when -there has been no time for learning to perform the action; it is one -absolutely necessary for the life of the infant; it is an action which -is definite and precise, similarly performed by all the individuals -of the species, though effected by a very complex mechanism, and is -effected prior to experience. Yet it is not as mechanical as reflex -action, for not only sensation, but consentience, accompanies the act. -Thus sucking in man is an instinctive action, while spitting, on the -other hand, is an art. The latter is not necessary to life, and the -power of performing it is slowly acquired by experience, as are also -our powers of walking and feeding ourselves. But the action of sucking -in an adult human being is of course not instinctive; and because the -child learns to walk, it by no means follows that the insect learns to -fly. It is thus plain that actions may be instinctive in one animal and -not in another; or at one period of life in the same animal and not -at another. In a child, however, sucking, deglutition, inspiration, -and expiration are instinctive actions, as are also those by which -the products of excretion are removed from the body. The second class -of instincts, those which ensure the continuance of the race, show -themselves of course, only much later. Yet, long before the little girl -can represent to herself future tributes to her charms, she seeks to -decorate her tiny body with the arts of infant coquetry. Still less -does she look forward to the pains and pleasures of maternity when she -begins to caress and chastise, to soothe and cherish, her first doll, -and fondly presses it to that region whence her future offspring will -draw its nourishment. Again, when the lapse of a few years having made -her a young woman and the boy a youth, they first feel the influence -of love, however ignorant they may be of the physiology of their -race, they will none the less, circumstances permitting, be surely -impelled towards the performance of very definite actions. In the more -refined individuals of the highest races of mankind, the material, -merely animal, consummation of sexual love is most certainly far from -being the one great end distinctly looked forward to by each pair of -lovers. Yet every incident of affectionate intercourse, every tender -glance, every contact of hand or lip, infallibly leads on towards the -one useful end, indispensable to the race, which nature has in view. -Such actions fully merit to be called “instinctive.” Indeed the act of -generation is ministered to in nature by the most manifold, imperious, -general, and inexplicable of all the instincts, and its instinctive -character is the most strongly marked of all. It has emphatically for -its origin a rigorously determined and precise want, partly painful, -partly pleasurable—a mixture of a feeling of privation with a sense of -power. Its end is unknown to the agent, or if known is disregarded, and -in almost all animals it demands the concurrent and reciprocal action -of two diverse organisms. If anyone would deny that it is instinctive -in man, I would advise him to study the sad phenomena connected -therewith which may be observed in our asylums for the insane. - -There are other human actions which are sometimes reckoned as -instinctive, such as guarding the eye against injury by suddenly -closing the eyelids. This action, however, appears to be an acquired -art, though the habitual act of winking to keep clean the surface of -the eye may be instinctive. Some other actions, however, not generally -regarded as instinctive, I should be disposed so to regard. Such -are the first _active_ exercises of the senses of seeing, hearing, -smelling, tasting, and feeling (the first “looking,” the first -“listening,” etc.) which the child performs at the very beginning of -its learning to perform them. It would seem, then, as if no one could -deny the existence of such a thing as instinct, and yet it has been -denied, not only in recent times, but centuries ago. Thus Montaigne -sought to explain instinct as but a form of intelligence, while -Descartes taught that it was but mechanism. Condillac regarded it as -the result of individual experience, and Lemarck considered it to be -merely “habit” which had become hereditary. In our own day Darwin has -sought to explain it as partly the result of accidental variations -of activity, which variations have become naturally selected, and -partly the result of intelligent, purposive action which has become -habitual and inherited. Let us consider these attempts at explanation -seriatim. First as to mechanism: This is an hypothesis no one at -present entertains, as everyone now credits animals with sensitivity. -Moreover, instincts are not absolutely invariable, but are modifiable -according to the degree of “intelligence” which animals possess. They -cannot, therefore, be due merely to a mechanism. The attempt to explain -“Instinct” by mere “reflex action” is equivalent to an attempt to -explain a phenomenon by omitting its most striking characteristic. In -“reflex action” we have a sudden response to a stimulus, which response -is more or less purposive as regards the time of its occurrence, but -has no reference to future events to occur long after the faintest -waves of the stimulating action have died out. The very essence of -“instinct,” however, _is_ to provide for a more or less distant future, -often, as we have seen, the future of another generation. It is -essentially _telic_, and directed to a future unforeseen, but generally -useful, end. This explanation, then, is fundamentally and necessarily -inadequate. It is like an explanation of the building of a house, by -“bricks, mortar, bricklayers, and hodmen,” with the omission of all -reference to any influence governing their motions and directing them -towards a common and predetermined end which is not theirs. But though -we cannot _explain_ “instinct” by “reflex action,” there is none the -less a certain obvious affinity between these two forms of animal -activity, and it is in part my object to point out the nature of this -very affinity. - -Next we may pass in review the two hypotheses that instinct is but -(1) a form of intelligence, or (2) individual experience. As to the -first, I have already given instances of unquestionably instinctive -actions performed by birds as soon as they quit the eggshell, and it -would be but waste of time to argue against the view that the human -infant is guided by intelligent purpose and conscious foresight in -his very first acts of sucking, swallowing, and defecation. Actual -intelligence, therefore, is a radically insufficient explanation, -as also, for the very same reasons, is Condillac’s hypothesis as to -individual experience. About “lapsed intelligence” I will speak later -on. Lemarck’s hypothesis, that instinct is but inherited habit, is -one which is much more worthy of careful consideration than any we -have yet considered. For it may be admitted at once that habits may -be inherited. There are many instances of such inheritance in human -beings, and as regards the lower animals, the barking of dogs may be -taken as an instance of a habit thus perpetuated. In fact “habit,” when -inherited, so simulates instinct, that their confusion is far from -surprising. There is, however, this radical difference between them: -“habit” enables an agent to repeat with facility and precision an act -which has been done before, but “instinct” determines with precision -the first performance of such act. Referring instinct to habit, but -temporarily relieves the difficulty of those who object to instinct, -by putting it a step back. It is impossible to believe that any of the -progenitors of an infant of to-day first acquired, during his or her -lifetime, the habit of sucking, or that the habits of neuter insects -thus arose. But after all, if we _could_ explain “instinct” by “habit,” -should we thereby make the phenomena less mysterious? “Habit” is due -to an internal spontaneity of living things. A living thing no doubt -requires some internal solicitation, in order that it should move, but -when it does move that movement is _its own_. All living organisms tend -to act. With them action is not only their nature, ’tis a want; and, -within limits, their powers and energies increase with action, and -diminish and finally perish through repose. The power of generating any -“habits,” lies in the very first act of the kind an organism performs, -and it is only the first act which owes nothing to habit. If such were -not the case, an act might be performed a thousand times and yet not -generate habit. It is this mysterious internal active tendency which -distinguishes all living organisms from inorganic bodies. The latter -tend simply to persist as they are, and have no relations with the -past or the future. They have, therefore, no relations with time at -all—for the actual present ever evades us. Organisms, on the other -hand, which are permanently more or less changed, through habit, by -every new motion and sensation, have their future prepared by their -past, and thus, as it were, at every present moment they live both -in the past and in the future, a mode of existence which attains its -fullest development in the highest living organism—man, the creature -looking before and after! Thus those who would do away with mystery in -nature would gain little by explaining instinct through habit, though, -as we have seen, the phenomena presented to us by the human infant and -by neuter insects absolutely bar any such explanation. Moreover, the -attempt to explain “instinct” through “inheritance” is a contradiction, -since “inheritance” supposes something already obtained, otherwise it -could not be transmitted. So far, then, from “hereditary transmission” -explaining “instinct,” instinct, in whatever remote ancestor it first -arose, must have been a violation of the law of hereditary transmission. - -Now as to “lapsed intelligence:” This hypothesis assumes that a -conscious deliberate, discriminating faculty must have once been -exercised by wasps, bees, ants, and other much more lowly animals, -in the performance of all those actions which are now instinctive. -But could the adult female insect be supposed to foresee the future -needs of her progeny, often so totally different from her own wants? -It would surely be too much to ask us to believe that she could -distinctly recollect all her past experience as a chrysalis and as a -grub from the moment she first quitted the egg. Can we suppose that -the generative acts of male insects, such as bees, could have been due -to deliberate and rational choice, when every such act is necessarily -fatal to him who performs it? - -Nevertheless, persuaded as I am that “lapsed intelligence” will not -explain “instinct” generally, I should be the last to deny that certain -apparently instinctive actions may be so explained, and I fully admit -that intelligent action in ourselves does tend to become practically -though not really instinctive. It is, moreover, very fortunate for -us that such is the case, as thereby we are saved great mental -friction. Our intellect has first to be laboriously applied to learn -what afterwards becomes almost automatic, as the actions of reading, -writing, etc. Sensations and bodily actions having been duly kneaded -together, the intellect becomes free to withdraw and apply itself to -other work—fresh conquests of mere animality—leaving the organism to -carry on automatically the new faculties thus acquired. Were it not for -this power which we have of withdrawing our attention, our intellect -would be absorbed and wasted in the merest routine work, instead of -being set free to appropriate and render practically instinctive, a -continually wider and more important range of deliberate purposive -actions. We come now to the sixth and last attempt to explain instinct, -namely, Mr. Darwin’s attempt. He has recognised the futility of -seeking to explain many instinctive actions in any of the modes we -have yet considered, and he has proposed, as before said, to explain -such residual instinctive phenomena by the play of natural selection, -_i.e._ of the destructive forces of nature upon small, accidental -abnormalities of action on the part of individuals of a species; such -abnormalities, when favorable to the existence of the individual, being -preserved and perpetuated by the destruction of the other individuals -of the same species who adhered to their ancestral tendencies. But -this proposed explanation is not an explanation of the _origin_ of -instincts, but only of the changes and transformations of instincts -already acquired. But putting back the date or modifying the form -of the original instinct, in no way alters the essential nature of -instincts or diminishes its mystery. Let us look at one or two strong -cases of instinct, and see if it is credible that they should be -due to mere accidental, haphazard, minute changes in habits already -acquired. In the first place, there is the wonderful instinct of the -duck, which feigns to have an injured wing, in order to entice a dog -away from the pursuit of her ducklings. Is it conceivable that such an -act was first done by pure accident, and that the descendants of her -who so acted, having inherited the tendency, have been alone selected -and preserved? Again, there is the case of the wasp, sphex, which -stings spiders, caterpillars, and grasshoppers exactly in the spot, or -spots, where their nervous ganglia lie, and so paralyses them. Even -the strongest advocate of the intelligence of insects would not affirm -that the mother sphex has a knowledge of the comparative anatomy of the -nervous system of these very diversely formed insects. According to -the doctrine of natural selection, either an ancestral wasp must have -accidentally stung them each in the right places, and so our sphex of -to-day is the naturally selected descendant of a line of insects which -inherited this lucky tendency to sting different insects differently, -but always in the exact situation of their nervous ganglia; or else -the young of the ancestral sphex originally fed on dead food, but the -offspring of some individuals who happened to sting their prey so -as to paralyse but not kill them, were better nourished and so the -habit grew. But the incredible supposition that the ancestor should -accidentally have acquired the habit of stinging different insects -differently, but always in the right spot, is not eliminated by the -latter hypothesis. - -There is, again, the case of neuter insects and the highly complex -instincts of insects living in communities, such as bees, ants, -and termites. The Darwinian theory has the great advantage of only -needing for its support the suggestion of some possible utility in -each case; and as all structures and functions in nature have their -utility, the task is not a difficult one for an ingenious, patient, -and accomplished thinker. Yet Mr. Darwin, with all his ingenuity, -patience, and accomplishments, has been unable to suggest a rational -explanation for the accidental origin of these insect communities with -their marvellously complex instincts. I will confine myself to one more -instance of a highly noteworthy instinct, which no one has in any way -succeeded in explaining. The instance I refer to is that by which an -animal, when an enemy approaches, lies quite quiescent and apparently -helpless, an action often spoken of as “shamming death.” To evade the -force of this remarkable case of instinct, it has been objected that -the disposition of the limbs adopted by insects which thus act, is not -the same as that which the limbs assume when such insects are really -dead, and that all species are not when thus acting equally quiescent. -The first observation, however, does not concern the matter really -at issue. The remarkable thing is not that a helpless insect should -assume the position of its own dead, but that such a creature, instead -of trying to escape, should adopt a mode of procedure utterly hopeless -unless the enemy’s attention is thereby effectually eluded. It is -impossible that this instinct could have been gradually gained by the -elimination of all those individuals who did not practice it, for if -the quiescence, whether absolutely complete or not, were not sufficient -at once to make the creature elude observation, its destruction would -be only the more fully insured by such ineffectual quiescence. The -same argument applies to birds which seem to feign lameness or other -injury. Yet even if we could account for these cases, which as a fact -are as yet entirely unaccounted for, it would not do away with the need -of recognising the real existence and peculiar nature of instinct. It -would not do so on account both of man’s highest and of man’s lowest -instinctive powers. To speak first of the former: as instinct, such -as we have hitherto discovered, is the appointed bridge between mere -organic and intellectual animal life, so there is in man a further -development of instinct, peculiar to him, and serving to bridge over -the gulf between mere intelligent animal faculty and distinctly human -reflective intellectual activity. Such special intellectual instinct -is that which impels man to the external manifestation by voice or -gesture of the mental abstractions which his intellect spontaneously -forms, and which are not formed by the lower animals, which give no -evidence of this power of abstraction. Language could never have been -deliberately invented nor have arisen by a mere accidental individual -variation, for vocal and gesture signs are essentially conventional, -and require more or less comprehension on the part of those to whom -they are addressed as well as on the part of those who use them. -Analogous considerations apply to the first beginnings of what cannot -be reckoned as merely instinctive activities, but the origins of -which must have been akin to instincts. I refer to the beginnings of -literature, art, science and politics, which were never deliberately -invented. Even men who supposed they were inventing and constructing a -certain new order of things with full purpose and much intelligence, -have really been all the time so dominated by influences beyond their -consciousness, that they really evolved something very different from -what they supposed or intended. This fact has been most instructively -shown by De Tocqueville and Taine with respect to the men who promoted -and carried through the great French Revolution. So much, then, for -man’s highest instinctive powers: but our argument has no need to refer -to them, for a consideration of man’s lowest instinctive powers alone -suffices to show that they cannot be due to “natural selection,” even -when aided by “lapsed intelligence.” Can it be for a moment seriously -maintained that such actions of the infant as those of the sucking, -deglutition, and defecation, or the sexual instincts of later life, -ever arose through the accidental conservation of haphazard variations -of habit in ancestral animals? If it cannot be maintained, as I am -confident it cannot, then it is absolutely impossible successfully to -evade the difficulty of the existence of instinct. However far we may -put back the beginnings of instinct, the question as to its origin -(with its subsequent modifications) ever returns, and indeed with -increased importunity. How did the first sentient creatures obtain and -swallow their food? How did they first come to fecundate their ova -or suitably to deposit them? How did they first effect such movements -as might be necessary for their respiratory processes? Wherever such -phenomena first manifested themselves in sentient organisms, we are -compelled therein to recognise the manifest presence of instinct—the -appointed means (as before said) of bridging over the interval between -the purely vegetative functions and the intelligent activities of -sentient animal life. “Natural selection” is manifestly impotent to -account for the existence of such a faculty as that of “instinct.” -We have already seen that the hypothesis of “lapsed intelligence” is -also impotent to account for it. Thus the most recently attempted -explanation falls altogether to the ground. Nevertheless the theory of -evolution renders it necessary to assume that as new species of animals -were from time to time evolved, so also were new and appropriate -instincts. How then are we to account for the origin of such new -instincts? That a certain mystery attends such origin cannot be denied, -but a parallel mystery attends all other kinds of vital phenomena. -What can be more mysterious than the purely organic functions of -animals? Though not truly instinctive, they are full of unconscious -purpose, and so are akin to instinct. Our nutrition is a process of -self-generation by which the various bodies which constitute our food -become transformed into our own substance. This process is effected by -what is called assimilation, by which process the ultimate substance, -or parenchyma, of our own body and of the bodies transforms part of -what is immediately external to it, into the parenchyma itself. Again, -the process of secretion is, as it were, parallel to the process -of alimentation or nutrition. In secretion, the body extracts from -the blood new substances (the secretions) which do not exist _as -such_ within it. In nutrition, the body extracts from the blood new -substances (the various tissues) which do not exist _as such_ within -it. The blood is not the only source of our nutrition, since it has the -power of replenishing itself. Thus the living particles which form the -ultimate substance of our body exercise a certain power of choice with -respect to the contents of the fluids which come in contact with them. -Such particles are not passive bodies; they are active living agents, -and their action no one has yet really explained. Here, then, are a set -of activities which, if duly pondered over, will be found to be fully -as mysterious and inexplicable in their unconscious teleology as any -phenomena of instinct as ordinarily understood. But there is another -class of organic vital actions which also seem to have a decided -affinity both to reflex action and to instinct, though they are not -to be regarded as actual instances of either of these faculties. The -actions I refer to are those which bring about the repair of injuries -and the reproduction of lost parts. They are like reflex action -inasmuch as they take place in perfect unconsciousness and without the -will having any power over them. They are like instinct inasmuch as -they are directed towards a useful and unforeseen end. In the process -of healing and repair of a wounded part of the body, a fluid, perfectly -structureless substance, is secreted, or poured forth, from the parts -about the wound. In this substance, cells arise and become abundant; -so that the substance, at first structureless, becomes what is called -cellular tissue. Then, by degrees, this structure transforms itself -into vessels, tendons, nerves, bone, and membrane—into some or all -of such parts—according to the circumstances of the case. In a case -of broken bone, the two broken ends of the bone soften, the sharp -edges thus disappearing. Then a soft substance is secreted, and this -becomes at first gelatinous, often afterwards cartilaginous, and, -finally, osseous or bony. But not only do these different kinds of -substance—these distinct tissues—thus arise and develop themselves in -this neutral or, as it is called, “undifferentiated” substance, but -very complex structures, appropriately formed and nicely adjusted for -the performance of complex functions, may also be developed. We see -this in the production of admirably formed joints in parts which were -at first devoid of anything of the kind. I may quote, as an example, -the case of a railway guard, whose arm had been so injured that he -had been compelled to have the elbow with its joint cut out, but who -afterwards developed a new joint almost as good as the old one. In the -uninjured condition the outer bone of the lower arm—the radius—ends -above in a smooth-surfaced cup, which plays against part of the lower -end of the bone of the upper arm, or humerus, while its side also -plays against the side of the other bone of the lower arm, the ulna, -with the interposition of a cartilaginous surface. The radius and ulna -are united to the humerus by dense and strong membranes or ligaments, -which pass between it and them, anteriorly, posteriorly, and on each -side, and are attached to projecting processes, one on each side of -the humerus. Such was the condition of the parts which were removed by -the surgeon. Nine years after the operation the patient died, and Mr. -Syme had the opportunity of dissecting the arm, which in the meantime -had served the poor man perfectly well, he having been in the habit of -swinging himself by it from one carriage to another, while the train -was in motion, quite as easily and securely as with the other arm. -On examination, Mr. Syme found that the amputated end of the radius -had formed a fresh polished surface, and played both on the humerus -and the ulna, a material something like cartilage being interposed. -The ends of the bones of the forearm were locked in by two processes -projecting downwards from the humerus, and also strong lateral and -still stronger anterior and posterior ligaments again bound them fast -to the last-named bone.[7] It would be easy to bring forward a number -of more or less similar cases. The amount of reproduction of lost parts -which may take place in many of the lower animals is astonishing. Thus -the tails of lizards, if broken off, will grow again, and the limbs of -newts will be reproduced, with their bones, muscles, blood-vessels, and -nerves. Even the eye and the lower jaw have been seen to be reproduced -in the last-named animals. If certain worms be cut in two, each half -will become a perfect animal, the head producing a new tail, and the -tail a new head; and a worm called a _nais_ has been cut into as many -as twenty-five parts with a like result. But the most remarkable animal -for its power of repairing injuries is the fresh-water hydra, almost -any fragment of which will, under favorable circumstances, grow into a -new and entire fresh animal. It is also a notorious and very noteworthy -fact that, in both man and the lower animals, the processes of repair -take place the more readily the younger the age of the injured -individual may be. But these unconscious but practically teleological -processes of repair, are often preceded by actions which everyone would -call instinctive. - - [7] See Mr. Timothy Holmes’s _System of Surgery_, 3rd edit. vol. iii. - p. 746. - -There is yet another class of organic vital actions to which I must -advert, which are at once utterly unconscious, while the fact that -they are directed to a distinct end is indisputable; in fact they are -purposive in the very highest degree that any unconscious actions can -be purposive. They are the actions of true reproduction, and they -come before us naturally here, since a consideration of the process -of remedial reproduction in the individual, naturally leads us on -to the consideration _of the reproduction of the species itself_. -In the cases of the frog and the butterfly, everyone knows that the -creature which comes forth from the egg is very different from the -parent. Animals, in fact, mostly attain their adult condition by -passing through a series of development changes; only as a rule that -series is not abruptly interrupted by plainly marked pauses, as it is -in the frog and butterfly, and, therefore, such changes, instead of -being obvious, are only to be detected with difficulty and through -patient research. Almost every animal thus goes through a series of -very remarkable changes during its individual process of development -or, as it is called, during its “ontogeny.” This process, in its -perfect unconsciousness, is like reflex action, but it is far more -wonderful, since in the earliest stages even nerve-tissue is absent and -has itself to be formed. In the accuracy of its direction towards a -useful end, it is the very counterpart of the most developed instinct; -nor, if the impulses by which adult individuals are led to seek and -to perform those processes which give rise to the embryo, are to -be called instinctive, is it easy to see how the analogical use of -the term “instinctive” can be refused to that impulse by which each -developing embryo is led to go through those processes which give -rise to the adult. The action of each organism during its individual -development may be compared, and has evidently much affinity with, the -processes of nutrition and the repair and reproduction of parts lost -through some injury. These processes of nutrition and repair have also -evidently a close relation to reflex action and reflex action has also -a close affinity to instinctive action. Instead, however, of explaining -“instinct” by “reflex action,” I would rather explain reflex action, -processes of nutrition, processes of repair, processes of individual -development, by instinct—using this term in a wide analogical sense. -For we know the wonderful action and nature of instinct as it exists -in our own human activity, standing, as it were, at the head of the -various unconsciously intelligent vital processes. These processes -seem to me to be all diverse manifestations of what is fundamentally -one kind of activity. Of these manifestations, instinctive action is -the best type, because by it we can, to a certain extent, understand -the others, whereas none of the others enable us to understand -instinct.—_Fortnightly Review._ - - - - -A VERY OLD MASTER. - - -The work of art which lies before me is old, unquestionably old; a good -deal older, in fact, than Archbishop Ussher (who invented all out of -his own archiepiscopal head the date commonly assigned for the creation -of the world) would by any means have been ready to admit. It is a -bas-relief by an old master, considerably more antique in origin than -the most archaic gem or intaglio in the Museo Borbonico at Naples, the -mildly decorous Louvre in Paris, or the eminently respectable British -Museum, which is the glory of our own smoky London in the spectacled -eyes of German professors, all put together. When Assyrian sculptors -carved in fresh white alabaster the flowing curls of Sennacherib’s -hair, just like a modern coachman’s wig, this work of primæval art was -already hoary with the rime of ages. When Memphian artists were busy in -the morning twilight of time with the towering coiffure of Ramses or -Sesostris, this far more ancient relic of plastic handicraft was lying, -already fossil and forgotten, beneath the concreted floor of a cave -in the Dordogne. If we were to divide the period for which we possess -authentic records of man’s abode upon this oblate spheroid into ten -epochs—an epoch being a good high-sounding word which doesn’t commit -one to any definite chronology in particular—then it is probable that -all known art, from the Egyptian onward, would fall into the tenth of -the epochs thus loosely demarcated, while my old French bas-relief -would fall into the first. To put the date quite succinctly, I should -say it was most likely about 244,000 years before the creation of Adam -according to Ussher. - -The work of the old master is lightly incised on reindeer horn, and -represents two horses, of a very early and heavy type, following -one another, with heads stretched forward, as if sniffing the air -suspiciously in search of enemies. The horses would certainly excite -unfavorable comment at Newmarket. Their “points” are undoubtedly coarse -and clumsy: their heads are big, thick, stupid, and ungainly; their -manes are bushy and ill-defined; their legs are distinctly feeble and -spindle-shaped; their tails more closely resemble the tail of the -domestic pig than that of the noble animal beloved with a love passing -the love of women by the English aristocracy. Nevertheless there is -little (if any) reason to doubt that my very old master did, on the -whole, accurately represent the ancestral steed of his own exceedingly -remote period. There were once horses even as is the horse of the -prehistoric Dordognian artist. Such clumsy, big-headed brutes, dun in -hue and striped down the back like modern donkeys, did actually once -roam over the low plains where Paris now stands, and browse off lush -grass and tall water-plants around the quays of Bordeaux and Lyons. Not -only do the bones of the contemporary horses, dug up in caves, prove -this, but quite recently the Russian traveller Prjevalsky (whose name -is so much easier to spell than to pronounce) has discovered a similar -living horse, which drags on an obscure existence somewhere in the high -table-lands of Central Asia. Prjevalsky’s horse (you see, as I have -only to write the word, without uttering it, I don’t mind how often or -how intrepidly I use it) is so singularly like the clumsy brutes that -sat, or rather stood, for their portraits to my old master that we -can’t do better than begin by describing him _in propria persona_. - -The horse family of the present day is divided, like most other -families, into two factions, which may be described for variety’s sake -as those of the true horses and the donkeys, these latter including -also the zebras, quaggas, and various other unfamiliar creatures whose -names, in very choice Latin, are only known to the more diligent -visitors at the Sunday Zoo. Now everybody must have noticed that the -chief broad distinction between these two great groups consists in the -feathering of the tail. The domestic donkey, with his near congeners, -the zebra and co., have smooth short-haired tails, ending in a single -bunch or fly-whisk of long hairs collected together in a tufted bundle -at the extreme tip. The horse, on the other hand, besides having horny -patches or callosities on both fore and hind legs, while the donkeys -have them on the fore legs only, has a hairy tail, in which the long -hairs are almost equally distributed from top to bottom, thus giving -it its peculiarly bushy and brushy appearance. But Prjevalsky’s horse, -as one would naturally expect from an early intermediate form, stands -halfway in this respect between the two groups, and acts the thankless -part of a family mediator; for it has most of its long tail-hairs -collected in a final flourish, like the donkey, but several of them -spring from the middle distance, as in the genuine Arab, though never -from the very top, thus showing an approach to the true horsey habit -without actually attaining that final pinnacle of equine glory. So -far as one can make out from the somewhat rude handicraft of my -prehistoric Phidias the horse of the quaternary epoch had much the -same caudal peculiarity; his tail was bushy, but only in the lower -half. He was still in the intermediate stage between horse and -donkey, a natural mule still struggling up aspiringly toward perfect -horsehood. In all other matters the two creatures—the cave man’s horse -and Prjevalsky’s—closely agree. Both display large heads, thick necks, -coarse manes, and a general disregard of “points” which would strike -disgust and dismay into the stout breasts of Messrs. Tattersall. In -fact over a T.Y.C. it may be confidently asserted, in the pure Saxon of -the sporting papers, that Prjevalsky’s and the cave man’s lot wouldn’t -be in it. Nevertheless a candid critic would be forced to admit that, -in spite of clumsiness, they both mean staying. - -So much for the two sitters; now let us turn to the artist who sketched -them. Who was he, and when did he live? Well, his name, like that of -many other old masters, is quite unknown to us; but what does that -matter so long as his work itself lives and survives? Like the Comtists -he has managed to obtain objective immortality. The work, after all, is -for the most part all we ever have to go upon. “I have my own theory -about the authorship of the Iliad and Odyssey,” said Lewis Carroll -(of “Alice in Wonderland”) once in Christ Church common room: “it is -that they weren’t really written by Homer, but by another person of -the same name.” There you have the Iliad in a nutshell as regards the -authenticity of great works. All we know about the supposed Homer (if -anything) is that he was the reputed author of the two unapproachable -Greek epics; and all we know directly about my old master, viewed -personally, is that he once carved with a rude flint flake on a -fragment of reindeer horn these two clumsy prehistoric horses. Yet -by putting two and two together we can make, not four, as might be -naturally expected, but a fairly connected history of the old master -himself and what Mr. Herbert Spencer would no doubt playfully term “his -environment.” - -The work of art was dug up from under the firm concreted floor of a -cave in the Dordogne. That cave was once inhabited by the nameless -artist himself, his wife, and family. It had been previously tenanted -by various other early families, as well as by bears, who seem to have -lived there in the intervals between the different human occupiers. -Probably the bears ejected the men, and the men in turn ejected the -bears, by the summary process of eating one another up. In any case the -freehold of the cave was at last settled upon our early French artist. -But the date of his occupancy is by no means recent; for since he lived -there the long cold spell known as the Great Ice Age, or Glacial Epoch, -has swept over the whole of Northern Europe, and swept before it the -shivering descendants of my poor prehistoric old master. Now, how long -ago was the Great Ice Age? As a rule, if you ask a geologist for a -definite date, you will find him very chary of giving you a distinct -answer. He knows that chalk is older than the London clay, and the -oolite than the chalk, and the red marl than the oolite; and he knows -also that each of them took a very long time indeed to lay down, but -exactly how long he has no notion. If you say to him, “Is it a million -years since the chalk was deposited?” he will answer, like the old -lady of Prague, whose ideas were excessively vague, “Perhaps,” If you -suggest five millions, he will answer oracularly once more, “Perhaps;” -and if you go on to twenty millions, “Perhaps,” with a broad smile, is -still the only confession of faith that torture will wring out of him. -But in the matter of the Glacial Epoch, a comparatively late and almost -historical event, geologists have broken through their usual reserve -on this chronological question and condescended to give us a numerical -determination. And here is how Dr. Croll gets at it. - -Every now and again, geological evidence goes to show us, a long cold -spell occurs in a northern or southern hemisphere. During these long -cold spells the ice cap at the poles increases largely, till it spreads -over a great part of what are now the temperate regions of the globe, -and makes ice a mere drug in the market as far south as Covent Garden -or the Halles at Paris. During the greatest extension of this ice -sheet in the last glacial epoch, in fact, all England except a small -south-western corner (about Torquay and Bournemouth) was completely -covered by one enormous mass of glaciers, as is still the case with -almost the whole of Greenland. The ice sheet, grinding slowly over the -hills and rocks, smoothed and polished and striated their surfaces -in many places till they resembled the _roches moutonnées_ similarly -ground down in our own day by the moving ice rivers of Chamouni and -Grindelwald. Now, since these great glaciations have occurred at -various intervals in the world’s past history, they must depend upon -some frequently recurring cause. Such a cause, therefore, Dr. Croll -began ingeniously to hunt about for. - -He found it at last in the eccentricity of the earth’s orbit. This -world of ours, though usually steady enough in its movements, is at -times decidedly eccentric. Not that I mean to impute to our old and -exceedingly respectable planet any occasional aberrations of intellect, -or still less of morals (such as might be expected from Mars and -Venus); the word is here to be accepted strictly in its scientific or -Pickwickian sense as implying merely an irregularity of movement, a -slight wobbling out of the established path, a deviation from exact -circularity. Owing to a combination of astronomical revolutions, the -precession of the equinoxes and the motion of the aphelion (I am not -going to explain them here; the names alone will be quite sufficient -for most people; they will take the rest on trust)—owing to the -combination of these profoundly interesting causes, I say, there occur -certain periods in the world’s life when for a very long time together -(10,500 years, to be quite precise) the northern hemisphere is warmer -than the southern, or _vice versa_. Now Dr. Croll has calculated that -about 250,000 years ago this eccentricity of the earth’s orbit was -at its highest, so that a cycle of recurring cold and warm epochs in -either hemisphere alternately then set in; and such cold spells it -was that produced the Great Ice Age in Northern Europe. They went on -till about 80,000 years ago, when they stopped short for the present, -leaving the climate of Britain and the neighboring continent with its -existing inconvenient Laodicean temperature. And, as there are good -reasons for believing that my old master and his contemporaries lived -just before the greatest cold of the Glacial Epoch, and that his -immediate descendants, with the animals on which they feasted, were -driven out of Europe, or out of existence, by the slow approach of the -enormous ice sheet, we may, I think, fairly conclude that his date was -somewhere about B.C. 248,000. In any case we must at least admit, with -Mr. Andrew Lang, the laureate of the twenty-five thousandth century, -that - - He lived in the long long agoes; - ’Twas the manner of primitive man. - -The old master, then, carved his bas-relief in pre-Glacial Europe, just -at the moment before the temporary extinction of his race in France by -the coming on of the Great Ice Age. We can infer this fact from the -character of the fauna by which he was surrounded, a fauna in which -species of cold and warm climates are at times quite capriciously -intermingled. We get the reindeer and the mammoth side by side with -the hippopotamus and the hyena; we find the chilly cave bear and the -Norway lemming, the musk sheep and the Arctic fox in the same deposits -with the lion and the lynx, the leopard and the rhinoceros. The fact -is, as Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace has pointed out, we live to-day in a -zoologically impoverished world, from which all the largest, fiercest, -and most remarkable animals have lately been weeded out. And it was -in all probability the coming on of the Ice Age that did the weeding. -Our Zoo can boast no mammoth and no mastodon. The sabre-toothed lion -has gone the way of all flesh; the deinotherium and the colossal -ruminants of the Pliocene Age no longer browse beside the banks of -Seine. But our old master saw the last of some at least among those -gigantic quadrupeds; it was his hand or that of one among his fellows -that scratched the famous mammoth etching on the ivory of La Madelaine -and carved the figure of the extinct cave bear on the reindeer-horn -ornaments of Laugerie Basse. Probably, therefore, he lived in the -period immediately preceding the Great Ice Age, or else perhaps in one -of the warm interglacial spells with which the long secular winter -of the northern hemisphere was then from time to time agreeably -diversified. - -And what did the old master himself look like? Well, painters have -always been fond of reproducing their own lineaments. Have we not the -familiar young Raffael, painted by himself, and the Rembrandt, and the -Titian, and the Rubens, and a hundred other self-drawn portraits, all -flattering and all famous? Even so primitive man has drawn himself many -times over, not indeed on this particular piece of reindeer horn, but -on several other media to be seen elsewhere, in the original or in good -copies. One of the best portraits is that discovered in the old cave -at Laugerie Basse by M. Elie Massénat, where a very early pre-Glacial -man is represented in the act of hunting an aurochs, at which he is -casting a flint-tipped javelin. In this as in all other pictures of the -same epoch I regret to say that the ancient hunter is represented in -the costume of Adam before the fall. Our old master’s studies, in fact, -are all in the nude. Primitive man was evidently unacquainted as yet -with the use of clothing, though primitive woman, while still unclad, -had already learnt how to heighten her natural charms by the simple -addition of a necklace and bracelets. Indeed, though dresses were still -wholly unknown, rouge was even then extremely fashionable among French -ladies, and lumps of the ruddle with which primitive woman made herself -beautiful for ever are now to be discovered in the corner of the cave -where she had her little prehistoric boudoir. To return to our hunter, -however, who for aught we know to the contrary may be our old master -himself in person, he is a rather crouching and semi-erect savage, with -an arched back, recalling somewhat that of the gorilla, a round head, -long neck, pointed beard, and weak, shambling, ill-developed legs. I -fear we must admit that pre-Glacial man cut, on the whole, a very sorry -and awkward figure. - -Was he black? That we don’t certainly know, but all analogy would lead -one to answer positively, Yes. White men seem, on the whole, to be a -very recent and novel improvement on the original evolutionary pattern. -At any rate he was distinctly hairy, like the Ainos, or aborigines -of Japan, in our own day, of whom Miss Isabella Bird has drawn so -startling and sensational a picture. Several of the pre-Glacial -sketches show us lank and gawky savages with the body covered with -long scratches, answering exactly to the scratches which represent -the hanging hair of the mammoth, and suggesting that man then still -retained his old original hairy covering. The few skulls and other -fragments of skeletons now preserved to us also indicate that our -old master and his contemporaries much resembled in shape and build -the Australian black fellows, though their foreheads were lower and -more receding, while their front teeth still projected in huge fangs, -faintly recalling the immense canines of the male gorilla. Quite apart -from any theoretical considerations as to our probable descent (or -ascent) from Mr. Darwin’s hypothetical “hairy arboreal quadrumanous -ancestor,” whose existence may or may not be really true, there can be -no doubt that the actual historical remains set before us pre-Glacial -man as evidently approaching in several important respects the higher -monkeys. - -It is interesting to note too that while the Men of the Time still -retained (to be frankly evolutionary) many traces of the old -monkey-like progenitor, the horses which our old master has so cleverly -delineated for us on his scrap of horn similarly retained many traces -of the earlier united horse-and-donkey ancestor. Professor Huxley has -admirably reconstructed for us the pedigree of the horse, beginning -with a little creature from the Eocene beds of New Mexico, with five -toes to each hind foot, and ending with the modern horse, whose -hoof is now practically reduced to a single and solid-nailed toe. -Intermediate stages show us an Upper Eocene animal as big as a fox, -with four toes on his front feet and three behind; a Miocene kind as -big as a sheep, with only three toes on the front foot, the two outer -of which are smaller than the big middle one; and finally a Pliocene -form, as big as a donkey, with one stout middle toe, the real hoof, -flanked by two smaller ones, too short by far to reach the ground. In -our own horse these lateral toes have become reduced to what are known -by veterinaries as splint bones, combined with the canon in a single -solidly morticed piece. But in the pre-Glacial horses the splint bones -still generally remained quite distinct, thus pointing back to the -still earlier period when they existed as two separate and independent -side toes in the ancestral quadruped. In a few cave specimens, however, -the splints are found united with the canons in a single piece, while -conversely horses are sometimes, though very rarely, born at the -present day with three-toed feet, exactly resembling those of their -half-forgotten ancestor the Pliocene hipparion. - -The reason why we know so much about the horses of the cave period -is, I am bound to admit, simply and solely because the man of the -period ate them. Hippophagy has always been popular in France; it was -practised by pre-Glacial man in the caves of Périgord, and revived -with immense enthusiasm by the gourmets of the Boulevards after the -siege of Paris and the hunger of the Commune. The cave men hunted and -killed the wild horse of their own times, and one of the best of their -remaining works of art represents a naked hunter attacking two horses, -while a huge snake winds itself unperceived behind close to his heel. -In this rough prehistoric sketch one seems to catch some faint antique -foreshadowing of the rude humor of the “Petit Journal pour Rire.” Some -archæologists even believe that the horse was domesticated by the cave -men as a source of food, and argue that the familiarity with its form -shown in the drawings could only have been acquired by people who knew -the animal in its domesticated state; they declare that the cave man -was obviously horsey. But all the indications seem to me to show that -tame animals were quite unknown in the age of the cave men. The mammoth -certainly was never domesticated; yet there is a famous sketch of the -huge beast upon a piece of his own ivory, discovered in the cave of -La Madelaine by Messrs. Lartet and Christy, and engraved a hundred -times in works on archæology, which forms one of the finest existing -relics of pre-Glacial art. In another sketch, less well known, but -not unworthy of admiration, the early artist has given us with a few -rapid but admirable strokes his own reminiscence of the effect produced -upon him by the sudden onslaught of the hairy brute, tusks erect and -mouth wide open, a perfect glimpse of elephantine fury. It forms a -capital example of early impressionism, respectfully recommended to the -favorable attention of Mr. J. M. Whistler. - -The reindeer, however, formed the favorite food and favorite model -of the pre-Glacial artists. Perhaps it was a better sitter than the -mammoth; certainly it is much more frequently represented on these -early prehistoric bas-reliefs. The high-water mark of palæolithic art -is undoubtedly to be found in the reindeer of the cave of Thayngen, in -Switzerland, a capital and spirited representation of a buck grazing, -in which the perspective of the two horns is better managed than a -Chinese artist would manage it at the present day. Another drawing of -two reindeer fighting, scratched on a fragment of schistose rock and -unearthed in one of the caves of Périgord, though far inferior to the -Swiss specimen in spirit and execution, is yet not without real merit. -The perspective, however, displays one marked infantile trait, for -the head and legs of one deer are seen distinctly through the body of -another. Cave bears, fish, musk sheep, foxes, and many other extinct or -existing animals are also found among the archaic sculptures. Probably -all these creatures were used as food; and it is even doubtful whether -the artistic troglodytes were not also confirmed cannibals. To quote -Mr. Andrew Lang once more on primitive man, “he lived in a cave by the -seas; he lived upon oysters and foes.” The oysters are quite undoubted -and the foes may be inferred with considerable certainty. - -I have spoken of our old master more than once under this rather -question-begging style and title of primitive man. In reality, however, -the very facts which I have here been detailing serve themselves -to show how extremely far our hero was from being truly primitive. -You can’t speak of a distinguished artist, who draws the portraits -of extinct animals with grace and accuracy, as in any proper sense -primordial. Grant that our good troglodytes were indeed light-hearted -cannibals; nevertheless they could design far better than the modern -Esquimaux or Polynesians, and carve far better than the civilized -being who is now calmly discoursing about their personal peculiarities -in his own study. Between the cave men of the pre-Glacial age and the -hypothetical hairy quadrumanous ancestor aforesaid there must have -intervened innumerable generations of gradually improving intermediate -forms. The old master, when he first makes his bow to us, naked and -not ashamed, in his Swiss or French grotto, flint scalpel in hand -and necklet of bear’s teeth dropping loosely on his hairy bosom, is -nevertheless in all essentials a completely evolved human being, with -a whole past of slowly acquired culture lying dimly and mysteriously -behind him. Already he had invented the bow with its flint-tipped -arrow, the neatly chipped javelin-head, the bone harpoon, the barbed -fish-hook, the axe, the lance, the dagger, and the needle. Already he -had learnt how to decorate his implements with artistic skill, and to -carve the handles of his knives with the figures of animals. I have no -doubt that he even knew how to brew and to distil; and he was probably -acquainted with the noble art of cookery as applied to the persons -of his human fellow creatures. Such a personage cannot reasonably be -called primitive; cannibalism, as somebody has rightly remarked, is the -first step on the road to civilisation. - -No, if we want to get at genuine, unadulterated primitive man we must -go much further back in time than the mere trifle of 250,000 years, -with which Dr. Croll and the cosmic astronomers so generously provide -us for pre-Glacial humanity. We must turn away to the immeasurably -earlier fire-split flints which the Abbé Bourgeois—undaunted -mortal!—ventured to discover among the Miocene strata of the _calcaire -de Beauce_. Those flints, if of human origin at all, were fashioned -by some naked and still more hairy creature who might fairly claim to -be considered as genuinely primitive. So rude are they that, though -evidently artificial, one distinguished archæologist will not admit -they can be in any way human; he will have it that they were really the -handiwork of the great European anthropoid ape of that early period. -This, however, is nothing more than very delicate hair-splitting; for -what does it matter whether you call the animal that fashioned these -exceedingly rough and fire-marked implements a man-like ape or an -ape-like human being? The fact remains quite unaltered, whichever name -you choose to give to it. When you have got to a monkey who can light -a fire and proceed to manufacture himself a convenient implement, you -may be sure that man, noble man, with all his glorious and admirable -faculties—cannibal or otherwise—is lurking somewhere very close just -round the corner. The more we examine the work of our old master, in -fact, the more does the conviction force itself upon us that he was -very far indeed from being primitive—that we must push back the early -history of our race not for 250,000 winters alone, but perhaps for two -or three million years into the dim past of Tertiary ages. - -But if pre-Glacial man is thus separated from the origin of the race -by a very long interval indeed, it is none the less true that he -is separated from our own time by the intervention of a vast blank -space, the space occupied by the coming on and passing away of the -Glacial Epoch. A great gap cuts him off from what we may consider as -the relatively modern age of the mound-builders, whose grassy barrows -still cap the summits of our southern chalk downs. When the great ice -sheet drove away palæolithic man—the man of the caves and the unwrought -flint axes—from Northern Europe, he was still nothing more than a naked -savage in the hunting stage, divinely gifted for art, indeed, but armed -only with roughly chipped stone implements, and wholly ignorant of -taming animals or of the very rudiments of agriculture. He knew nothing -of the use of metals—_aurum irrepertum spernere fortior_—and he had -not even learnt how to grind and polish his rude stone tomahawks to a -finished edge. He couldn’t make himself a bowl of sun-baked pottery, -and if he had discovered the almost universal art of manufacturing an -intoxicating liquor from grain or berries (for, as Byron, with too -great anthropological truth, justly remarks, “man, being reasonable, -_must_ get drunk”) he at least drank his aboriginal beer or toddy from -the capacious horn of a slaughtered aurochs. That was the kind of -human being who alone inhabited France and England during the later -pre-Glacial period. - -A hundred and seventy thousand years elapse (as the play bills put -it), and then the curtain rises afresh upon neolithic Europe. Man -meanwhile, loitering somewhere behind the scenes in Asia or Africa (as -yet imperfectly explored from this point of view), had acquired the -important arts of sharpening his tomahawks and producing hand-made -pottery for his kitchen utensils. When the great ice sheet cleared -away he followed the returning summer into Northern Europe, another -man, physically, intellectually, and morally, with all the slow -accumulations of nearly two thousand centuries (how easily one writes -the words! how hard to realise them!) upon his maturer shoulders. Then -comes the age of what older antiquaries used to regard as primitive -antiquity—the age of the English barrows, of the Danish kitchen -middens, of the Swiss lake dwellings. The men who lived in it had -domesticated the dog, the cow, the sheep, the goat, and the invaluable -pig; they had begun to sow small ancestral wheat and undeveloped -barley; they had learnt to weave flax and wear decent clothing; in a -word, they had passed from the savage hunting condition to the stage of -barbaric herdsmen and agriculturists. That is a comparatively modern -period, and yet I suppose we must conclude with Dr. James Geikie -that it isn’t to be measured by mere calculations of ten or twenty -centuries, but of ten or twenty thousand years. The perspective of the -past is opening up rapidly before us; what looked quite close yesterday -is shown to-day to lie away off somewhere in the dim distance. Like our -palæolithic artists, we fail to get the reindeer fairly behind the ox -in the foreground, as we ought to do if we saw the whole scene properly -foreshortened. - -On the table where I write there lie two paper weights, preserving -from the fate of the sibylline leaves the sheets of foolscap to which -this article is now being committed. One of them is a very rude flint -hatchet, produced by merely chipping off flakes from its side by -dexterous blows, and utterly unpolished or unground in any way. It -belongs to the age of the very old master (or possibly even to a -slightly earlier epoch), and it was sent me from Ightham, in Kent, by -that indefatigable unearther of prehistoric memorials, Mr. Benjamin -Harrison. That flint, which now serves me in the office of a paper -weight, is far ruder, simpler, and more ineffective than any weapon -or implement at present in use among the lowest savages. Yet with it, -I doubt not, some naked black fellow by the banks of the Thames has -hunted the mammoth among unbroken forests two hundred thousand years -ago and more; with it he has faced the angry cave bear and the original -and only genuine British lion (for everybody knows that the existing -mongrel heraldic beast is nothing better than a bastard modification of -the leopard of the Plantagenets). Nay, I have very little doubt in my -own mind that with it some æsthetic ancestor has brained and cut up for -use his next-door neighbor in the nearest cavern, and then carved upon -his well-picked bones an interesting sketch of the entire performance. -The Du Mauriers of that remote age, in fact, habitually drew their -society pictures upon the personal remains of the mammoth or the man -whom they wished to caricature in deathless bone-cuts. The other paper -weight is a polished neolithic tomahawk, belonging to the period of the -mound-builders, who succeeded the Glacial Epoch, and it measures the -distance between the two levels of civilisation with great accuracy. It -is the military weapon of a trained barbaric warrior as opposed to the -universal implement and utensil of a rude, solitary, savage hunter. Yet -how curious it is that even in the midst of this “so-called nineteenth -century,” which perpetually proclaims itself an age of progress, men -should still prefer to believe themselves inferior to their original -ancestors, instead of being superior to them! The idea that man has -risen is considered base, degrading, and positively wicked; the idea -that he has fallen is considered to be immensely inspiring, ennobling, -and beautiful. For myself, I have somehow always preferred the boast of -the Homeric Glaucus that we indeed maintain ourselves to be much better -men that ever were our fathers.—_Cornhill Magazine._ - - - - -THE ORGANIZATION OF DEMOCRACY. - -BY GOLDWIN SMITH. - -In the Colonies, at least in Canada, there are a good many of us who -believe, not in the expansion of England, but in the multiplication -of Englands, and to whom Imperial Federation, or any scheme for the -political re-absorption of an adult and distant Colony into its Mother -Country, appears totally impracticable. Yet we regard the Mother -Country not only as the object of our filial affection and pride, -but as the centre of our civilization, feel a practical as well as a -sentimental interest in everything that touches her, and tremble at her -danger as at our own. - -We look on from a distance, it is true; and though the cable transmits -to us the news, it does not, nor do even the newspapers and the -correspondents, transmit to us the mind of England. In this respect our -judgment may be at fault. On the other hand, we are out of the fray; we -stand clear of English parties; we care for nothing but the country; -we see, while those immediately engaged do not see, the heady current -of faction, ambition, chimerical aspiration, political fatalism, and -disunionist conspiracy hurrying the nation towards a bourne which all -the speakers and writers on the Franchise Bill and the Redistribution -Bill, by the vagueness of their speculations on the practical results, -proclaim to be unknown. - -The electorate, that is to say, the government—at least the body by -which the government is appointed and its policy is determined—is -undergoing reconstruction on the largest scale. Yet we look in vain, -even in the speeches of the great statesman who is the author of these -measures, for any forecast of their practical effect, of the influence -which they will have on the character of government, or of the sort of -policy which they will produce. Able and impressive as the speeches may -be, there is little in them but philanthropy and arithmetic, neither -of which is politics. The effect of the Redistribution Bill especially -is evidently a matter of the merest conjecture. Lord Salisbury thinks -that it will act in one way, and Mr. Chamberlain that it will act in -another. The first considers it favorable to aristocratic reaction, -the second considers it favorable to authoritative democracy. The -Bill is a leap in the dark. In any case less important than that -of a reconstruction of the national institutions, safe experiments -would probably precede sweeping change. A new mode of paving would be -tried first in one or two streets; a new mode of cultivation would -be tried first in one or two fields. But if you proposed to try -the Redistribution Bill in one or two specimen districts, a chorus -of scornful reprobation would arise from all parties, sects, and -ambitions. Nor would any voices be louder than those of some who are -foremost in hailing the advent of political science, and preaching -the necessity of a scientific method in all things. This is not a -deliberation on the amendment of national institutions; it is a battle -of parties. Each party is seeking not so much to improve the government -as to make it the instrument of particular theories or passions. But -this surely is what a government, an executive government at least, -ought not to be. A government ought to be the impartial guardian for -the whole nation of law, order, property, personal rights, and the -public safety; while opinion is left to shape itself by discussion, -reach maturity, and at length impress itself on legislation. This -whole movement is pre-eminently the work of party, and inspired by its -passions. Reform in 1832 was really national; the nation earnestly -desired liberation from a corrupt oligarchy. But the subsequent -suffrage agitations have been mainly set on foot by the politicians for -the purposes of their party war. - -Democracy has come. By all reflecting men its advent seems to be -acknowledged, by most it is welcomed as bringing, so far as we can see -or so far as experience, though chequered, informs us, an increase -of happiness to the masses of mankind, and therefore, in the highest -sense, to all. But it requires to be organized and regulated; otherwise -the end will be anarchy and, as the inevitable consequence of anarchy, -a relapse into a government of force. Republics, as we have more than -once seen, are capable of suicide. The people is no more divine than -kings, though its divinity was proclaimed by the Maratists; it is -capable of governing itself as wrongly as any king can govern it. The -ignorance, the passions, the self-interest, not only of particular -classes, but of all of us alike, need to be controlled, as far as -institutions can control them, and eliminated from the Councils of the -State. The Americans, as was said before, have tried to organize and -regulate democracy. The framers of the American Constitution—no veil -of illusion being spread before their eyes by the surviving forms and -names of an old monarchy—saw the problem which destiny had set before -them. It was not such a problem as would be presented to them by the -America of the present day, with its New York and its Chicago, its -flood of foreign immigrants, and its enfranchised negroes; far less -is it such a problem as Great Britain, with the populace of its great -cities, its host of Radical and Secularist artisans, its uninstructed -millions of farm laborers, and its disaffected Irishry presents to the -British statesman. They had to deal only with the Puritan freeholders -of New England and the planters of the South. Still they saw the -necessity of providing a solution, and a solution they produced—one -not in all respects correct, even in its day (for the mode adopted -of electing the President was a fatal error), yet effective as well -as deliberate, and such as has sufficed, notwithstanding the great -increase of the strain upon the machinery, to shelter civilization and -avert anarchy. They instituted an executive government invested with -actual power and existing independently of parties in Congress, a real -though suspensive veto, a Senate elected on a Conservative principle, -a written constitution in the keeping of a Supreme Court, by which -all powers and jurisdictions are strictly defined and limited, and -which can be amended only with the deliberate consent of the nation -at large. Besides, as was said before, the Federal system itself, by -localizing questions and breaking the sweep of agitation, has a highly -Conservative effect. These safeguards, with the political qualities -of the Anglo-Americans and the Germans, prevent a catastrophe which -without them would certainly come. But England has nothing like them. -She has nothing but an “ancient throne,” now stripped of the last -vestige of political power, and an aristocracy which is evidently -doomed, and, by its struggles to retain its obsolete privilege, -stimulates revolution. The only Conservative institution which is -really effective is the non-payment of Members of Parliament; and this -Democracy has already marked for abolition. - -One could wish for a blast of the Fontarabian horn to awaken British -statesmen, in this decisive hour, to the fact that England, though she -has the consecrated form, has no longer the substance of monarchical -government. Her only government is the House of Commons, or a committee -of leaders of the dominant party, holding their offices during the -pleasure of that House. In the electorate is the supreme power; this -is now not only the fact but a recognized fact. Twice the Ministry, -after submitting its policy to the judgment of the constituencies by a -dissolution of Parliament, has resigned in deference to the verdict. -Yet these same statesmen go on dealing with the electorate as though -they were not dealing with the government or with the sovereign power, -but only with a representation of the people convened for the purpose -of assenting to taxation. They seem to fancy that flood the electorate -as they will with ignorance, passion, and all the elements of violence -and anarchy, the government will still be carried on calmly and wisely -by the occupant and the Ministers of the “ancient throne.” Is it -possible that the mere phrase “servants of the Crown” can cast such a -spell over practical minds? - -Down to this time the political history of England has been a long -revolution, of which the Whig or Liberal party in its successive -phases has been the organ, and by which, after many oscillations -and vicissitudes, supreme power has been drawn from the Crown and -the aristocracy to the Commons. The destructive part of the process -is now all but complete, only a small remnant of precarious power -being retained by the House of Lords. The constructive part remains -to be performed. The task of British statesmen at the present day -is, in effect, to found a Democratic Government. The ground has been -cleared for the new edifice, but the edifice has yet to be built. Its -foundations have hardly yet been laid. - -Without giving way to reactionary panic, it may surely be said that the -times are critical. They are not evil; they are full, on the contrary, -of the unripe promise of good; but they are critical. Statesmen cannot -afford to act blindfold. Democracy comes, as it was likely that it -would come, not by itself, but as part of a general revolution, -political, social, and religious. Nihilism marks, by its all-embracing -lust of destruction, the connection between the different revolutionary -forces, while it exhibits them in their delirious excess. The English -reform movement in the early part of the century was almost exclusively -political; other agitations were called into being by the general -disturbance, but they were secondary and subsided; the main object -sought was the removal of abuses in government; the leaders were strict -economists, and, far from seeking a social revolution, would have -recoiled from the idea. But a momentous change has taken place since -that time. The fermentation is now not only political but general. -Political power is sought by the masses and their leaders, not merely -for the sake of purifying the administration and reducing its cost, -but in the hope that it may be used to effect a great social change. -Secularism has become an important factor in the situation. Rate -religious influence, and that of faith in a future state as low as you -will, it can hardly be denied that the patience of the masses under the -inequalities of the social system has hitherto been largely sustained -by the belief that the system was a providential ordinance, and that -those who did their duty in it, even if they suffered here, would be in -some way made happy in the sum of things. - -Nor has the doctrine of spiritual equality been without its effect in -consoling the lowly for their inferiority of rank. Hereafter scientific -conviction, derived from the study of the social organism, may supply -the place of religious impressions as a motive for acquiescence in -things as they are. At present it is the destructive process of science -that has almost exclusively taken place in the mind of the Radical -proletarian. Believing now that this world is all, he naturally -desires to grasp his full share of its good things without delay. His -sensibility having been quickened with his intelligence, he feels -inferiority as well as privation, and is impelled by social envy as -well as by desire. His education has advanced just far enough to enable -him to imbibe theories which coincide with his wishes. If he cannot -understand the fine reasonings of Mr. George, he can understand the -confiscation, and he thinks that so much fine reasoning must make the -confiscation moral. Communism and semi-communism are rife; there is a -tendency to them even at the Universities, and in other high places. -Perhaps the loss of faith in the Church leads some to see an indemnity -for it in a communistic polity. If there is not in England, as there -is in Germany, a strong Socialistic party, there appears to be a -growing disposition to make a Socialistic use of the suffrage. There is -certainly in many quarters an exaggerated idea of the powers and duties -of the fictitious being styled the State. One conspicuous candidate for -the succession to the leadership, at all events, is evidently holding -out hopes of a Socialistic system of high taxation for the benefit of -those who produce least, and he appears inclined to head a crusade -against the property of all landowners, and of all owners of houses -in towns. Nor is he without rivals in this quest of popularity on the -Tory side. The ball of agrarianism which has been set rolling by recent -legislation in Ireland, rolls on, and its course is not likely to stop -in Skye. All this may be working for good. The writer of this paper, at -all events, has no inclination to take the despondent view. But surely -there is enough to warn statesmen that they must exercise forecast, -that they must try, while they can, to secure to the nation a stable -and rational government; that they must not hastily divorce power from -intelligence and responsibility; that they must not plunge the country -headlong into unorganized and unregulated democracy. If this Parliament -comes to an end without having created any conservative safeguards, -while it has instituted a suffrage destined evidently soon to be -universal, the reins will have been thrown on the necks of the horses, -and the last leverage of Conservatism will be gone. M. Taine has just -shown us whither horses with the reins upon their necks may run, and -what wreck they may make of their own hopes. It is true that great -resignation, and even apathy, has been sometimes shown by the masses in -times of suffering from dearth. No doubt the masses move slowly; but -you incite them to move when you thrust into their hand the vote and -send among them people to teach them that by a violent use of it they -can raise themselves to the level of the rich. Able and powerful men -of the ruling class itself are now, either from philanthropy or from -party motives, doing their utmost to pave the way for a Socialistic -revolution. - -Of all the calamities that ever befell the human race, the greatest -was the French Revolution. Wide, happily, is the difference between -the France of a century ago and the England of the present day. In the -case of England there is no Versailles, no deficit, no gulf between -the aristocracy and the middle classes; while there is diffused -intelligence instead of a night of political ignorance in which all -sorts of spectres stalked, general habits of self-government in -place of a paralyzing centralization, and a political character, as -we may flatter ourselves, stronger and sounder than was that of the -French. Still there are some points of similarity, especially the -dangerous conjunction of social or agrarian with political revolution. -In England, as in the France of the eighteenth century, scepticism -has gained the minds of the ruling class; with their convictions -their nerve is shaken, and it is difficult to see who would stop the -avalanche if once it should begin to slide. Nor is there wanting a -sybaritic Jacobinism which ominously reminds us of the Palais Royal. -Pleasure-hunting and frivolity, athletic and of other kinds, appear -to have reached a great height, and to public questions a sort of -careless fatalism seems to prevail. No doubt there is still plenty -of force and of seriousness in the country; but something like a -convulsion may be needed to bring them to the front. The masses in -France, though galled by the burdens of feudal lordship were not, -properly speaking, Socialistic. Socialism proper can hardly be said to -have shown its head before the conspiracy of Babœuf; and the nation was -still at the core monarchical and Catholic, as was proved by the ease -with which both monarchy and Church were restored by Napoleon. Should -the manufacturing and maritime supremacy of England be still more -severely challenged and continue to decline, an amount of suffering -might be produced among her people hardly less than was, in reality, -that of the people in France. If Socialistic legislation commences in -earnest, and, as the inevitable consequence, property begins to shrink -from circulation and investment, stoppage of industry and dearth of -bread cannot fail to ensue, and we know what the effects of these would -be in the middle of a Socialistic revolution. Much ought to be risked, -if there were real hope of equalizing, by any political action, the -human lot. But who seriously believes this to be possible? Who does not -know that the things which we deplore and are slowly mending will only -be made worse by convulsions? - -Surely, if this work were in the hands of patriotic and comprehensive -statesmanship, not in those of party, there would be, instead of a -mere extension of the Franchise, a revision of the Constitution. -Before, by the admission of a large popular element, the strain upon -the conservative and regulative parts of the machine was increased, -those parts would be looked over and put in order; this question of the -Second Chamber would be settled, and if the result was a determination -to reform the House of Lords, that determination would be carried into -effect, and the institution would be placed in a condition to do its -work, before the next general election. - -In a reform of the House of Lords it is difficult to feel any -confidence. The hereditary principle seems to be thoroughly dead. In -the Middle Ages it had a root in the faith and in the ignorance of -mankind; it had its temporary uses, and at the same time it had its -correctives. A mediæval lord was obliged to exert himself that his -lordship might not be taken by another. A mediæval king was obliged to -exert himself if he wished to keep his crown upon his head. Now, except -in the rare cases of men moulded of Nature’s finest clay, with whom -nobility acts really as an obligation, hereditary rank and wealth kill -duty in the cradle. It is found impossible to get a decent attendance -in the House of Lords. In answer to Lord Rosebery’s appeal, a Peer says -that he will be happy to attend if the nation will re-enact the Corn -Laws, so as to enable him to keep a house in town. To indulge a mere -whim, the hereditary wearers of the crown refuse to visit Ireland, and -thus fling away the affections of the Irish people. The historical -cause has been tried during this controversy and the issue is not -doubtful. We have seen how the House of Lords, since it assumed its -present character, which it did under the second Tudor, has worked. -That it has acted as a court of mature wisdom, revising on grounds -of impartial statesmanship the rash decisions of the popular House, -is as complete a fable as its Norman pedigree. It has simply opposed -the selfish resistance of a privileged order to change of every kind. -Could it have its way, not only Rotten Boroughs and Sinecurism, but the -old Criminal Code, Religious Intolerance, Arbitrary Imprisonment, the -Censorship of the Press, the Paper Duty, even Slavery and the Slave -Trade, would still be cumbering the earth; or, rather, long ago, the -nation would have been compelled to choose between political death and -revolution. To fear, on questions which caused national excitement, the -House of Lords has at last given way; but not to reason and justice. A -multitude of minor reforms it has strangled, by its obstructiveness, -altogether. The only great measure of change which this organ of -mature wisdom ever readily passed was the Franchise Bill of 1867, -which was described by its own author as a leap in the dark, and had -been devised with the view of swamping progressive intelligence in a -flood of ignorance and beer. Nor has obstruction been the only sin of -that order of which the House of Lords is the organ; it has given to -the general policy of England a class bias; it stimulated the crusade -against the French Revolution, and unlike the crusading Barons of the -Middle Ages, it stayed at home revelling in high rents and in a mass of -sinecures, of which it sacrificed not one penny, while the people bled -and starved in a cause which was not theirs. It has fostered militarism -generally as a diversion from domestic reform. On economic questions -the legislation of the Lords has been mere landlordism. As mere -landlords they have acted, from the day on which they sold the national -religion to the Pope for a quiet title to the Church lands, to the -day on which they passed the Arrears Bill, after showing their sense -of its character, in order that they might recover some of their back -rents. If twice in the course of their long history they have been for -a moment on the side of freedom, fear for their Church lands, combined -with jealousy of ecclesiastical favorites, was the cause. The period of -their most complete ascendency, in the last century, was the epoch of -political corruption; and the conduct of the House at the time of the -railway mania, when it formed a Ring in the landlord interest, was, to -say the least, not a proof that hereditary wealth lifts its possessor -above commercial motives. Many histories are darker than that of the -House of Lords; few are less heroic; and the facts are now deeply -imprinted on the minds of the people. Faith in the “noble blood” of the -scapegrace son of a law lord, once dissipated, is not likely to return. -The hereditary wealth itself, which is the real basis of aristocratic -influence, and without which the Peerage would be a thing of shreds and -patches, is reduced by agricultural depression, and will be greatly -broken up by the abolition of primogeniture and entail,—a change -which is sure to come, for it will be found that the only antidote to -agrarian communism is the free acquisition of land. The hereditary -principle is dead, and can serve England or civilized humanity no more. -Introduced into, or retained in, any Senate, it will carry with it the -seeds of death. As soon as it obeys, as obey it certainly will, its -obstructive instinct, the cry against it will be renewed. It will not -become less odious by becoming weaker. If the life element which it is -proposed to introduce remains antagonistic to the hereditary element, -the tribunal of mature wisdom will be divided against itself and fresh -conflicts will ensue. If it is assimilated, you will have the House of -Lords over again, and more odious than ever, since the life element -will be regarded as having apostatized and betrayed its trust. - -Yet the whole theory of a Second Chamber as a necessary part of -Parliamentary institutions appears to have no other origin nor any -sounder basis than a mistaken view of the nature of the House of -Lords, which all the world has supposed to be a Senate, when in fact -it was an estate of the feudal realm, representing not a higher grade -of deliberative wisdom but simply the special interest of the great -landowners. The only valid argument in favor of the retention of the -House of Lords is, in fact, the difficulty which the Bicamerists find -in devising anything to be put in its place. Nomination is a total -failure; the nominated Senate of Canada is a legislative cypher, the -debates of which are not even reported, and the places in it are a mere -addition to the bribery fund of the party leader. If both Chambers are -elective, as in Victoria, the result is a collision and a deadlock, -out of which, in the case of sovereign assemblies, there would be no -colonial officer or governor to point a way. Co-option in any form, -or election by an order, would give us the oligarchy over again, -perhaps in a worse shape than ever, since the members would have to -cultivate the good graces of a privileged and reactionary electorate. -Not only as to the mode in which their Senate is to be elected are -the Bicamerists at fault; they are equally at fault as to the special -materials of which it is to be composed. If age or wealth is to be the -qualification, impotence or odium will be the result. If the wisest are -to have their seats in the Senate, the popular House will be deprived -of its best leaders. Supreme power must centre somewhere; it will -centre in that body which most directly represents the national will. -Let the assembly, then, which is the seat of supreme power, be the -seat of collective wisdom. Concentrate in it, as far as possible, all -the best available elements, those of a conservative character as well -as the rest. Frankly recognize its authority, and invest it at the same -time with a full measure of responsibility. Notoriously the existence -of a Senate diminishes the sense of responsibility in the popular -chamber, and diminishes it out of proportion to the control really -exercised; for a Senate soon gets tired of incurring the unpopularity -of rejection. This surely is a more rational and hopeful plan than -that of abandoning the seat of supreme power to popular impulse, and -affixing by way of safeguard an artificial regulator to its side. -Checks and balances belong to mechanics, not to politics; in mechanics -you can apportion force, in politics force cannot be apportioned, -though nominal authority may. That there are good and useful elements -in the House of Lords, especially among the new creations, nobody -doubts. Let them be transferred, with any social influence which in -these democratic times may adhere to them, to a sphere where they can -act with effect. At present they are ostracized by seclusion, as is -clearly perceived by some Radicals, who on that ground deprecate a -reform of the House of Lords. Let Lord Salisbury go to the Commons and -Lord Hartington stay there. The Lords are warned by their partisans -against imitating the foolish abdication of the French aristocracy in -the famous holocaust of feudal titles. To that it may come, if they -do not take care. But this is an earlier stage of the revolution, and -the day of grace has not yet expired. Let the Lords do that which the -French aristocracy ought to have done, and by doing which they might -have averted the catastrophe. Let them at once go over frankly to the -_Tiers Etat_, and strengthen by their accession the conservative forces -in the national assembly. Convulsive efforts to retain an obnoxious -privilege only inflame the revolutionary spirit, and at the same time -make it still more desperately difficult for rational statesmanship -to deal with the situation. Tory democracy is apparently a plea for -founding aristocracy on demagogism, and for stemming Socialism by -heading it and combining it with a foreign policy of violence. Can -the House of Lords be so blind as not to see in what such a course -must end? What has been the end of other attempts of privilege to save -itself by an alliance with extreme Radicalism against moderate reform? - -Not in a Second Chamber, patched up or newly created, but in a -well-regulated franchise and a rational mode of election, are effectual -securities for the permanent ascendancy of national reason over passion -in the legislature to be found. The electorate has been dealt with by -successive reformers in the belief that its functions, and therefore -the necessary qualifications for it, have remained unchanged. But its -functions have been greatly changed, and have become infinitely more -important and difficult than they originally were. Instead of merely -choosing delegates to give his assent to taxation, the elector is -now called upon to choose a ruler, and, at the same time, virtually -to decide upon the general policy of the country. This is beyond the -capacity of any ordinary voter. Everybody knows what happens, and -until an immense progress shall have been made in popular education, -must happen—how the intelligent elector, even supposing him to escape -bribery and all other corrupt influences, votes at best for the Blue -or Yellow ticket, and too often votes not even for the Blue or Yellow -ticket, but with reference to some merely local or personal question, -some fancy or antipathy, leaving the broad interests of the country and -the qualifications essential to a legislator altogether out of sight. -The author of “Round My House” tells us how opinion among the French -peasantry in certain districts was swept by an angry fancy about a -reduction in the value of a coin. What chance would Chatham or Peel, -representing a great national policy, have stood against the lowest -demagogue if he had been on the unpopular side of the question about -the Cider Tax or Wood’s halfpence? An ordinary citizen, occupied in -trade or manual labor, has not the leisure, if he had the knowledge -and capacity, to study the complex questions put before him. Yet there -are reformers who desire to set Hodge to choose not only out of the -worthies of his own neighborhood, but out of all the notabilities -of the country, among whom the largest vote would probably be polled -by the Tichborne Claimant. From selfishness the poor are at least as -free as the rich; they would vote at least as well if they knew how; -but the knowledge is to them unattainable. In no sphere but that of -politics does anybody propose to thrust upon people power of which it -is manifestly impossible that they should make an intelligent use. -Not only is it manifestly impossible that the people should make an -intelligent use of the power of direct election to the governing -assembly and of determining its policy: it is morally impossible that -they should really make use of it at all. They are unorganized, and, -though they live in the same district, unconnected as a rule with each -other: they have no means of taking counsel together for the selection -of a member. The selection must therefore be made for them by some -self-constituted agency. That agency is the Caucus, into the hands of -whose managers and masters the representation, styled popular, really -falls. - -Both the party organizations in England are now adopting the system, -and thus confiscating the suffrage which they profess by legislation -to bestow. One of them at least already has the Boss, and both of -them will soon have the complete machine, with a host of professional -politicians, recruited from the class which prefers place-hunting to -honest trades. Government, in a word, will fall into the hands of -irresponsible intriguers, and will be dominated in ever-increasing -measure by Knavery and corruption. Nor is there any assignable remedy -for the evil; the wire-pullers and professional politicians alone -can give their time to the elections, and therefore it is hardly -possible to organize the means of casting off their yoke. Attending -“primaries” is often preached as the duty of the patriotic citizen; -but the patriotic citizen who does attend the primary finds everything -arranged by the wire-pullers beforehand and himself impotent and -a laughing-stock. This will not appear in the first flush of a -revolutionary movement, while the present leaders retain their -ascendancy, but it will appear as soon as the revolution settles down. -Public education, it is true, has been introduced in England; but it -has always existed in the United States, and it has not saved that -country from the Boss. To save the country from the Boss is now the -highest aim of the best citizens; but they will hardly succeed without -a constitutional change. - -American reformers, if they want to go to the root of the evil, have a -light to guide their efforts in the successful working of their Senate, -which, being elected indirectly, through the State Legislatures, is -a body of remarkable ability, and possesses the general confidence -of the nation; while the House of Representatives, elected directly -by the people, that is, by the wire-puller, who usurps the functions -of the people, presents a most unfavorable contrast. Those who have -sat in both say the difference between the two political atmospheres -is immense. Rid the Senate of Party, and it would be about as good -a governing body as any nation could reasonably desire. Indirect -elections through local councils is the plan which seems to promise the -best central legislature; and it takes from the primary elector nothing -which at present is really his. Ordinary knowledge and intelligence -ought to suffice to enable a man to choose from among his neighbors -those who are fittest to manage his local affairs. But the local -councillors would be a comparatively picked body; they might reasonably -be expected to give their minds to the central election; they would not -be too many for concert; and they would exercise their power as a trust -under the eyes of the people. As permanent bodies they could not, like -the College of Presidential Electors, be reduced to the mere bearers -of a mandate. A high trust, by adding to the importance and dignity of -local councils, would be likely to draw into them better men. Through -such an organization, apparently, opinion might freely and quietly flow -from the people to the depository of power. Local and social influences -would no doubt be strong; but they are more wholesome than that of the -Boss, and, as was said before, it is easier to enlarge the parochial -than to make the wire-puller honest. Parochialism, however, has been -pretty well broken up by the press and the telegraph. Hardly anybody -can now live in intellectual isolation. The Caucus itself, so far as -it works fairly, is a tribute to the principle of indirect election. - -To begin by passing a measure of Home Rule, not for Ireland alone, -but for the United Kingdom, to reconstruct the local institutions, -unloading upon them part of the now crushing burden of the central -legislature, and then to base the central institutions upon them, -is a policy which might at least claim attention, and, perhaps, -deserve partial experiment, as an alternative to central revolution, -if the nation and its leaders had not surrendered themselves to the -revolutionary current. - -Like the mode of election, the qualification for the franchise has -never undergone any rational consideration with reference to the -changed status and duties of the elector, who, instead of being really -a subject, is now a participant in sovereign power. Nothing has been -thought of the property qualification, which by successive agitations -has been reduced to the vanishing point, and the next time anybody -wants to raise the political wind will finally disappear. The broader -the basis of electoral institutions can safely be made the better, and -with indirect instead of direct election to the central legislature, -it would be safe to make it very broad. Still some qualifications are -necessary, even for the primary elector; nor, if the writer may trust -his own observation, is there any indisposition on the part of the -intelligent working-classes to look at the matter in that light. A -common education is now placed within everybody’s reach by the help -of the State, and it entails corresponding obligations. A mode of -ascertaining that the elector could read and write, or at least read, -by means of a certificate or test, might surely be devised. Personal -application for registration would also be a fair requirement, since -a man would hardly be fit to share the sovereign power who did not -care enough about his vote to ask for it; and it would probably -act as a useful criterion, self-applied. With the full powers of a -citizen should also go, in reason, the full duties—liability to serve -on juries, to assist in the enforcement of the law, to take part, -if called upon, in the defence of the country. There is a vague -notion that all human beings, or all who pay taxes (which, directly -or indirectly, everybody does), have a natural right to a vote, and -this is carried so far that votes are about to be given to a multitude -of Irish who openly profess themselves the enemies of the State, and -announce that they will use the votes for its destruction. Perhaps -this Irish experiment may help to bring us all to reason, and convince -us that nobody has a right to the means of doing mischief to himself -and his fellows, or to anything but that form of government which is -practically the best for all. - -Considering how our morality and happiness depend on the maintenance -of right relations between the sexes, it is surely a proof of the -desperate recklessness of party that the Conservative leaders should -be willing to fling female character and ultimately the home into -the political caldron for the sake of gaining the female vote. Their -calculation may prove unfounded; at least on this continent the -women of Conservative temperament seem to stay at home, while the -revolutionary Megæra mounts the platform and, brandishing her torch -among the Anarchists of Chicago, bids the poor trust in dynamite -instead of trusting in God. That gentleness and purity will come -with woman into public life is certainly not the decisive verdict of -experience, so far as experience has gone. It rather seems that her -gentleness and purity depended on her absence from the political arena. -Will the government be improved by being made feminine? That is the -question to be answered in the common interest of both sexes. The male -nature, though not higher, is the more practical. Men, as a rule, alone -are brought into daily contact with the world of action by the varied -experiences and exigencies of which the balance of political character -is formed. Men alone can be said to be fully responsible. Unless -sentiment should undergo a total change, a female Member of Parliament -or office-holder could not be called to account like a man. In this -rough world how will a nation prosper which is swayed by the emotions -of its women? The sexes may be co-equal, and yet, having different -natures, they may have different parts to play in the community as -they certainly have in the family. Laws have been made by man, because -law, to take effect, must have force behind it, and the force of the -community is male. If women made such laws as some of them threaten -to make in the interest of their sex, men would refuse to execute the -law. If women voted a war for some object of female enthusiasm, as -the French women would for the defence of the Pope, men would refuse -to march. The authority of government would then fall. A woman cannot -support the police or take part in the defence of the country. Women -are not a class with separate interests of its own, but a sex, the -political interests of which are identical with those of their husbands -and brothers. Their property is not of a special kind, nor can it be -alleged to have suffered any wrong by general legislation. Assuredly -general legislation has of late not been unfavorable to woman. Perhaps -they get more from the chivalry of male legislation than they would -get if, armed with political power, they were fighting for themselves. -To the argument that property held by them is unrepresented, the -answer is that no property is represented in any hands beyond the -minimum required for a qualification in each case. This is a small -hardship compared with the practical exclusion from voting of all our -sailors, the flower of our industry, and of a large number of those -employed by commerce in the work of distribution. Woman, if she has -her disabilities, has also her privileges, which, with the general -guardianship of affection, the majority of the sex would probably be -unwilling to renounce for the sake of gratifying the ambition of a -few. Conservatives especially may be expected to consider the effects -likely to be produced on female character and on domestic life by the -introduction of women into politics and the general revolution in -the relations between the sexes of which that measure is an integral -part. Female aspirations begin to take a new turn. An American apostle -of woman’s rights told us plainly the other day that she considered -maternity a poor aim for a woman’s ambition. Nature answers by dooming -the race to decay. - -A stable, though responsible, executive, invested with a reasonable -amount of authority, commanding the general confidence of the people, -and capable of exercising forecast and governing on a plan, especially -with regard to foreign affairs, is a necessity of civilized life. How -is it to be secured for the future to England? Have reforming statesmen -asked themselves that momentous question, or has the necessity of -answering it been hidden from their eyes by the illusion which -surrounds the “ancient throne?” What basis has Government at present -but party? Is not that crisis crumbling to pieces? Is not the Liberal -party in the House of Commons split up into discordant sections and -held together solely by the authority of a leader in his seventy-fifth -year and without any visible heir of his power? Have not the Irish -entirely severed themselves from it and taken up a position which -renders a reunion with them hopeless? Is not even the Tory party, -though as a party of reaction less exposed to disintegration than a -party of progress, went by divergent tendencies towards Conservatism -on one side and Tory democracy on the other? Is not everybody at a -loss to conceive how, after next election, and when the number of -Parnellites shall have been increased, a party broad and strong enough -to support a government is to be formed? The disintegration is not -confined to England; it extends to all countries in which Parliamentary -institutions prevail. It is extending now to the United States, where -the reforming Republicans voted in the Presidential election; and the -other day the Liberal party in Belgium suddenly split in two. The -consequences everywhere are the fatal instability and weakness of -government, the only exception being Germany, where Bismarck holds -himself above party, governs on a principle really monarchical, and -makes up a majority from any quarter that he can? France, with her -Chamber full of Sectionalism, cabal and unruly ambition, lives always -on the brink of administrative anarchy: industry and commerce never -knowing whether next day they will have the shelter of a government -over their heads. The Executive in the United States stands on an -independent though elective footing; if it depended for its existence -from day to day on the factions of Congress, chaos would soon come. -Is there any prospect of a return to party union and solidity? As -intellects grow more active, idiosyncracies more pronounced, ambitions -more numerous and keen, is it likely that divergences will become fewer -and that patient submission to party discipline will increase? Is not -the tendency everywhere the opposite way? What permanent claim has -party on the allegiance of a moral being? What is it but a soft name -for faction, the bane of States? Why should a good citizen surrender -his conscience to it? Why should good citizens for ever divide -themselves into two hostile camps, and wage political war against each -other? Is an unpatriotic and anti-social principle to be accepted as -the last word of politics? The supply of organic questions cannot be -inexhaustible. When it is exhausted and divisions of principle have -disappeared, on what ground of reason or moral motive are parties to -rest? Must they not thenceforth become factions pure and simple? Have -they not become factions pure and simple, whenever organic questions -have ceased to be at issue? Party has been the organ by which in -England the Long Revolution has been conducted to its issue, and -power has been gradually wrested from the Crown and transferred to -the Commons. Hence the belief, shared by the whole of Europe, that -party was inseparable from Parliamentary institutions, and that in -no other way could free government be carried on. If free government -can be carried on in no other way, the prospect is dark, for party is -apparently doomed, alike by morality and by the growing tendencies of -the age. But there is obviously one other way at least in which free -government can be carried on. Instead of making office the prize of -a perpetual faction fight, the members of the Executive Council of -State may be regularly elected by the Members of the Legislature for -a term certain, under such a system with regard to the rotation of -vacancies as may at once secure sufficient harmony between the two -bodies and a sufficient continuity in the executive government. The -responsibility of the Executive for the decisions of the Legislature, -and its obligation to resign upon every Legislative defeat, which is -a mere accident of English history and devoid of rational foundation, -would then cease. The Legislature and the Executive would be at liberty -each to do its own work. The Executive would be national, and would -receive the general support of the community instead of being an object -of organized hostility to half of it; it would be stable instead -of being as it is now throughout Europe ephemeral as well as weak. -Responsibility on the part of its members instead of being diminished -would be increased. It would become individual, whereas now it is only -collective, the whole Cabinet and the party majority being bound to -support each Minister whatever may be his failure in duty. Personal -aptitude might be considered in the elections to the offices, whereas -at present little can be considered beyond the necessity of providing -for all the leaders, and a good financier or Minister of Marine would -not be turned out because he was in the minority on a Franchise Bill. - -The nations have been so much engaged in taking authority out of bad -hands, that they have forgotten that it is a good and necessary thing -in itself. Government has become dangerously weak. The greater part -of its energy is now expended, not in the work of administration, -but in preserving its own existence. Not only is it exposed to the -incessant attacks of an Opposition whose business is to traduce and -harass it, but it is now hardly able to sustain itself against the -irresponsible power of the press, wielded nobody knows by whom, but -often under secret influences, which are a great and growing danger in -all communities. To keep the popular favor, which is to them the breath -of life, the members of the Cabinet have to be always on the stump, -reserving to themselves little time for rest or reflection, and the -stump orator is rapidly superseding the statesman. This vacillation of -policy on the Egyptian question, the consequences of which all have -been deploring, has not been so much that of the Government as that -of the nation itself worrying and distracting the Government through -the press. A country with an Empire and a world-wide diplomacy cannot -afford to have an Executive, the policy of which is always shifting -with the wind of opinion, and which can exercise no forecast, because -it is not sure of its existence for an hour. In India, the danger is -not so much from native disaffection as from British agitation, which -the Company managed to exclude, but which, since India has been driven -into the vortex of British politics, a party Government has no power to -control. Those who are as far as is the writer of this paper from being -Imperialists, must see, nevertheless, that while the Empire exists it -creates a special necessity for a strong and undemagogic Government, -and that on any hypothesis, a disruption, or general dissolution from -a collapse of the central authority, is not the thing to be desired. -The Radicals themselves are saying that what the country now wants is -a strong government, by which, however, people often mean a government -strongly imbued with their own ideas. - -England ought not to be very much in love with the party system at this -moment, for it has well-nigh laid her, with all her greatness and her -glory, at the feet of Messrs. Healy and Biggar. Faction and nothing -but faction has brought her to the verge of a dismemberment, which, -by carving a hostile Republic out of her side, would reduce her to a -second-rate Power, and condemn her to play a subordinate instead of a -leading part in the march of European civilization. “England has lost -heart” is the exalting cry of Mr. Parnell. She has lost heart because -she is betrayed by faction, seeking under highly philanthropic and -philosophic pretences to climb into power by bartering the unity of the -nation for the Irish vote. With a truly national government she would -soon be herself again. - -There is another point which, while time for consideration remains -to them, British statesmen will surely do well to consider. It would -seem paradoxical to say that England, the parent of constitutional -government, has no constitution; but it will be admitted at once that -she has no legal constitution, at least that her legal constitution is -not actual. Actually she has nothing but a balance of power, or rather -the power no longer balanced of the House of Commons, which if the -Crown attempted to govern would stop the supplies, and if the Lords -attempted to vote would force the Crown to coerce them by a swamping -creation, or incite the people to terrify them into submission. The -term “Constitutional,” though it seems full of mysterious and august -meaning, has never really denoted anything but the limit of practical -force. If it has been unconstitutional for the Lords to amend a money -Bill, but constitutional for them to reject a Bill respecting a tax, as -in the noted case of the paper duty, the reason was that the rejection -was final, whereas the amended Bill would go back to the Commons, who -would throw it out. But while the Commons have annihilated the power -of the Crown, and reduced that of the Lords almost to a cipher, they -remain themselves liable to dissolution at the will of the party leader -into whose hands that prerogative has come, and who can thus suspend -at any moment the existence of the supreme government, reduce its -members to private citizens, and, if they resist, deal with them as -common rioters through the police. In the ordinary course of things the -existence of the supreme government is suspended, and an interregnum -ensues, whenever the regular Parliamentary term expires. This is hardly -the sort of ship with which it is wise to put out on the wide waters -of democracy. England, like other nations under the elective system, -needs a written constitution, defining all powers and duties, guarding -against any usurpation, and entrusted to the keeping of a court of -law. Traditions and understandings, which may be maintained and serve -their purpose so long as the government is in the hands of a family -group of statesmen walking in the ancestral paths, will not command -the same respect in a far different order of things. The written -constitution is the political Bible of the United States, and without -it all would soon be usurpation and confusion. A written constitution -in no way interferes with the freedom of development which is the -supposed privilege of the unwritten. It only provides that development -shall proceed in the way of regular and legal amendment, and not in -that of violent collision and intimidation by street parades. The -system of constitutional amendment works perfectly well in the United -States. The power might be safely reposed in the people at large. Men -who are not competent to vote on the complex question of the general -policy of the country, and at the same time on the merits of the -candidate, are competent to vote on a single question submitted by -itself, and with regard to which, moreover, there is little danger of -corruption or illicit influence. But the nation at large ought, by -petition sufficiently signed or in some other way, to have the power of -initiating constitutional amendments or compelling their submission by -the Government as well as of rejecting them when submitted. Elective -rulers, once installed in power, are no more willing to part with it -than kings. Such a body as the American House of Representatives, -though it might become a sheer political nuisance, would never take the -first step in reform. There ought to be a power of enforcing change, -when the necessity for it has become apparent to the nation, without -having recourse to a violent revolution, or even to intimidation such -as is being used in default of a better means to wrest the veto from -the House of Lords. - -These are the views of one who has long been convinced that the day -of hereditary institutions had closed, that the day of elective -institutions had fully come, that the appointed task of political -science was to study the liabilities, weaknesses and dangers of the -elective system with a view to their correction or prevention, and that -the mission of the Liberal party in England was to conduct the critical -transition and guide Europe in accomplishing it without revolution. If -such views are condemned as Conservative by Radicals, and as Republican -by Conservatives, neither charge can well be repelled. They certainly -cannot be congenial to any who exult in the prospect of a socialistic -revolution. But the upshot of all that has been here said is that -Democracy must be organized and regulated. Unorganized and unregulated, -it will probably end in confusion.—_Contemporary Magazine._ - - - - -SIR WILLIAM SIEMENS.[8] - - [8] A Lecture delivered before the (London) Sunday Lecture Society, - January 18, 1885. - -BY WILLIAM LANT CARPENTER. - -I am about to endeavor to set forth the life and work of Sir William -Siemens, who was not only an ardent scientific discoverer, but one -whose work for the last five or six years has interested the general -public to a degree that has perhaps never before been the case with any -man so devoted to science as he was. Of him it may be said, without -fear of contradiction, that he has, beyond all his contemporaries, -promoted the practical application of scientific discovery to -industrial purposes. It has also been said by one who had the privilege -of his friendship, that “no one could know him without feeling how -lovely his character was. Wonderful as were the qualities of his mind, -they were equalled by the nobleness of his heart.” - -These two sentences, then, will serve to indicate my purpose. In -telling, with necessary brevity, the story of the life of Sir -William Siemens, I shall try to keep in view the fact that even his -great powers, without his large heart, would never have produced -the impression which he did upon the national mind. Hence, after I -have given a sketch of some of the more important discoveries of -the inventor, and their consequences to the national life, I shall, -with the help of materials most kindly and liberally placed at my -disposal by his family, try to show what manner of man he was, and -what impression he made upon those who had the very great advantage of -personal communion with him. - -Charles William Siemens was born at Lenthe in Hanover on April 4, -1823, and was one among many of a family eminent for their scientific -knowledge and practical skill. The possession of such unusual talents -by a whole family is rarer, perhaps, in the intellectual life of -England than in that of Germany; at any rate, in the absence of -definite statistics such as those compiled with so much care by Mr. -Francis Galton, the general impression is that such is the case. It -is not difficult to discern in the scientific career of the Brothers -Siemens some prominent characteristics of their race; and in the -life of Sir William, the sympathy of the German mind for general -principles, and the tenacity with which it clings to them, are well -illustrated, and stand out in strongly-marked contrast to the usual -indifference of the average English mind to theoretic conclusions, as -opposed to so-called practical ones. It would be well-nigh impossible -to find among Englishmen one instance in which an inventor has been so -confident of the possible utility of a few grand general principles, -that he has worked out from them several great inventions; and that -he felt himself justified in this confidence after years of hard work -is evidenced by his own saying that “the farther we advance, the more -thoroughly do we approach the indications of pure science in our -practical results.” - -William Siemens received his early educational training at Lübeck, and -in the course of it the stimulus afforded to excellence of workmanship -by the German guild system made an early and lasting impression upon -his mind, for he repeatedly referred to it in after life. From Lübeck -he went to the Polytechnical School at Magdeburg, where he studied -physical science with apparatus of the most primitive kind, and under -great disadvantages, as compared with the facilities of our modern -laboratories. After this he studied at Göttingen University, where, -under Wöhler and Himly, he first got that insight into chemical laws -which laid the foundation of his metallurgical knowledge, and here -began to develop in him that wonderful thirst for discovery, which -abundant success never quenched. Here, also, occurred what he has -himself described as “the determining incident of his life.” Mr. -Elkington, of Birmingham, utilising the discoveries of Davy, Faraday, -and Jacobi, had devised the first practical application of that form -of energy which we now call the electric current, and in 1842 he -established a practical process of electro-plating. In the following -year, as the result of his own and his brother Werner’s work, William -Siemens presented himself before Mr. Elkington with an improvement -in his process, which was adopted. This is the first on the list of -inventions on the diagram behind me. Speaking of his first landing in -London he says: - -“I expected to find some office in which inventions were examined, and -rewarded if found meritorious; but no one could direct me to such a -place. In walking along Finsbury Pavement, I saw written up in large -letters so-and-so (I forget the name) ‘undertaker,’ and the thought -struck me that this must be the place I was in quest of. At any rate -I thought that a person advertising himself as an undertaker would -not refuse to look into my invention, with a view of obtaining for me -the sought-for recognition or reward. On entering the place I soon -convinced myself, however, that I had come decidedly too soon for the -kind of enterprise there contemplated, and finding myself confronted -with the proprietor of the establishment, I covered my retreat by what -he must have thought a very inadequate excuse.” - -Returning to Germany, he became a pupil in the engine works of Count -Stolberg, to study mechanical engineering. While there he worked out -a great improvement upon Watt’s centrifugal governor for regulating -the supply of steam to an engine, and in 1844 he returned to England -with his invention, and soon decided to stay here. His object in doing -so was to enjoy the security which the English patent law afforded -to inventors, for in his own country there were then no such laws. -This chronometric governor, though not very successful commercially, -introduced him to the engineering world; it was originally intended -for steam engines, but its chief application has been to regulate the -movement of the great transit instrument at Greenwich. Then followed -in quick succession several minor inventions which met with varying -practical success, such as the process of anastatic printing, which was -made the subject of a Royal Institution lecture in 1845 by Faraday; a -water meter, which has since been in general use; an air pump, &c., &c. - -About this time the researches of Joule, Carnot, and Mayer upon -the relations between heat and mechanical work were attracting much -attention among scientific men, and at the age of twenty-three, William -Siemens adopted the hypothesis now known as the dynamical theory of -heat. More than once I have drawn attention to the exact numerical -relation between units of heat and units of work established by Joule, -viz., that 772 foot-pounds of work is required to generate heat enough -to raise the temperature of 1 lb. of water 1° Fah., and I have pointed -out here and elsewhere that this was the first well-authenticated -example of that grandest of modern generalisations, the doctrine of the -Conservation of Energy, the truth of which is constantly receiving new -illustrations. - -With a mind thoroughly pervaded by this important principle, Siemens -applied himself to the study of steam and caloric engines, and saw at -once that there was an enormous difference between the theoretical -and the actual power gained from the heat developed by the combustion -of a given quantity of coal, and hence that there was a very large -margin for improvement. He at once determined to try to utilise some -of this wasted heat, and he conceived the idea (to which I invite your -particular attention) of making a regenerator, or an accumulator, which -should retain or store a limited quantity of heat, and be capable of -yielding it up again when required for the performance of any work. -In the factory of Mr. John Hicks, of Bolton, he first constructed an -engine on this plan; the saving in fuel was great, but it was attended -by mechanical difficulties which at that time he was unable to solve. -The Society of Arts, however, recognised the value of the principle -by awarding him a gold medal in 1850. Three years afterwards, his -paper “On the Conversion of Heat into Mechanical Effect,” before the -Institution of Civil Engineers, gained him the Telford premium (awarded -only once in five years) and the medal of the Institution. In 1856 he -gave a lecture upon his engine at the Royal Institution, considered as -the result of ten years’ experimental work, and as the first practical -application of the mechanical theory of heat; he then indicated the -economic considerations which encouraged him to persevere in his -experiments, pointing out that the total national expenditure for -steam-coal alone amounted to eight millions sterling per year, of which -at least two-thirds might be saved! - -His efforts to improve the steam-engine, however, were speedily -followed by a still more important application of the mechanical -theory of heat to industrial purposes. In 1857 his younger brother, -and then pupil, Frederick (who, since the death of Sir William, has -undertaken the sole charge of the development of this branch of his -elder brother’s work), suggested to him the employment of regenerators -for the purpose of saving some of the heat wasted in metallurgical -operations, and for four years he labored to attain this result, -constructing several different forms of furnace. His chief practical -difficulties arose from the use of solid fuel—coal or coke—but when, -in 1859, he hit upon the plan of converting the solid fuel into -gaseous, which he did by the aid of his gas-producer, he found that -the results obtained with his regenerators exceeded his most sanguine -expectations. In 1861 the first practical regenerative gas furnace -was erected at the glass works of Messrs. Chance Bros. in Manchester, -and it was found to be very economical in its results. Early in 1862 -the attention of Faraday was drawn to this matter, and on June 20 of -the same year, that prince of experimentalists appeared before the -Royal Institution audience for the last time to explain the wonderful -simplicity, economy, and power of the Siemens regenerative gas furnace. -Age and experience have not diminished the high estimation in which it -is held; after nearly twenty years of continuous working and extended -application, Sir Henry Bessemer described it in 1880 as an “invention -which was at once the most philosophic in principle, the most powerful -in action, and the most economic, of all the contrivances for producing -heat by the combustion of coal.” - -The furnace consists essentially of three parts; (1) the gas producer, -which converts the solid coal into gaseous fuel; (2) the regenerators, -usually four in number, which are filled with fire-brick piled in -such a way as to break up into many parts a current of air or gas -passing through them; (3) the furnace proper, where the combustion -is actually accomplished. In using the furnace, the gaseous fuel and -air are conducted through one pair of regenerators to the combustion -chamber; the heated gases from this, on their way to the chimney, pass -through the other pair of regenerators, heating them in their passage. -In the course of, say, one hour, the currents are reversed, so that -the comparatively cold gas and air pass over these heated regenerators -before entering the furnace, and rob them of their heat. While this is -going on, the first pair of regenerators is being heated again, and -thus, by working them in alternate pairs, nearly all the heat, which -would otherwise have escaped unused into the chimney, is utilised. - -By this process of accumulation the highest possible temperature (only -limited by the point at which its materials begin to melt), can be -obtained in the furnace chamber, without an intensified draft, and with -inferior fuel. - -It has been found that this furnace is capable of making a ton of -crucible steel with _one-sixth_ of the fuel required without it, and -that while the temperature of the furnace chamber exceeded 4,000° -Fahrenheit, the waste products of combustion escaped into the chimney -at 240° Fahrenheit, or very little above the temperature at which water -boils in the open air. - -At the locomotive works of the London and North Western Railway at -Crewe, where these furnaces have long been used, it was formerly the -practice to lock a piece of pitch pine into the flue leading to the -chimney, and if at the end of the week the wood was charred, it was -evidence that more heat had been wasted than ought to have been, and -the men in charge of the furnace were fined. - -This all-important national question, the waste of fuel, which in -modern phraseology may be truly called the waste of energy, was -constantly before the mind of Sir William Siemens, who lost no -opportunity, in his public utterances, of impressing his hearers, and -that still wider circle which he reached through the medium of the -press, with a sense of the weighty consequences which it involved. -In an address at Liverpool in 1872, as President of the Institution -of Mechanical Engineers, he estimated the total coal consumption of -this country at one hundred and twenty million tons, which at 10s. -per ton amounted to sixty millions sterling. He strongly asserted -that one-half of this might be saved by the general adoption of -improved appliances which were within the range of actual knowledge; -and he went on to speak of outside speculations, which would lead to -the expectation of accomplishing these ends with one-eighth or even -one-tenth of the actual expenditure. In 1873 he delivered a famous -lecture on Fuel to the operative classes at Bradford, on behalf of -the British Association, in which he illustrated how fuel should -be used by three examples, typical of the three great branches of -consumption: _a_, the production of steam power; _b_, the domestic -hearth; _c_, the metallurgical furnace. In connection with the last -point he mentioned that the Sheffield pot steel-melting furnace only -utilised _one-seventieth_ part of the theoretical heat developed in the -combustion, and contrasted with it his own furnace for melting steel. -In discussing the question of the duration of our coal supply, he -indicated what should be our national aim in the following suggestive -and inspiring passage: - -“In working through the statistical returns of the progressive increase -of population, of steam power employed, and of production of iron and -steel, &c., I find that our necessities increase at a rate of not less -than 8 per cent. per annum, whereas our coal consumption increases only -at the rate of 4 per cent., showing that the balance of 4 per cent. is -met by what may be called our ‘intellectual progress.’ Now, considering -the enormous margin for improvement before us, I contend that we should -not be satisfied with this rate of intellectual progress, involving as -it does an annual deficit of four million tons to be met by increased -coal production, but that we should bring our intellectual progress up -to the rate of our industrial progress, by which means we should make -the coal production nearly a constant quantity for several generations -to come.” - -One of the direct results of this lecture, which was read and warmly -commended by some of the most eminent men of the time, was that Dr. -Siemens was consulted by Mr. Mundella in reference to parliamentary -action by the Board of Trade in regard to the coal question. - -In 1874 he received the Albert Gold Medal from the Society of Arts -“for his researches in connection with the laws of heat, and for -services rendered by him in the economisation of fuel in its various -applications to manufactures and the arts,” and in 1877 he devoted -nearly the whole of his address to the Iron and Steel Institute, of -which he was then President, to the same subject, in which, as regards -the probable duration of our coal supply, he had been for some time -engaged in a controversy with the late Professor Jevons, maintaining -that “the ratio of increase of population and output of manufactured -goods would be nearly balanced for many years to come by the further -introduction of economical processes, and that our annual production -would remain substantially the same within that period, which would -probably be a period of comparatively cheap coal.” - -One of the most important applications of the regenerative furnace has -been to the manufacture of steel, and he soon perceived that it was -necessary for himself to solve the various difficulties which others -regarded as practically insuperable. “Having,” he says, “been so often -disappointed by the indifference of manufacturers and the antagonism of -their workmen, I determined in 1865 to erect experimental or ‘sample -steel works’ of my own at Birmingham, for the purpose of maturing the -details of these processes, before inviting manufacturers to adopt -them.” The success of experiments in 1867-68, in making steel rails, -brought about the formation of the Landore Siemens Steel Co., whose -works were opened in 1874. When Dr. Siemens was knighted, the employés -of this company embodied their congratulations in an address, and had -prepared for him a very beautiful model of a steel furnace in ivory -and silver; the presentation of these was prevented by his premature -death, but the address stated that “the quantity of steel made here to -the end of last year on your process was upwards of 400,000 tons!” In -the ten years ending in 1882, the annual production of open-hearth -steel in the United Kingdom increased from 77,500 tons to 436,000 tons. -During an action in the Superior Courts of the United States, it was -stated that the inventor had received a million dollars in royalties, -the annual saving in that country by his process being 3¾ millions -of dollars! These statements refer mainly, I believe, to the conversion -of cast or wrought iron into steel, either by the “direct” process of -acting on pig-iron with iron ore in an open hearth, or by the “scrap -process” (Siemens-Martin) of melting wrought-iron and steel scrap in a -bath of pig-metal. Both of these require the preliminary treatment of -the blast furnace, and in speaking of them in 1873, Dr. Siemens said -that “however satisfactory these results might appear, I have never -considered them in the light of final achievements. On the contrary, I -have always looked upon the direct conversion of iron and steel from -the ore, without the intervention of blast furnaces and the refinery, -as the great object to be attained.” How far he succeeded in this may -be gathered from the fact that in a paper read on April 29, 1883, -before the Iron and Steel Institute, on the “Manufacture of Iron and -Steel by the Direct Process,” he showed how to produce 15 cwt. of -wrought iron direct from the ore in three hours, with a consumption -of 25 cwt. of coal per ton of metal, which is one-half the quantity -previously required for the production of a ton of pig-iron only, in -the blast furnace! The long and costly experiments which ended in the -realisation of his views extended over twenty-five years; and it is -worthy of note that he told the Parliamentary Committee on Patents that -he would not have continued them if the English patent law had not -insured such a period of protection as would repay him for his labor. - -Great, however, as the economic results of the gas-producer have been, -its inventor looked forward to still more remarkable applications -of it. In 1882 he told the British Association, in his presidential -address, that he thought “the time is not far distant when both -rich and poor will largely resort to gas as the most convenient, the -cleanest, and the cheapest of heating agents, and when raw coal will -be seen only at the colliery or the gas-works. In all cases where the -town to be supplied is within, say, thirty miles of the colliery, -the gas-works may with advantage be planted at the mouth, or, still -better, at the bottom of the pit, whereby all haulage of fuel would be -avoided, and the gas, in its ascent from the bottom of the colliery, -would acquire an onward pressure sufficient probably to impel it to its -destination. The possibility of transporting combustible gas through -pipes for such a distance has been proved at Pittsburg, where natural -gas from the oil district is used in large quantities.” It may be -well to point out here that as a step towards this, it was a favorite -project of his—practically carried out in some places—to divide the -gaseous products of the ordinary distillation of coal into two, the -middle portions being illuminating gas of 18 to 20 candle power instead -of 16, and the first and last portions, which under this system may -be largely increased, being heating gas; such gas he expected to see -sold at 1_s._ per 1,000 cubic feet. The obvious and only practicable -objection to the plan is the necessity for doubling all the mains -and service-pipes. That we shall eventually burn gaseous fuel on the -domestic hearth, as we have lately learnt to do on the metallurgical, -I have not the smallest doubt; it is a mere question of the time -necessary for the education of the public mind upon the question; the -apter the pupil, the more speedy will be the desired result. Let it be -thoroughly understood by every one that the soot which hangs in a pall -over London in a single day is _equivalent to at least fifty tons of -coal_, and then there will be no difficulty in seeing that the true and -the only remedy for our London fogs, with all their attendant ills, -is—gaseous fuel. May we not hope that, though Sir William Siemens has -gone from among us, the great movement for smoke abatement, in which he -so earnestly labored during the last three years of his life, may have -full effect? - -If I have dwelt thus long upon this particular branch of my subject, it -is because I know of no other which so well illustrates two points in -Sir William Siemens’ character which I have alluded to at the outset: -his unwavering devotion to general principles and their consequences, -and his ardent desire to promote the practical welfare of mankind. -There is, however, as the late Professor Rolleston remarked to him, -no subject which more impresses the minds even of persons who are -laymen as regards science, than the history of Telegraphy (and I may -perhaps be permitted to add, of Electrical Engineering generally), now -so inseparably connected with his name. The University of Göttingen, -at which he studied, was the cradle, if not the birthplace, of the -electric telegraph in 1833. Shortly after, Sir Charles Wheatstone -in England, and Mr. Morse in the United States, were simultaneously -working at the same problem, and each claimed the honor of having -solved it. - -The telegraph, however, was still in a very undeveloped state when the -Brothers Siemens began to study it, and their series of inventions, -especially for long-distance telegraphy, largely aided in bringing -it to its present condition. One of their first was the Relay, an -electro-magnet so delicate that it will move with the weakest current. -By the use of five of Siemens’ polarised relays, a message can be sent -by the Indo-European Telegraph from London to Teherán, a distance of -3,800 miles, without any retransmission by hand, and during the Shah of -Persia’s visit in 1873, Dr. Siemens arranged for messages to be thus -regularly despatched from a room in Buckingham Palace. In 1858, Messrs. -Siemens Brothers established near London the well-known telegraph -works, and the construction by them in 1868 and following years of -the Indo-European Telegraph—the overland double line to India through -Prussia, Southern Russia, and Persia—was the first great undertaking -of the kind. Writing of it in August, 1882, during the first Egyptian -campaign, Dr. Siemens said, “At the present time our communication with -India, Australia, and the Cape depends, notwithstanding the nominal -existence of the line through Turkey, on the Indo-European Telegraph.” - -The Messrs. Siemens were also pioneers in submarine telegraphy, the -first cable covered with gutta-percha having been laid across the -Rhine by Dr. Werner Siemens in 1847. The invention of the machine for -coating the conducting wire with the insulating material, gutta-percha, -or india rubber, is entirely due to Dr. William Siemens, who also -subsequently designed the steamship _Faraday_ for the special work of -laying and repairing submarine cables. This unique vessel was launched -on Feb. 16, 1874, and when she was completed, Dr. Siemens invited -all his scientific friends to inspect her, and challenged them to -suggest any improvements in her arrangements. She was first used in -laying the Direct United States Cable, which is above 3,000 miles in -length. In this connection I may perhaps be permitted to relate a very -characteristic anecdote. When Dr. Siemens took a contract for a cable, -the electrical tests of which were specified, it was his invariable -habit to give out to the works a considerably higher test, which every -section of the cable had to pass, or be rejected _in toto_. In the case -of this cable, probably during manipulation on board ship, a minute -piece of wire penetrated the insulating material, bringing down the -electrical test to a point below the “works” test, but still decidedly -above the contract test. The discovery was not made until so late -that to cut out the faulty piece involved a delay of some days in the -middle of the Atlantic, but Dr. Siemens insisted upon its being done; -after this, stormy weather came on, and the cable had to be cut and -buoyed, while the _Faraday_ had to winter on the American side, and -resume operations next spring. The money loss involved amounted, I am -told, to more than £30,000. Perhaps the most remarkable of the later -feats was the fulfilment of a contract with the Compagnie Française -du Telegraphe de Paris à New York, who ordered a cable 3,000 miles -long from the Messrs. Siemens in March, 1879, and it was handed over -to them in perfect working order in September of the same year! There -are now nearly 90,000 miles of submarine cable at work, costing about -£32,000,000, and a fleet of thirty-two ships are employed in laying, -watching, and repairing these cables, of which there are now eleven -across the Atlantic alone. - -In connection with the subject of telegraphy, and as an instance of the -versatility of Dr. Siemens’s inventive powers, I may point out that in -1876 he brought out the pneumatic postal telegraph tube, by which, as -is pretty generally known, written messages are blown or sucked through -tubes on various metropolitan routes, instead of being transmitted -electrically. About the same time, also, he constructed his ingenious -bathometer, for ascertaining the depth of the sea at any given point, -without the tedious operation of sounding; and some years previously -he worked out his electrical thermometer or pyrometer, enabling the -observer to read the temperature (whenever he desired) at any distant -and inaccessible point, such as the top of a mountain, the bottom of -the sea, the air between the layers of a cable, or the interior of a -furnace. - -Probably the most prominent idea associated in the public mind with -the name of Siemens is that of electric lighting, and perhaps electric -tram and railroads. As I have more than once pointed out in this -room, the dynamo-machine, by which mechanical energy is converted -into that form of energy known as electricity (which may be used both -for lighting and for the transmission of power), is derived from a -principle discovered by Faraday in 1831. Sir William Siemens’ devotion -to this, and the important practical consequences which he deduced from -it, constitute another example of that mental characteristic to which -I have already alluded. Faraday’s discovery, briefly described, was -that when a bar magnet was suddenly inserted into a coil of wire, or -when a wire was suddenly moved through a magnetic field, a momentary -current of electricity was developed in the wire. Although this -current is exceedingly small and brief, it is capable of unlimited -multiplication by mechanical arrangements of a simple kind. One means -for accomplishing this multiplication was the Siemens armature of 1857, -which consisted, at first, of a piece of iron with wire wound round -it longitudinally, not transversely, the whole to be rotated between -the poles of a powerful magnet; in its present form it is one of the -most powerful and perfect things of its kind, and the evolution of the -Siemens armature, as we now have it, from the rudimentary type of a -quarter of a century ago, has been characterised by Sir W. Thomson -as one of the most beautiful products of inventive genius, and more -like the growth of a flower than to almost anything else in the way of -mechanism made by man. - -Ten years afterwards came his classical paper “On the Conversion -of Dynamical into Electrical Force, without the use of permanent -Magnetism,” which was read before the Royal Society on February 14, -1867. Strangely enough, the discovery of the same principle was -enunciated at the same meeting by Sir Charles Wheatstone, while there -is yet a third claimant in the person of Mr. Cromwell Varley, who had -previously applied for a patent in which the idea was embodied. It can -never be quite certain, therefore, who was the first discoverer of the -principle upon which modern dynamo-machines are constructed. I need -not describe here the way in which this principle is carried out in -all dynamo-machines. Suffice it to say that they differ from Faraday’s -magneto-electric machines in having electro-magnets in the place of -permanent steel magnets, and that these electro-magnets are, if I may -be allowed the expression, self-excited by the play of mutual give and -take between the armature and the magnet. - -It was the invention of the dynamo-machine which made practicable -the application of electricity to industrial purposes. Experiments -have shown that it is capable of transforming into electrical work -90 per cent. of the mechanical energy employed as motive power. Its -practical application is still in its infancy. In 1785 Watt completed -his “improvements” in the steam-engine, and the century which has since -elapsed has not sufficed to demonstrate the full extent of its utility. -What may we not expect in the next hundred years from the extension of -the dynamo-machine to practical purposes? - -In the development of appliances for the production of the electric -light Sir William Siemens took a leading part, and, as is well known, -his firm has been _facile princeps_ at all the important electrical -exhibitions. But while ever zealous to promote its progress, he never -took a partisan view of its utility, candidly admitting that gas must -continue to be the poor man’s friend. In 1882 he told the Society -of Arts that “Electricity must win the day _as the light of luxury_, -but gas will find an ever-increasing application for the more humble -purposes of diffusing light.” - -In the hands of Dr. Siemens the enormous energy displayed in the -Electric Arc was applied to other purposes than mere lighting. In -June, 1880, he greatly astonished the Society of Telegraph Engineers -by exhibiting the power of an electrical furnace designed by him to -melt considerable quantities of such exceedingly refractory metals -as platinum, iridium, &c. He explained that he was led to undertake -experiments with this end in view by the consideration that a good -steam-engine converts 15 per cent. of the energy of coal into -mechanical effect, while a good dynamo-machine is capable of converting -80 per cent. of the mechanical into electrical energy. If the latter -could be expended without loss in an electric furnace, it would -doubtless far exceed in economy any known air furnace. - -Moreover Sir William Siemens may fairly be described as the creator -of electro-horticulture. Some experiments which he made early in 1880 -led him to the conclusion that the electric light could influence the -production of coloring matter in leaves, and promote the ripening of -fruit at all seasons of the year, and at all hours of the day and -night. In the following winter he put these conclusions to the test -of experience on a large scale at his country house, Sherwood, near -Tunbridge Wells, and the results obtained were communicated to the -British Association at York in 1881, in a paper, the value of which was -recognised by its receiving the rare distinction of being printed in -full in the annual report. - -Some photographs, which he kindly allowed me to take, represent the -difference between three kinds of corn grown under ordinary conditions, -and the same corn, under the same conditions, with the added stimulus -of the electric light from sunset to sunrise. He came to the conclusion -that, although periodic darkness evidently favors growth in the sense -of elongating the stalks of plants, the _continuous_ stimulus of light -was favorable to a healthy development at a greatly accelerated pace, -through all the stages of the annual life of the plant, from the early -leaf to the ripened fruit. - -I have left until the last any notice of a field of work which the -Messrs. Siemens may be truly said to have made peculiarly their own, -viz., the electrical transmission and distribution of power; for I -firmly believe that in the future, although not perhaps in the near -future, the practical consequences of this will be such as are little -dreamed of now; and this opinion is, I know, held by men far more -competent to judge than I am. - -In March, 1877, Dr. Siemens startled the world, in his address to -the Iron and Steel Institute, by his proposal to transmit to distant -points some of the energy of the Falls of Niagara. As I have before -explained in this room, the electrical transmission of energy depends -upon the fact that a dynamo-machine may be used either to convert -mechanical into electrical energy, _or to effect the reverse change_. -Hence to transmit power in this way, two dynamo-machines, connected by -a metallic conducting rod, or cable, are necessary; the first, at the -water-fall or other source of power, produces the electrical energy, -which, in its turn, is reconverted into mechanical power by the second -dynamo at the other end of the line. In his own grounds at Tunbridge -Wells he made numerous experiments in this subject, distributing the -power from a central steam-engine over various parts of his farm, -there to perform different functions. The most interesting practical -examples, as yet, are to be seen in the electric railroads erected -and worked by Siemens Brothers in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, &c., and in -the Electric Tramroad at Portrush. The special interest of this line -lies in the fact that it was the first real application to railroads -of “waste energy,” inasmuch as the cars are propelled by the power of -a water-fall eight miles off! The last occasion on which I had the -privilege of meeting Sir William Siemens was when, honored by his -invitation, I was present at the opening of this line in September -28, 1883. On that occasion, which, half-a-century hence, will be as -memorable as the opening of the Stockton and Darlington railroad, -the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland recognised the fact that this was an -entirely new departure in the development of the resources of Ireland, -and Sir William Siemens, in a most characteristic speech, admitted -that, had he known the difficulties before him, he should have thought -twice before he said “Yes” to Dr. Traill’s question as to whether the -proposed line could be worked electrically, but that, having said -“Yes,” he was determined to carry out the project. As illustrating -the character of the man, I may here quote the saying common in his -workshops, that as soon as any particular problem had been given up -by everybody as a bad job, it had only to be taken to Dr. Siemens for -him to suggest half-a-dozen ways of solving it, two of which would -be complicated and impracticable, two difficult, and two perfectly -satisfactory. - -His extraordinary mental activity is shown in the fact that between -1845 and 1883 no less than 133 patents were granted in England to the -Messrs. Siemens, 1846 and 1851 being the only years in which none -were taken out. During the same period he contributed as many as 128 -papers on scientific subjects to various journals, only three years -in this case also being without such evidences of work, and in 1882 -the number of these papers reached seventeen, the average being about -seven patents and original scientific papers per year for more than the -third of a century, a truly wonderful record of untiring industry. To -show the impression his work made upon the world, I quote the following -passage from the many which appeared in the newspapers at the time of -his death. It is headed: - - -ONE MAN’S INTELLECT. - - Siemens telegraph wires gird the earth, and the Siemens cable steamer - _Faraday_ is continually engaged in laying new ones. By the Siemens - method has been solved the problem of fishing out from the stormy - ocean, from a depth comparable to that of the vale of Chamounix, - the ends of a broken cable. Electrical resistance is measured by - the Siemens mercury unit. “Siemens” is written on water meters, and - Russian and German revenue officers are assisted by Siemens apparatus - in levying their assessments. The Siemens process for silvering and - gilding, and the Siemens anastatic printing, mark stages in the - development of these branches of industry. Siemens differential - regulators control the action of the steam-engines that forge the - English arms at Woolwich, and that of the chronographs on which the - transits of the stars are marked at Greenwich. The Siemens caststeel - works and glasshouses, with their regenerative furnaces, are admired - by all artisans. The Siemens electric light shines in assembly-rooms - and public places, and the Siemens gas light competes with it, while - the Siemens electro-culture in greenhouses bids defiance to our long - winter nights. The Siemens electric railway is destined to rule in - cities and tunnels. The Siemens electric furnace, melting three pounds - of platinum in twenty minutes, was the wonder of the Paris Exposition, - which might well have been called an exposition of Siemens apparatus - and productions, so prominent were they there. - -Almost alone among all these results, his theory of the “Conservation -of Solar Energy” dealt with a question not affecting, or at least -not immediately affecting, human welfare. A great authority has -characterised this as “one of the highest and most brilliant flights -that the scientific imagination has ever made.” While astronomers -quietly accepted the conclusion that the sun is cooling down, and -will become at some distant but calculable epoch a mere cinder hung -in space, he endeavored to show that energy can no more be lost in -the solar system than it is in the laboratory or the factory. Sir -William Siemens’s theory assumed that the interplanetary spaces are -filled with an exceedingly thin or rare atmosphere of the compounds of -carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, such for example as aqueous vapor and -hydro-carbons. In this atmosphere the sun is revolving with a velocity -four times that of the earth, and hence the solar atmosphere at his -equator is thrown out to an enormous distance from his surface. One -consequence of this is a perpetual indraught, at the poles of the sun, -of the surrounding atmosphere. Thus the sun is everlastingly being fed, -and everlastingly sending out its light and heat, which thus recuperate -themselves: in this way the solar energy, which is sometimes assumed -to be lost in the empty void of interstellar space, really acts upon -the rare vapors therein, and converts the universe into a kind of vast -regenerative furnace! Had the author of this ingenious theory lived but -a few years longer, he would doubtless have labored to strengthen it -with further observations and arguments. As it is, it must remain as -a daring and original suggestion, the effort of a keen and sagacious -mind to bring to fresh subjects the experience and the knowledge -accumulated by work of quite a different kind. It is more scientific -to believe, with him, that there is some restorative and conservative -agency at work, than to suppose that the universe is gradually cooling -down into a ball of slag, were it only because his theory does not -require an effort of creation at once tremendous and futile. It leaves -us free to avoid contemplating a time when the solar system was not, -and another when it will cease to be. - -Let us now take a brief glance at one or two of Sir William Siemens’s -public addresses on more general subjects. His interest in education -was so keen, and especially in that branch of education known as -technical or technological, that these addresses almost invariably -had this for their subject, and were frequently given at some public -ceremony in connection with it, such for example as distributions of -prizes. The most important of them, perhaps, was given on October 20, -1881, at the re-opening of the Midland Institute in Birmingham. He -there surprised his audience by depreciating the German polytechnic -system of colleges, on the ground that their students were wanting in -originality and adaptability to new conditions. After recounting at -some length the recent industrial applications of electricity, he said: - -“My chief object in dwelling, perhaps unduly, upon these practical -questions, is to present to your minds in a concrete form the -hopelessness of looking upon any of the practical processes of the -present day as permanent, to be acquired in youth and to be the staple -occupation of a lifetime.... The practical man of former days will -have to yield his place to the unbiassed worker who with open mind is -prepared for every step forward as it arises. For this purpose it is -necessary that he should possess, beyond the mere practical knowledge -of his trade, a clear appreciation of the principles of action -underlying each operation, and such general acquaintance with the laws -of chemical and physical science as will make it easy for him to adapt -himself to the new order of things.” - -He urged the prime importance of the teaching of science being -included in the curriculum of _every_ school, and of an adequate -supply of trained teachers, as well as of properly equipped -laboratories of all kinds, wherein to train them. Replying to the -proverb, “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” he said: “A little -knowledge is an _excellent_ thing, only it must be understood that this -little is fundamental knowledge,” and he endorsed Lord Brougham’s pithy -saying, “Try to know something about everything, and everything about -something.” - -In 1878 and 1879 he gave addresses on the same subject in Liverpool, -Tunbridge Wells, Paris, and elsewhere. In pointing out the results of -the superior French system of technical education, he urged that we -should not servilely copy it, but that we should imitate the French -example with due regard to the idiosyncrasies of our own country. He -approved the spontaneous and self-supporting nature of the English -system, as more adaptable to free and vigorous development than a -governmental system. His address to the Coventry Science Classes in -October, 1882, upon _Waste_, in which he took as examples, waste of -time, of food, of personal energy, of mechanical energy, and of fuel, -was full of wise and sound practical advice, clothed in the simplest -language. - -In conclusion, let me try, with the aid of private letters and papers -which it has been my privilege to peruse, to bring before you some -of the personal characteristics of the man whose life-work we have -been considering. Of his extraordinary perseverance in overcoming -obstacles I have already spoken, and it has been well remarked -that, to a mind and body requiring almost perpetual exercise, these -difficulties supplied only a wholesome quantity of resistance. In the -two valuable qualities of tenacity and pliancy of intellect he has -perhaps never been surpassed. Suppleness and nimbleness of mind are -rarely allied with that persistent “grip,” which, without them, is not -unlikely to degenerate into obstinacy. In Sir William Siemens these -qualities were happily balanced. His talents were the admiration of his -contemporaries, and his memory will ever be respected and honored by -all, friends and rivals alike; for the facility with which he applied -his powers to the solution of the most difficult problems was equalled -by the modesty with which he presented the successful result of his -efforts. An eminent engineer said of him, “With all his great work, no -envious word was ever mixed!” At the time when he received his honorary -degree from the University of Oxford, a distinguished Oxonian wrote: “I -believe an alumnus more distinguished by great ability, and by a high -and honorable determination to use it for the good of his fellowmen, -and to help forward man’s law of existence, ‘Subdue the earth and -have dominion over it,’ never received a degree from the University -of Oxford.” Of the other distinctions heaped upon him, it was often -said that the Society rather than Dr. Siemens was honored; and when -he was knighted, a well-known man of science, writing to congratulate -him, said: “At the same time I feel that the ennobling of three such -men as yourself, Abel, and Playfair confers more honor on the order of -knighthood than even it does on science.” - -The fame of Sir William Siemens was world-wide, as it deserved to be; -but those who knew him best will be the most ready to acknowledge that -the qualities of his heart were no less conspicuous than those of his -intellect. Hear what his pupils and assistants said of him:—“How my -dear old master will be missed, and what a gap in many walks of life -will be unfilled!” “There are many younger members of our profession -who will look elsewhere in vain for such genial uniform kindness and -sympathy as his invariably was.”“The seven years I spent in his service -were the happiest in my life.” “It was the loss of the kindest and best -friend I ever had, and I have not known such sorrow since the loss of -my older brother. The keenest incentive I had in my new work was the -desire of showing him that his kindly recommendation was justified by -the event.”In acknowledging the gift from Lady Siemens of some objects -of remembrance, one writes: “They, as visible objects on which his -eyes must have rested frequently, will, I feel certain, when I shall -look at them, tend to encourage me in overcoming difficulties, of which -there exist always plenty for those who wish to contribute their share, -however small, to the progress of things of this world. It is this -example which Sir William Siemens has given to all the world, which -will, I believe, be the most beneficial for future generations, and for -those who are wise enough to follow it.” - -Of his character as a man of business let Messrs. Chance Bros. speak, -as one testimony out of many: “Our firm having been the first to carry -out in England on a large scale the Siemens regenerative process, we -were brought into close and frequent communication with him, and had -the opportunity of appreciating not only his extraordinary inventive -powers, but also his thorough straightforwardness and integrity of -character.” - -I have spoken of his interest in education, and I quote two opinions -thereon. Lord Sherbrooke, in conversation with a mutual friend, -regretted immensely that he had not been a pupil of Sir W. Siemens, and -spoke of him, and of those who were working with him to enlarge our -sphere of knowledge, as the salt of the earth. A distinguished American -expressed himself as strongly impressed not only with a sense of his -great learning, but with admiration of the native strength of his mind, -and the soundness of his educational views. - -Many testified to his great benevolence. The German Athenæum wrote: “If -the world of science has lost in your late husband one of its brightest -stars, the poor, the striving student, as well as the struggling -artist, have lost a liberal benefactor and a patron; and on hearing of -his sad and but too early death, many will have exclaimed, ‘We ne’er -shall look upon his like again!’” An eminent man spoke of him as one -“whose life has been spent in an unselfish and unceasing devotion to -God’s creatures.” Many of the letters which I have read convey the -thoughts of some of his friends on hearing of his death, in language -such as this: “We all felt struck down; realising how much poorer his -loss had left the world, leaving us as he did when full of the vigor -of his endless interests, and brightening all around him, not only by -his genius and high intellect, but by his marvellous benevolence and -tender consideration, so full was he of kind feeling and thought for -others. He was in a high degree the possessor of those sweet domestic -virtues which, while so simple and unostentatious, were so spontaneous -and charming. What an eminently well-rounded life was his! Our children -will always remember how he was held up to them as a man almost without -an equal.” A confidential servant, who had lived in his family many -years, wrote of him as the most Christ-like man she had ever met; and -that he always reminded her of the Arab prince who asked the recording -angel, when writing in his book the names of those who loved the Lord, -to write him as one who loved his fellowmen; the angel wrote and -carried the book to heaven, bringing it back again to show; and when -the prince looked, lo, his name led all the rest! - -Of his family relations, the Rev. Mr. Haweis thus wrote, in a sermon -on “Friends!” “What a beautiful sight, too, was the friendship of the -late Sir William Siemens for his brothers, and theirs for him! not -less beautiful because lived out unconsciously in the full glare and -publicity of the commercial world, into which questions of amity are -not supposed to enter, especially when they interfere with business. -But here were several brothers, each with his large firm, his -inventions, his speculations, yet each at the other’s disposal; never -eager to claim his own, never a rival! These men were often separated -by time and space, but they were one in heart.” - -One who had exceptional opportunities of knowing him wrote: “His -characteristic of intensity in whatever he was engaged in was -remarkable. Even in his relaxations he entered into them with his -whole heart; indeed, it did one good to hear his ringing laugh when -witnessing some amusing play—the face lit up with well-nigh childlike -pleasure—no trace of the weariness which had been visible after -a long day of work of such varied kinds, all demanding his most -serious attention, involving often momentous world-wide results. As a -travelling companion he was indeed the light and happiness of those -who had the privilege to be with him. Everything that could lessen -fatigue, or add to the enjoyment and interest of the journey, was -thought of, and tenderly carried out, and the knowledge of the pleasure -he was giving was his sweet reward. Young people and children clustered -round him, and he spared no trouble to explain simply and clearly any -question they asked him.” - -The Rev. D. Fraser, in a funeral address, said: “The combination of -mental power with moral uprightness and strength is always impressive. -And this is what signally characterised him whose death we mourn. There -have been very few more active and inquiring minds in this generation: -the keenness and swiftness of his intellectual processes were even more -surprising than the extent and variety of his scientific attainments. -But such powers and such acquirements have, alas! been sometimes in -unworthy alliance with jealous dispositions and a low moral tone. What -will endear to us the memory of William Siemens is that he was, while -so able and skilful, also so modest, so upright, so generous, and so -totally free from all narrowness and paltriness of spirit. And God, -whose wisdom and power he reverently owned, has taken him from us!” - -Yes, God has taken him from us to a deeper insight into, and a greater -work amongst and beyond, those works of His which he so loved and -studied here. Can we imagine a greater fulness of joy than that -which must now be his in the vast increase of his knowledge, and the -satisfying of every wish of the great warm heart and noble nature -which was so plainly but the beginning of better things? How can we -doubt that for a nature so richly endowed there is higher scope alike -for knowledge and for service in the great Eternity? Such beauty -and grandeur and energy and power cannot be laid low—they are not -destroyed, nothing is lost, but all will live again in ever-growing -splendor! A noble, beautiful, and gifted spirit has passed to the -higher and fuller life, and with us is left an influence for good which -cannot die. Just as this generation is now profiting by the solar -radiation which fell on the earth countless ages ago, so will the -labors of Charles William Siemens form a store of knowledge, potential -with respect to this and succeeding generations, and destined to confer -advantages, greater than we can now estimate, on the ever-advancing -cause of science, and on the moral, intellectual, and material progress -of humanity!—_Gentleman’s Magazine._ - - - - -A FRENCH DRAMA UPON ABELARD. - -BY A CONCEPTUALIST. - -One warm evening in the summer of 1836, the late Count Charles De -Rémusat, sauntering through the streets of Paris in that frame of mind -which the French describe by the expressive word _desœuvrement_, was -arrested by the _affiche_ on the portals of the Ambigu-Comique. It -announced a drama by MM. Anicet Bourgeois and François cornue, called -_Heloïse et Abelard_. It had been running for several months; and the -vacant politician entered the house and settled himself in a _fauteuil -d’orchestre_. The future friend and colleague of Thiers, whom he -preceded to the grave only by a narrow interval, was already a person -of some distinction; but though in many respects a severe critic, -he was singularly tolerant of the literary defects and the artistic -shortcomings of dramas intended to propitiate the popular taste by -fertility of incident and freshness of invention. That evening, -however, he confessed himself displeased. The play violated familiar -records without either heightening or purifying passion, and sacrificed -history to fiction, without rendering it more philosophical. - -But though he walked homeward with that sense of dissatisfaction which -is generally experienced by persons of education and sensibility after -a visit to the modern theatre, the play continued to haunt him. With -its subject he must have been already thoroughly familiar, for are not -Eloisa and Abelard the most celebrated lovers in history? But though -at college he had been distinguished by the elegance of his lyrics, De -Rémusat had attained the meridian of life without acquiring, or even -attempting to acquire, a distinct reputation as a man of letters. Like -most of the aspiring spirits of his time, he had betaken himself to -political journalism, trusting that it would conduct to parliamentary -honors, and obtain for him a share in the direction of affairs of -State. At first a somewhat docile pupil of Guizot, by the time the -famous _Globe_ was started he had shaken himself entirely free from the -influence of that doctrinaire statesman, and he shortly became one of -its most indefatigable contributors. How successfully he had employed -his pen may be surmised from the fact that his name appears in the -list of signatures to the famous Protest against the _Ordonnances_ of -Polignac, which caused the Revolution of July. The first Parliament -summoned after the accession of Louis Philippe found him, at the -age of thirty-three, Member for Muret a constituency in the Haute -Garonne which he continued to represent till the Revolution of 1848. -Justifiably ambitious of power, that he might advance the cause of -Constitutional Government, he abstained from associating his reputation -with non-political compositions; and this sternly practical resolve -seemed, through long persistence, at length to have weaned him from all -interest in the more subtle workings of the intellect. - -But there is something stronger than the resolves of the most resolute -man, and that is innate disposition, or natural bent, which, try -to rid himself of it as he may, _tamen usque recurret_. De Rémusat -flattered himself that, in strenuously devoting his faculties to -political journalism, in writing leading articles on the current -topics of the hour, in examining Parliamentary Bills, and in composing -Legislative Reports, he had stifled in himself the original taint -of an evil passion for literature. That accidental visit to the -Ambigu-Comique, the representation of that inferior and distorted -play, stirred in him afresh his native passion. He could not get rid -of the figure of that strange personage, at once exalted philosopher -and frensied lover, belonging unquestionably to history, yet made, it -would seem, expressly for the purposes of romance. On the very morrow -of that eventful evening, he might have been seen in the library of -the Chamber of Deputies, asking for the volume that contained the -correspondence of Abelard and Eloisa. The chamber was not sitting, for -it was vacation time; and he carried the book with him to Lafitte, in -the Haute Garonne, where he had recently established his household -gods. He perused it without delay or intermission; for the man who, -taking up the correspondence of the separated lovers of the Paraclete, -could lay it down unfinished, may rest assured that he has little -genuine interest in the more romantic workings of human nature. But on -the 6th of September the Ministry of Casimir-Périer was overthrown, -and Count Molé was summoned to form a Cabinet. His Minister of the -Interior was M. Gasparin, and De Rémusat was appointed Under-Secretary -of State for the same department. Had the career of the new Ministry -been a protracted one, it is possible that time would have divorced -his attention from Abelard and mediæval philosophy. But in less -than a twelvemonth Molé’s Cabinet was overthrown, and the liberated -Under-Secretary buried himself once more in the passions and dialectics -of the twelfth century. He spent much of the winter of 1837 in studying -the period in which the Gallic Socrates—Gallorum Socrates, it was the -pleasure of Abelard’s followers to designate him—had lived, triumphed, -and suffered; and in the course of the summer of the following year -a “Philosophical Drama” on the subject was completed. For nearly -forty years it lay in manuscript in the author’s drawer, though he -occasionally permitted himself the indulgence of reading portions of it -in the intellectual salons of Paris which he frequented. Its success -in those select but critical circles was considerable; and it was -probably the encouragement thus extended to him that led to his writing -_Abélard, sa Vie, sa Philosophie, et sa Theologie_, the best account -extant of the great Conceptualist, his metaphysics, and his fate. - -The latter work was published as long ago as 1845. Why, then, was the -drama kept back? The reason is a curious one. Perhaps in foraging so -extensively among the records of the twelfth century, De Rémusat had -become impressed with the mediæval motto, “Beware the man of one book.” -He was afraid, so his son assures us, to risk his reputation with the -public as a statesman and a man of affairs, by appearing before it -as the writer of a drama, even a “philosophical” one, on a subject -notoriously romantic. - - “Il faut bien dire,” says M. Paul De Rémusat, “que la première raison - de mon père pour refuser de publier le drame d’Abélard, c’était la - pensée que, dans notre pays, les hommes sont d’avance et dès leur - début, et qu’il ne voulait point sortir de la situation littéraire - et politique où il s’était d’abord placé. Il avait vu trop souvent - la défiance accuellir une œuvre nouvelle et étrangère aux premiers - essais d’un écrivain. L’idée d’un homme universel, ou seulement doué - de talents variés, est rarement acceptée, et ce qu’on gagne en étendu - paraît presque toujours perdu en profondeur. L’example de Voltaire, - qui était si longtemps discuté et contesté, est plus effrayant pour - les audacieux que rassurant pour les timides. Mon père n’espérait - pas que l’on fit en sa faveur une exception à la loi commune de - la spécialité de l’esprit. Il lui semblait qu’il n’eût acquit en - littérature quelque réputation qu’au dépens de son autorité politique.” - -These scruples, at least in the case of De Rémusat, seem excessive. -The French _bourgeoisie_ have never had that rooted antipathy to men -of genius which is characteristic of the middle class in England; and -it certainly would not have taken the better part of fifty years to -convince them that the author of _Vivian Grey_ had in him the stuff -of a practical and hard-headed statesman. Moreover, a philosophical -drama, by the very sobriety of its title, protects its author against -the charge of excessive literary levity. Finally, the political career -of the author of _Abélard_, though not devoid of distinction, was -hardly of that commanding sort which might console some men, at its -close, for the sacrifice of more congenial tastes and more enduring -fame. He became Minister of the Interior, for a brief period, in -Thiers’ Cabinet of 1840, and after the Revolution of 1848 he remained -a member of the Constituent and Legislative Assemblies. But the _Coup -d’état_ practically put an end to his political prospects. It is true -he reappeared, for a short interval, as the _fides Achates_ of Thiers -during that statesman’s brief tenure of power after the Franco-German -War. But he was too advanced in years, and too completely overshadowed -by his conspicuous friend, who concentrated all business and all -distinction in his own person, to add anything to his former reputation -as a politician. His son observes that, in withholding the publication -of his drama upon Abélard, he perhaps remembered one of the most -touching observations of his hero, “_Dieu punit en moi la présomption -des lettrés_.” I read the moral of De Rémusat’s life differently. The -penalty attached to the presumption of men-of-letters he undoubtedly -escaped. It was the politician whom Heaven punished, for presuming to -think that a man can arrange and map out his career irrespectively of -the gifts with which it has endowed him, or that it is permissible, -in deference to the prejudices of the vulgar, to protect one’s brow -against the imperishable bays of the poet, lest they should be denied -the tinsel and quickly-fading wreaths of the popular politician. -He lived, we will trust, to estimate the relative value of things -more wisely, though he might have learnt, while studying the fate of -Abélard, that notoriety, which is the nearest approach to fame to be -secured by a politician, is “fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain.” But -if he learned the lesson, he learned it in long years of exclusion from -worthless power. He returned to his books when universal suffrage, -allied with despotism, brought forth that atrocious bastard, Imperial -Democracy; and he found in pursuits, his native passion for which he -had once been half ashamed to own, something more than compensation for -the loss of personal rivalries and sterile debates. - -At the same time, let us beware of doing De Rémusat an injustice. -That he was one of those men who caress their reputation, and, in -doing so, too often mar it, is certain; for we have his own avowal -of the infirmity, corroborated by the statements of his son. But, in -accounting for the suppression of his drama upon Abélard, we must allow -something to genuine and, let me hasten to add, excessive modesty. -It is not the voice of the literary coquette, but of the diffident -literary workman, that we overhear in these charming sentences, to be -found in the preface to his prose labors upon Abélard: - - Changeant de but et de travail, je m’occupai alors de mieux connaître - l’Abélard de la réalité, d’apprendre sa vie, de pénétrer ses - écrits, d’approfondir ses doctrines; et voilà comme s’est fait le - livre que je soumets en ce moment au jugement du public. Destiné à - servir d’accompagnement et presque de compensation à une tentative - hasardeuse, il paraît seul aujour d’hui. Des illusions téméraires sont - à demi dissipées; une sage voix que je voudrais écouter toujours, me - conseille de renoncer aux fictions passionnées et de dire tristement - adieu à la muse qui les inspire. - - . . . . . . Abi - Quo blandi juvenum te revocant preces. - -No doubt a mere literary _succès d’estime_ would not have satisfied -one who had been an Under-Secretary of State; and great literary -reputations were being made in France at the time this resolution -was taken. But De Rémusat goes on to say that he “tenait à expier en -quelque sorte une composition d’un genre moins sévère,” and frankly -stating that the drama was “une de ces œuvres enfin qui n’ont qu’une -excuse possible, celle du talent,” he, with sincere humility, put it -back in his drawer. - -Was he right? Having read his Philosophical Drama, I am of opinion -that he was wrong. It exhibits literary faculty of a high order, and -it is deficient in none of those penetrating qualities of intelligence -which serve to render the imagination at once free and efficient -when engaged in dramatic work. We do not say that it reaches the -heaven of invention; and, indeed, its author was inspired by no such -soaring ambition. He writes in prose, and prose which, though always -classical and often eloquent, never seeks to pass the boundary between -prose and poetry invariably respected by the judicious. But he had -saturated himself with the atmosphere of the time in which the action -of his drama is laid; and he had represented to himself in clear and -well-defined outlines the character of his central figure. To do all -this is surely to write a work of no little difficulty with no little -success. - -Shortly after quitting Nantes by the post-road that conducts to -Poitiers, the traveller passes, before reaching Clisson, a village -consisting of one long street, which, if he thinks it worth while to -inquire, he will be told is called Le Pallet. No one, however, will -concern himself to add that behind the unpretending but venerable -church which stands on a slight elevation to the left, above the last -cottages in the place, are to be seen some all but submerged walls, -and here and there the choked vestiges of an ancient moat. These are -all that remain of the castle of Le Pallet, which was levelled with -the ground more than four centuries and a half ago, in the course of -the wars that succeeded the attack directed by Marguerite de Clisson -against John V., Duke of Brittany. Hard by is an insignificant stream, -known as the Sanguèze, and which evidently owes its name, like the -Italian Sanguinetto that flows into the Lake of Thrasymene, to the -blood of battle that is recorded to have once dyed its waters. - -In 1079, the Castle of Le Pallet stood intact on its little eminence; -and in that year, though on what day of the calendar cannot be said, -the famous dialectician, Pierre Abélard, was born within its walls. His -father, its lord, was called Bérenger; his mother’s name was Lucie. -This much may be asserted, with every probability that it is true; -but these bare facts are about all that tradition has preserved, or -literary industry unearthed. Bérenger, though inured, like everyone -in his position in those warlike times, to the exercise of arms, -manifested a predilection for letters rarely encountered in his class, -and is said to have intentionally inspired his sons with a love for -philosophical studies, not easily reconciled with the performance -of knightly duties. There were, at least, three other sons of the -marriage, Raoul, Porcaire, and Dagobert, and a daughter, Dényse; and if -we may trust the testimony of the first of the Letters which compose -the famous correspondence of Eloisa and Abelard, into all Bérenger’s -sons alike was inculcated the notion that distinction in knowledge -is a worthier object of ambition than the trophies of war. Pierre -manifested a much readier disposition than his brothers to accept the -paternal estimate of the relative value of courage and culture; and -though he was the eldest-born, he waived his rights of inheritance -in order more freely to pursue the path indicated by his parent. The -story is a strange, not to say an incredible one, for times when the -sword was the only true badge of honor; and we are driven to conclude -either that Abelard sought to remove from himself the stigma which he -would have incurred by such a choice, had he not surrounded it with -the halo of filial duty, or that his biographers were determined that -dramatic completeness should attend his character from the very outset -of his career. His own words are that he deliberately abandoned the -court of Mars in order to shelter himself in the lap of Minerva. -Probably the only conclusion that can safely be drawn from all the -statements respecting his selection is, that he developed at an early -age extraordinary talents for the acquisition of learning and the -conduct of philosophical discussion, and that he was freely permitted -to indulge his bent by parents who had no interest in thwarting him. - -It was impossible, however, that he should cultivate his passion -for letters and philosophy within the boundaries of Brittany, then, -as now, perhaps the least instructed portion of what was not yet -territorially known as France. He travelled from place to place in -search of persons who taught dialectics, and even thus early he prided -himself upon imitating the ancient philosophers to the extent of being -a peripatician or vagrant. Among his preceptors at this period, the -name of one only is known to us; nor is it possible to say where it -was that Abelard reaped the benefit of his teaching. Jean Roscelin, -Canon of Compiègne, was already under ecclesiastical ban for his -uncompromising Nominalism, when Abelard entered upon his teens, and for -a time at least had to take refuge in England. Some have contended that -Abelard must have passed a portion of his youth upon our shores; but -the supposition is as utterly without proof as the assertion of Otho of -Frisingen that Roscelin was Abelard’s first instructor in philosophy. -It is more probable that the young catechumen encountered the -ostracised teacher in some of those more hidden and remote conferences -of learning, to which the hostility of his ecclesiastical superiors had -compelled him to limit his philosophical energy. - -But what was that which Abelard wished to learn and that Roscelin, -or any teacher, or, as we should say, Professor of the period, had -to communicate? And how was the knowledge, which some sought to -impart and many to acquire, conserved? Universities had not yet been -called into being; and no great centres of recognized learning drew -to themselves the youth or crystallized the opinions of an entire -nation. In their stead, and operating as yet as sole substitute, were -Episcopal Schools, under the immediate protection and supervision of -the Archbishop or Bishop of the diocese; and it depended almost as -much on the ambition of a Prelate as upon the importance of his See, -whether his School acquired a wide renown, or remained the obscure -head-quarters of local instruction. Deriving his faculties from the -Bishop, there presided over each Episcopal School a clerical lecturer, -or “scholastic”; and all those who attended his classes, or course, -were termed his scholars. The success of his teaching and the number -of his followers necessarily shed lustre on his episcopal superior -and upon the province in which the latter resided; and the emulation -which burned among the more intelligent and aspiring members of the -Episcopate, in their endeavors to secure for their respective schools -Masters of erudition and eloquence, was almost an exact anticipation -of the spirit of honorable rivalry that subsists among the Governing -Bodies of modern German Universities. Those who favor the doctrine that -there is nothing new under the sun, will perhaps be disposed to look -backward rather than forward for a parallel to the influence of the -Scholastics of the Middle Ages. Hippias, Prodikos, Gorgias, and other -less famous men, whose names have been preserved to us by Plato, passed -from city to city in ancient Greece, teaching and disputing. Some, we -are told, amassed considerable fortunes; while one and all gathered -about them the restless brains of their generation, who carried through -the land the fame of their doctrines and the brilliance of their -rhetoric. - -De Rémusat’s drama opens in the cloister of Nôtre-Dame, where a number -of scholars are assembled to hear a lecture by Guillaume de Champeaux. -The master has not yet arrived; and the first scene is passed in what -the undergraduates of the nineteenth century call chaff. Finally, the -great lecturer makes his appearance; the scholars crowd around him, -and he proceeds to expound his thesis of the reality of Universals, or -the substantiality of abstract ideas. In a word, he is the champion -of Realism as opposed to Nominalism, and maintains, for example, that -Man exists as really and essentially as any individual man, and that -Humanity is not a mere name or intellectual abstraction, but just as -much an entity as a building composed of so many stones. At the end of -his discourse he says, “Are you all satisfied, or is anyone present -harassed by doubt? If so, let him speak, and I will answer him.” - -Abelard rises. He is unknown equally to master and to scholars, but he -soon enchains attention by the vigor of his dialectic. He involves the -lecturer in a series of contradictions, and ends by establishing his -proposition that Universals are neither realities, nor mere names, but -Conceptions, and by winning over the whole class to his views. In vain -Guillaume de Champeaux pronounces the word heresy, and points out that -Abelard bases his theories on the dangerous foundation of human reason. -The remainder of the First Act, which is entitled “La Philosophie,” is -devoted to depicting the supremacy gradually obtained by the brilliant -young Breton over the students of Nôtre-Dame, until, Guillaume de -Champeaux finally abandoned by his scholars, Abelard can exclaim, -“_Maintenant l’Ecole de Paris, c’est moi!_” - -The Second Act, the scene of which is laid at Laon a year later, is -headed “La Théologie”; and in it Abelard acquires over Anselme of -Laon, in theological controversy, a victory analogous to that he had -previously won over Guillaume de Champeaux in the realm of metaphysics. -The audience is the same, for the students of Nôtre-Dame have followed -Abelard to Laon; and the same is the weapon with which his triumph -is achieved. “When theology,” he exclaims in the course of a warm -disputation with Anselme, “is not seconded by dialectic, vainly does -it knock at the door of the spirit; it is reason that holds the key, -and opens to the truth.” Anselme replies with anathemas. Then Abelard -bursts out:— - - “You hear him. My friends, he is old and feeble. Be good to him, but - lead him away. His advanced age unfits him for these wrestlings with - science. Take him into the air. Alas! Saint Matthew was right when he - said you may not put new wine into old bottles.” - -His words are received with acclamation; and the overthrow of Anselme -de Laon, in spite of his friendship with Saint Bernard, is as complete -as the dethronement of Guillaume de Champeaux. In an incredibly short -space of time, Abelard has seen the fulfilment of his most ambitious -dreams, and he finds himself surrounded by a band of scholars who -regard him as the oracle of his age. Yet in the midst of these -astounding triumphs, he experiences “a mixture of impatience and -weakness, of ardor and weariness,” and thus soliloquizes:— - - “My fondest hopes have been surpassed. Withal a secret disquietude, - the source of which escapes me, leaves me dissatisfied. I feel - agitated, fatigued, worn out. Everything with me has succeeded; - nothing is wanting to me that I can name, and yet I am not happy. A - vague sense of irritation, which I cannot overcome, prevents me from - delighting in anything; this life of struggle is arid and devouring, - and in the glowing eyes of my scholars I often discern more joy than I - can attain by all the efforts of my intellect.” - -It is not difficult to surmise the disease from which Abelard was -suffering. It was - - The dreary desert of the mind, - The waste of feelings unemployed; - -and it is just as easy to guess the cure that is forthcoming. The Third -Act is called “L’Amour,” and we find Abelard installed, for so many -hours a day, in the house of Fulbert, Canon of Nôtre Dame—for the scene -has again shifted to Paris—indoctrinating his erudite niece Eloisa into -all the learning of the time. In De Rémusat’s drama she is represented -as already in love, if not with the person, with the renown of Abelard; -and before his second visit she thus communes with her thoughts:— - - He is coming. I cannot read, except with him. I understand nothing, - except through him. Before he came I fancied I knew something, - appreciated the ancients, and felt what is beautiful. I was a child - feeding upon memory; that is all. It is he, he alone, who has revealed - to me the secret of things, who has shown me the essence of my - thoughts, who has initiated me into the mysteries of the spirit. - -He arrives, and the lesson begins. She is all attention. But Abelard -wanders from the theme. He would fain, he says, tear himself from the -crowd, and study with her. “We would read, we would work together—or -rather, for what avails this study that consumes the soul—we would -enjoy tranquillity, long walks, a bright sun, a beautiful country, a -boat upon the river, or the fire-side, even as we are now. Should we -not be happy?” Her answers do not satisfy him, for they are modest and -measured. “You do not understand me,” he exclaims, with impatience, and -she begs to be forgiven for being so inapt a scholar. No, it is not -that. They resume the lesson, but this time it is the _Heroides_ of -Ovid that lie before them. Together they read _Hero to Leander_, and -_Leander to Hero_, those two exquisite Love Letters, which will always -make Ovid a contemporary. “Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse,” says -Dante, in that unmatched description of the _Tempo de’ dolci sospiri_, -and _Di dubbiosi desiri_; and what happened to Francesca dà Polenta and -Paolo Malatesta when reading - - Di Lancilotto, come amor lo strinse, - -happened equally to Abelard and Eloisa when reading the imaginary -correspondence of Hero and Leander. “O, tu es si belle!” “C’est toi qui -es beau.” “Beau de notre amour.” - -Very French, no doubt. But it is done with considerable skill, and -occupies almost as many pages as I have devoted to its words. Love -scenes cannot be compressed. They are, of necessity, long, except -to those who figure in them. Whether this was the portion of his -philosophical drama which the serious statesman was fond of reading -aloud in the intellectual _salons_ of Paris, I cannot say. But, if it -was, I suspect that some of the more staid matrons among his audience -repeated the words put by the author into the mouth of his heroine, -“C’est comme la vapeur de l’encens, cela enivre.” - -Meanwhile, Abelard neglects his public duties, and his attachment to -one fair student becomes the subject of speculation and banter among -his scholars. By degrees the weakness of the great Scholastic is -bruited in the streets, and ballads are sung at night in the public -places associating his name with the niece of Fulbert. One of these -Abelard himself overhears. Here is one strophe with its refrain:— - - C’est l’histoire singulière - A se raconter le soir, - Du maître et l’ecolière, - De l’amour et du savoir. - - Fillettes, fillettes, - Trop lire est mauvais. - Cueillez des violettes - Au prè Saint-Gervais. - -He is alarmed, and his consternation is increased when he learns from -Eloisa that the suspicions of her uncle have been aroused. There is but -one remedy—marriage. Eloisa protests; for will not marriage rob Abelard -of glory and preferment? At last she consents, but with the utmost -reluctance, to secret nuptials. Abelard himself, in the celebrated -letter written by him, _Ad Amicum_, declares that Fulbert was privy to -their union, and that it was the self-sacrificing denial by Eloisa, -after the marriage, that any union had taken place, which roused the -vindictiveness of her uncle. De Rémusat, I suppose for the sake of -dramatic effect, represents Fulbert as ignorant of the marriage, until -the mutilated body of Abelard lies at her feet:— - - _Fulbert._ - - Tenez, voilà votre fiancé. - - _Heloise_ (se jetant sur son amant). - - Mon mari! - - _Fulbert._ - - Son mari! Je suis perdu. - -So ends the Third Act. The fourth is called, somewhat arbitrarily, -“La Politique,” and is mainly concerned with the condemnation of -Abelard by the Council of Soissons. True, the authority of the King -is invoked against him; but the enemies by whom Abelard is pursued -are theologians, and it is they who humiliated him by compelling him -publicly to burn his treatise on the Trinity. But for the reappearance -of Eloisa at this critical juncture, the Fourth Act would be somewhat -tedious. There is no historical foundation for her intervention; but -it is strictly in harmony with what we know of her character, and De -Rémusat turns it to admirable account. Abelard asks why she seeks out -one who is condemned, who is proscribed, who is silenced? She replies -that she has come to be with him on the greatest day of his life. -Nothing was wanting to his glory but martyrdom; and now he has obtained -it. His work is finished; let him abjure the world that has treated him -so ill. - - Viens, allons-nous-en, quittons le siècle, fuyons ce pays, la France, - le monde chrétien. Chez les infidèles nous trouverons plus de repos, - nous serons plus ignorés, nous vivrons plus heureux. Cherchons la - retraite la plus profonde, la plus lointaine, la plus perdue; cachons - à tous notre vie et notre bonheur. - -Next she invokes the seductive allurements of nature, and presents to -him a picture of rural loveliness and felicity, recalling the famous -invitation to sunny climes in _The Lady of Lyons_:— - - Nous irons vers ces climats vantés où le ciel est si pur, l’air - si doux, la fleur si embaumée.... Ensemble, nous verrons se lever - l’aurore; ensemble, nous verrons le jour finir, et ta main dans ma - main, mon cœur sur ton cœur, nous n’aurons qu’une vie pour deux âmes? - -Is it that these glowing words recall to Abelard what she has utterly -forgotten, and what she was too tender and disinterested a spirit -even to remember? He cannot rise to the height of her great argument. -“Fuyez, que je ne vous revoie jamais,” he replies. “Votre présence est -un supplice, laissez moi!” Her answer reveals the secret of her whole -nature:— - - En vérité, je ne vous comprends pas. Vous êtes malheureux, opprimé, - abandonné, et vous repoussez le seul être au monde qui vous aime et - qui vous reste. - -But it is all in vain. She still fails to understand him, and, with the -faith and humility of all true love, she asks if she has offended him:— - - Non, je ne suis pas offensé, remettez-vous, je vous remercie. Héloïse, - vous êtes bonne et dévouée, je suis profondement touché de vos soins. - Vous allez retourner à votre monastère. Vous savez combien cette - maison a besoin de votre présence; ne m’oubliez pas, priez pour moi, - vous et vos religieuses. - -Growing still colder, his last words are, “Adieu, Madame, je me -recommande à vos prières.” She kisses his hand, and exclaims, “Et qui -priera pour moi?” - -The Fifth Act, entitled “La Mort,” is passed in the Convent of -Cluny, where Abelard is a sort of ecclesiastical prisoner under -the supervision of Saint Bernard. His one sole desire is to make a -pilgrimage to Rome, to explain his doctrines to the Pope, and to get -the ban of heresy removed from his teaching. But he is broken in -health, and troubled in brain. His mind wanders. In sleep he murmurs -the name of Eloisa. His sole consolation is the faithful attachment of -a former pupil, who brings him ever and anon news of her who is living -and praying at Paracleta. At last he expires; and the drama closes with -the tolling of the convent bell. - -I have given, I fear, but an inadequate idea of the merits of the play; -for its chief value is in the full and varied picture it presents of -the life and manners of the time. It is almost needless to say that -it is not a stage but a closet drama, and it has the necessary defect -of every such composition; it is a little wearisome. But no form, and -no treatment, could blunt the interest that must ever cling to the -pathetic story of Abelard and Eloisa; and I should be surprised to -hear that any reader could close the book without feeling that it is -suffused with the _lachrymæ rerum_ that unfailingly touch the human -heart. - -For the rest, I do not know that anyone could treat the story of -the unhappy lovers of the Paraclete, imaginatively, in such a way -as to disarm criticism. I do not refer to any technical difficulty, -arising out of the central catastrophe in Abelard’s life. To the true -imaginative artist, that would mean as little as it meant to Eloisa. -Indeed, it would assist him to obtain compassion for Abelard, just as -it made Eloisa love him only all the more. It is the something beyond -compassion of which Abelard stands in need, that would baffle the most -skilful artistic handling. He would necessarily have to be the hero, -and, unfortunately, he is not heroic. Were it not that such a woman -as Eloisa loved him, I should be inclined to say that he was hateful. -I doubt if there ever lived the man altogether worthy of such a love -as hers; yet one would be sorry to think that hundreds of men do not -exist more worthy of it than he was. One forgives him much for her -sake; yet it is her perfection that makes him look the more imperfect. -The contrast between her simplicity and his complexity, between her -single-minded devotion to him and his many-sided calculations of what -would be best for himself, ends by making him odious; and one is -compelled to acknowledge the truth of that bitter saying of Rousseau, -“Tout homme réflechi est méchant.” - -It is to no man-of-letters, recent or remote, neither to Bussy-Rabutin -nor to Colardeau, neither to Pope nor to De Rémusat, but to the famous -Correspondence of the pathetic pair, that we must turn if we are to -understand either their character or their story. The first letter is -written by Abelard, not to Eloisa, but to “a Friend,” and relates the -leading incidents of his life. Nowhere, it has often been remarked, -does a man so thoroughly, because so unconsciously, betray the secret -of his disposition as in his letters. _Raconter mon histoire_ is, -to this day, a favorite occupation with Frenchmen; and Abelard is -garrulous about his own merits, his own grief, his own successes. -He speaks contemptuously of William of Champeaux, and with just as -little respect of Anselm of Laon. It was, however, customary in the -Middle Ages for controversialists to treat each other with scant -courtesy; the flattering consideration which people who sneer at -each other in private nowadays exhibit towards each other in public -not having yet come into fashion. It is when Abelard narrates how he -made the acquaintance of Eloisa that we get the full measure of his -fundamentally coarse and selfish nature. Fancy a man writing of a -woman who had loved him, and loved him as Eloisa loved Abelard, that -she was _per faciem non infima_, or, as we should say in English, “not -bad-looking”! Fancy his being able to remember, let alone to describe -without intolerable shame, that, having heard of her accomplishments, -he deliberately planned to win her affections, adding that he felt -sure this would be easy, because “tanti quippe tunc nominis eram, et -juventutis et formæ gratia præeminebam, ut quamcunque feminarum nostro -dignarer amore nullam vererer repulsam,” that he was so celebrated, so -young, and so good-looking, that he had no fear of being repulsed by -any woman whom he honored with his love! The repugnance inspired by -such language would be great, even if he had afterwards appreciated the -prize he had begun by coveting so basely. It is not easy to forgive -Saint Augustine for his conduct towards the mother of Deodatus. But he, -at least, describes the passions of his youth with sincere humility and -profound remorse; whilst Abelard recalls without a pang the colloquies -and correspondence he planned in order to influence Eloisa. In the same -spirit he narrates the tender, passionate passages that ensued. He is -equally ignoble when Fulbert discovers their attachment. He excuses -himself by reminding her uncle “quanta ruina summos quoque viros ab -ipso statim humani generis exordio mulieres dejecerint,” how many of -the greatest men, from the beginning of time, have been ruined by -the seductions of women. By way of compensation, he tells us that he -offered to marry Eloisa on condition that their union should be kept -secret, _ne famæ detrimentum caperem_, lest, forsooth, his fame should -suffer detriment. If, instead of hiring a couple of bravos Fulbert had -taken him by the heels and flung him into the Seine, one’s sense of -justice would have been better satisfied. - -Turn we a moment from the composed reminiscences of this circumspect -dialectician, to the woman _per faciem non infima_, whose heart he had -broken and whose life he had ruined. In obedience to his wish she had -taken the veil, and writes to him from the Convent of the Paraclete, -made over to her by him, and of which she was now the Lady Abbess. She -has read his letter “To a friend,” of which she says, with unconscious -irony, that though it was composed to soothe that friend’s sorrows, it -is full of the sorrows of the writer himself. She finds this the most -natural thing in the world; and all she asks is that to her, too, he -will write, and that he will instruct her, who gave herself entirely -to him, how to direct those who have given themselves entirely to God. -She reminds him, not reproachfully, but in order to convince him that -she has need of him still, that at a word from him she had completed -her own ruin, and that, though he was the only object of her love, -she had promptly taken the veil at his bidding, “ut te tam corporis -mei quam animi unicum possessorum ostenderem,” in order to show that -she belonged to him, and to him alone, body, heart, and soul. “God -is my witness,” she goes on, “that in loving you I loved yourself -only, not anything you could give or bring me.” Then, going to the -utmost limit and horizon of feminine love and self-sacrifice, she -adds: “Et si uxoris nomen sanctius ac validus videtur, dulcius mihi -semper extitit amicæ vocabulum; aut, si non indigneris, concubinæ vel -scorti; ut, quo me videlicet pro te amplius humiliarem, ampliorem apud -te consequerer gratiam, et sic etiam excellentiæ tuæ gloriam minus -læderem.” How completely Pope has falsified this sentiment in his -famous paraphrase! His Epistle of _Eloisa to Abelard_ is, no doubt, an -admirable composition; but it is unfair to Eloisa, since its main note -is passion, not self-sacrifice, and self-sacrifice was the beginning, -middle, and end of her love for Abelard. Once only she reproaches him. -He had made her take the religious habit before assuming it himself. -Why? Did he doubt her? She is overwhelmed with grief at the thought; -for does he not know that she would have gladly either preceded or -followed him into the jaws of hell? Nay, she must perforce have done -so, for her heart was not hers, but his. Why, then, does he not write -and console her? Was it concupiscence, rather than affection, that -made them one? For her part, she has no difficulty in answering the -question. “Dum tecum carnali fruerer voluptate, utrum id amore vel -libidine agerem incertum pluribus habebatur.” Can they, she asks, be in -any doubt now? “Nunc enim finis indicat quo id inchoaverrim principio.” -The end surely shows by what motive she was impelled at the beginning. -Everything she has given up—himself, the world, pleasure, and freedom; -reserving to herself nothing but the luxury of still executing -his will. Of a truth, it was so; and reading this extraordinary -correspondence, anyone who is curious on the subject may discover for -himself the eternal distinction between - - Short-memoried lust and long-remembering love. - -With an utter unconsciousness of his own baseness, Abelard recalls -the arguments employed by Eloisa to dissuade him from the marriage -insisted on by him solely from dread of the anger of Fulbert and -the reproaches of the world. She invoked, he tells us, the name of -every writer, Pagan and Christian, in whose pages are portrayed the -drawbacks and disadvantages domestic life presents to a man of genius -and ambition. Cicero, Theophrastus, St. Paul, St. Jerome, all are -pressed into the service to prove that a man cannot attend both to a -wife and to philosophy. “Where is he,” she asks, “that, wishing to -dedicate himself to meditations upon the Scriptures or upon philosophy, -can put up with the cries of the nursery, the songs of the nurse that -lulls a babe to sleep, the perpetual coming and going of domestics?” -Rich men can sometimes avoid these interruptions and inconveniences; -but philosophers are never rich, and she cites Seneca to convince him -that she would be a chain round his neck, a tether to his feet. The -title of lover would be more honorable and more safe for him; and as -for her, she cares not what she is called, so long as he loves her. -Her sole ambition is to retain his affection by tenderness, and not -by worldly ties. Finding him unconvinced—for Abelard well knew that -such arguments would have no weight with Fulbert—she declared, with -sobs and tears, that it was the one step to be taken if they wanted -to destroy their happiness and to prepare for themselves a sorrow as -profound and lasting as their love. After recalling this outburst of -tender desperation, he observes, with the fine tranquillity of a truly -critical spirit, that Eloisa thereby demonstrated, as the whole world -has since acknowledged, that she was endowed with the gift of prophecy! - -In order to understand and appreciate what some persons will perhaps -consider the perverse and even unfeminine expostulations of Eloisa, it -must be remembered that, in the twelfth century, marriage was supposed -to disqualify a man for a career of distinction. The celibacy of the -clergy, for which Hildebrand had battled so unremittingly, was now -definitively established, and all who aspired to employment in or about -the precincts of the Church had to sanction, by their practice, the -slur thus passed upon women. When Abelard first met Eloisa he was not -an ecclesiastic. But he was saturated with ecclesiastic ideas; and if -he was to pursue his study and exposition of Theology, he could do so -only under episcopal protection, which would never have entrusted the -defence of spiritual truths to one who had openly contracted a carnal -union. It is easy to perceive what immense value Abelard attached to -the recognition of his powers, and to the establishment of his fame; -nor is there any difficulty in surmising that he often expatiated to -Eloisa on a theme so interesting to them both. It has been said— - - Man dreams of fame, but woman wakes to love. - -But, waking or dreaming, Eloisa thought only of Abelard’s glory, -Abelard’s advancement. Her secret, unacknowleged love was to feed his -fame, as the hidden root and unnoticed tendrils feed the swelling -trunk, impelling it into blossom and leaf and fruit. Well might -Mr. Cousin declare, when a discussion was once raised as to who is -the greatest woman that ever lived, that Eloisa towers above all -competitors. But for the self-obliterating tenderness of her heart, -the self-asserting strength of Abelard’s intellect would long since -have been forgotten. Fancy a man worrying himself to death in order to -establish that he is not heterodox in his views concerning the reality -of Universals, while such a woman offers him, in her own particular -person, the sum and abstract of all that is worth having in the world! - -Yet, in some sort, Abelard expiated his faults. I fail to see in him -the passionate champion of free thought, which De Rémusat and others -sometimes appear disposed to represent him, or it would be more easy -to extend to him the indulgence which, for that reason, has to be -yielded to a tortuous egotist like Voltaire, or to a cold-hearted -sentimentalist like Rousseau. As far as I can see, he entertained -certain metaphysical opinions, which, whether sound or otherwise, are -not of the smallest practical importance, and upon which the dignity -and happiness of mankind in no degree turn. Accused of heresy, he was -condemned; and the condemnation was peculiarly wounding to his vanity. -But he made his peace with the Church, and in one of the latest of his -letters to Eloisa is particularly anxious to convince her that he has -done so. No doubt it was not easy to battle with the strongly-organized -Theology of the times; but if anyone should ask what Abelard was to -do when accused of heresy, the answer might be that of the mother of -Horatius, who, when asked, “Que voulez vous qu’il fasse contre trois?” -replied: “Qu’il mourût!” Eloisa had died a thousand times over for his -sake. Could he not die once for his precious Universals and his tenets -on the Trinity, if he really thought them true, and so very important! - -No; the only hold he has upon our indulgence is that time and suffering -at length awakened in his heart a tardy tenderness for Eloisa, and -inspired him with something like an appreciation of her unrivalled -goodness. He handed over to her his refuge of the Paraclete; and when -she wrote to him for comfort, for counsel, for spiritual explanations, -he did not withhold them. He could not be so blind, or so unmindful -of the past, as not to read between the lines, and not to perceive -that under the exposition of the difficulties she was experiencing -in directing the community of which she had become the head, there -still palpitated the recollection of the earliest instruction she had -received at his hands. Then he expounded Ovid. Now he comments on the -Scriptures. But the master was the same, and the same the pupil; and -over and over again the Abbess of the Paraclete recalls the niece of -Fulbert. We feel that she almost invents doubts, that she multiplies -scruples, and that she entangles herself in perplexities, in order -that he may solve them. In a word, she is as unchangeably in love -with him as ever. He is measured and circumspect in his replies; but -a certain vein of spiritual tenderness underlies them, and we feel -that his nature has grown nobler, and his heart is, at last, less -pre-occupied with self. Perhaps he had discerned now, when it was too -late, the value of a woman’s love, and the worthlessness of worldly -notoriety. Before he died, he begged that his body might be carried to -the Paraclete. Thither, accordingly, it was secretly transported and -lovingly interred by her who, as the Chronicle of Tours says, “_était -veritablement son amie_.” - -For twenty years more, Eloisa lived on, a model of sanctity and wisdom. -Even Villon, in one of his ballads, speaks of her as “la très sage -Heloïse.” When she died, her sole request was that she might be laid -by the side of Abelard. Her injunction was obeyed; and as her body -was being lowered into the grave, that of Abelard was for an instant -reanimated, so tradition affirms, and he opened his arms to receive -her.—_National Review._ - - - - -THE UNITY OF THE EMPIRE. - -BY THE MARQUIS OF LORNE. - - -Lord Beaconsfield called the English an enthusiastic people, and there -is some danger that we may hastily infer that if our fit of enthusiasm -for new schemes of Imperial Federation be not at once caught up by the -colonies, a permanent union with them is impossible. It must be “either -a closer union or disintegration,” say some. But let us not be too -hasty in assuming that sudden developments are necessary. - -If Mr. Goschen will allow us to say so, “after all” it is no bad -thing that the Federation League should have been formed, although -it may produce just now more “fads” than federation. The formation -of the Society shows that men’s minds are alive to the value of the -colonies. It is to be hoped that there will be less said of drawing -“the bonds between us and our children closer,” and more of confirming -their position where satisfactory, and of securing their commercial -aims. The position of a listening and helpful friend should be ours, -rather than that of a dictatorial parent. Where colonists have spoken -of federation, they have often meant reciprocity in trade. Where -Englishmen have spoken of it, they have often meant only colonial -contribution to common defence. Our long-established trade has taught -us that defence means defence of trade-interests, wherever they lead. -Our sons’ minds have been more set on creating industries at home, -and they have hardly begun to think of wars which come from opening -new markets. Although the different lines of thought lead to the same -conclusion, namely, organised union for common interests, we may be -somewhat premature in laying down plans for Imperial co-operation. They -who have as yet spoken of these plans are, for the most part, British -politicians. It is, however, significant that the Prime Minister of -Canada was present at a meeting of the “Imperial Federation League,” -and gave a general promise of Canadian aid in any “wars of defence.” -It remains to be seen how far Canada would be willing to impose a -permanent charge on her Treasury for other than home defence. As yet -she has had too much to do in developing public works to attain to -more than the maintenance, in a poorly organised and badly officered -condition, of a force of about 20,000, out of a nominal roll of 40,000 -militia, whose fine physique and great individual intelligence make -them worth a great deal more than their small numbers imply. She has -shown that she looks to England to do armed marine duty for her, -and she is not desirous to garrison her one important fortress near -her Atlantic coaling stations—namely, Halifax. But she is showing -her knowledge of her inadequate military condition, and is training -officers and is voting larger sums for the annual drilling of the -militia. Her population, expanding over vast surfaces, is being -strengthened both for civil and military cohesion by a thorough railway -system; but she will need all the consciousness her best men have, that -defence means preparation and organisation, if she wishes to inspire -respect for her ever-increasing and ever more vulnerable possessions. -One of her statesmen, formerly her High Commissioner to England, has -suggested that a tonnage duty, levied on all ships sailing under the -British flag, be devoted to fortification of coaling stations. It is to -be feared that the shipowning provinces of the Dominion would object to -this excellent proposal, although it might meet with the approval of -those who are less directly interested in marine property, and would be -an indirect tax which might commend itself to inland provinces and to -some of the Australian colonies. - -If Canada, then, has but recently shown striking aptitude to realise -the conditions necessary for adequate defence, how does it stand with -Australia and the Cape? The Cape Government’s past attitude may be -described in few words: “Be always taking what you can, and seeking how -you can get more; our contribution towards necessary expenses being -one corps of Rangers.” With Australia it is different. She has shown -a natural desire to prevent her neighborhood from being garrisoned by -convicts or the forces of warlike States, and she has been quite ready -to pay handsomely for any English assistance she requires. Some of her -colonies have exhibited a most spirited desire to share the expenses of -maritime as well as land defence, and have even offered their vessels -for offensive operations. The excitement attending the outbreak of -war, with the sympathy for the mother-country, may be depended on to -produce offers of assistance whenever England needs them. It is the -permanent contribution for a common policy in the piping times of peace -which presents more difficulty. Her division into several colonies, -often showing a good deal of jealousy of one another, has prevented -any combined scheme of national defence; but she, like Canada, may be -relied upon to slowly improve her opportunities. The spirit is willing, -but the stress is weak. She has not known the pinch of danger. Until -a Customs Union exists throughout her continent, and railways bind -her together, she will not be able to do justice to the patriotism so -conspicuous among her people, or take the place due to herself in the -Imperial union of States. - -There is always a minority among all English-speaking peoples who deem -military expenditure so much waste, a mere thing of vanity, of fuss -and feathers. There is in the colonies a certain minority who, as with -us, deem patriotism to mean anxiety for the welfare of those only who -may for the time have identical ideas as to trade, or who may reside -within easy distance of certain centres, geographical or manufacturing. -Their ideas are not to be left out of account, for they embody one of -the most powerful of human sentiments—namely, the imagination (for it -is not the reality) of immediate interest. It is important to show -such parties that anything proposed to be done is devised not only -for Australian, or Canadian, or British purposes, but for mutual and -general good. We adopt free trade because we think it suits us. The -colonies have no direct taxes, and have a high revenue tariff because -they think such arrangements suit them. It does not follow that we -need not care for them because they are not free traders. In giving us -more favored treatment than they give to foreigners, and in taking far -more of our goods than they take of foreign goods, they yield to us -more than we yield to them, for we treat them and foreigners equally. -Our gain from their affections and trade connection far outweighs -the cost of the navy we keep to protect the ships which carry the -commerce. But in asking them to look to their own defence we exercise -a legitimate moral influence, which is not for British interests only, -but for theirs also. We must not ask too much or more than their -legislatures will freely sanction. There has been no sign as yet that -Colonial Parliaments desire to shirk the legitimate expenses of common -defence. They have much to do with their money, but will listen to any -reasonable representation for the general weal. It is probable that -maritime war, except as regards shore-torpedoes, can be best and most -cheaply undertaken by the British Navy, while it may be reasonable to -ask the colony requiring the service of the ships for any special duty -affecting their coasts to contribute to the expense of maintenance -during the time they are so engaged. War is becoming a common danger -for all parts of the empire. It is so in a greater degree, the more -the colonies develop, and possess, or are connected with, great areas -around the original settlements. Any hostile force would in the Pacific -attack at once the Australasian cities and the valuable coaling -stations of Vancouver, thus injuring at once Australia and Canada. It -is the same in case of war with Russia. These colonies have, therefore, -a right to have their wishes consulted, to be informed of all that is -passing that may lead to war, and in case of the non-observance of that -consideration which should be shown by the Imperial Executive, would -acquire a right to refuse supplies and declare neutrality. The only way -to reduce the danger of temptation to such action is to admit them -in some form into Imperial Councils. It should not be possible that a -Secretary of State can settle payment to America for alleged outrages -by New England fishermen, without consulting Canada and Newfoundland, -and then expect these colonies to pay the damage assessed without their -knowledge. It should not be possible for Downing Street to negotiate -with France about the abrogation of her fishing rights in Newfoundland, -without informing Canada of what is contemplated. It should not be -possible for British Ministers to propose that France be given islands -in the Pacific in lieu of rights in Newfoundland, without consulting -Australia. If we take powers of attorney, it should be by express -commission. - -In commercial matters we have ceased to assume the power of attorney. -It is a mark of the great change which has been wrought by the growth -of our so-called dependencies that Lord Grey, who twenty years ago -specially claimed for the mother-country the right of directing the -fiscal policy of the colonies, should be the first to propose the -immediate adoption of the suggestion, made at the Colonial Institute in -1884, to have a “council of envoys.” The Board of Advice he proposes is -nothing else. It would be a Committee of Privy Council holding regular -meetings, and able to advise, check, and direct the Secretary of State. -It would advise the consummation of different commercial bargains -made for the advantage of different parts of the Empire with foreign -nations. Made under the auspices of England, these would always give -to England the most favored nation treatment. But they would not be -made on England’s basis of free trade, and hence the dislike of some -among us to the proposal. The council or board would further agree -how best to defend the interests created by such treaties. It cannot -be too strongly stated that the making of such separate treaties is -no new thing. Since the appointment by Canada of a High Commissioner -to represent her in England, she has had the fullest latitude given -to her to send her envoy to make separate bargains with Spain and -France, the English ambassador acting as introducer and coadjutor -in the negotiations undertaken by the Canadian. This was a great and -new departure at the time, but it marked a recognition by England of -actual facts, which will grow clearer and clearer to the eyes of all -men every year. The situation of our Empire is an entirely new one. -Nothing like it has ever existed since the world began. There is no -precedent for it. Our union with our sons must be strengthened, not by -tying them to our commercial programme, but by helping them to realise -that which they desire to adopt. The partners in the Imperial firm -must pursue each his own line to benefit himself, and so raise the -reputation of the partnership as being composed of men of wealth and -enterprise. In affairs affecting the standing and credit of the whole -number, or of several, they may meet the senior in consultation, and, -as each represents important property, a new policy is not likely to -be adopted lightly, nor will any project calculated to enhance profits -lack good backing. The statesmen in Canada, who have been in office -since this new departure has been fully inaugurated, are perfectly -satisfied with the position of their country in this most important -of all matters. The leader of the Opposition, before he knew of this -freedom given to the Canadian envoy, spoke of his countrymen as “the -subjects of subjects,” for that was indeed the position in which the -old British policy placed them, and it was one which could not survive -an increase in their own power. “We want,” said Sir John MacDonald last -month at Montreal—“we want no independence in this country, except the -independence that we have at this moment. What country in the world is -more independent than we are? We have perfect independence; we have -a Sovereign who allows us to do as we please. We have an Imperial -Government that casts on ourselves the responsibilities as well as -the privileges of self-government. We may govern ourselves as we -please; we may misgovern ourselves as we please. We put a tax on the -industries of our fellow subjects in England, Ireland, and Scotland. -If we are attacked, if our shores are assailed, the mighty powers -of England on land and sea are used in our defence.” And under this -so-called “protection” government the tariff against English goods is -one-half less than that imposed against us by the Americans; and the -merchandise bought from us is immense in quantity, Australia taking -even more proportionately than does Canada. Australia, probably owing -to the want of a common tariff, has not as yet shown a wish to have her -representatives put on the same footing as that secured, by Canada’s -desire, to her envoy. The Sydney Convention, indeed, rather gave the -Agents General to understand that they were not sent in any way as -quasi-ambassadors. This alone shows the unreadiness to undertake common -action and to push common interests, for there is no strong central -government having any definite will and policy which it is necessary -to have explained and illustrated and pushed by personal conference -and contact with the Home authority in Downing Street. I fear that the -Cobden Club have more tribulation in store, for it is highly probable -that all Australia will have a common high revenue tariff. Then will -come, as has already come in British North America, the desire to push -a national commercial policy in alliance with England. - -The work, then, of any friends of Imperial Union should be first to -ascertain the desires of the colonists. If any special scheme be -thought good here, it should be submitted to the colonial governments -by the Association before it is pressed on the public for acceptance. -We can form, as it has been suggested, a vigilance committee in -Parliament at home to take cognisance of anything affecting the -colonies, and this we can do without consulting anybody but the men -who may desire to serve. But it is difficult to believe that any -Australian or other administration can have been consulted and can have -given a favorable reply to such proposals as the following, namely:—1. -The proportional representation in one unwieldy Parliament of the -colonies. The House of Commons has too much to do now, and hardly -attends to Indian affairs. It is not to be imagined that colonial -M.P.’s would like to be constantly out-voted by a British majority, -nor is it conceivable that, when the colonial population is larger -than ours, England would submit to be out-voted by the colonies. Mere -difficulties of personal attendance would make the scheme hard of -execution, and its unpopularity makes it impossible. - -2. Nomination to the House of Lords of prominent politicians from -distant parts of the Empire. It may be sufficient to ask what -politician, having good influence in his native Parliament, would leave -it to sit in a House which has little weight even in England, and less -in deciding Imperial issues? And if any man chose a seat in the House -of Peers in preference to a place in his own Parliament, how could he -be considered a representative of the Government in power in his own -country? If he be not that, he would have no right to speak in the -name of his own country, nor could his vote bind her action. If not a -prominent man, his acceptance of such a nomination would only excite -ridicule. Who would be a Viscount Wagga-Wagga or Marquis of Massa -Wippi? A man elected to sit in the present House of Lords would only be -one voter in an assembly of several hundred, and would have no special -weight. - -3. Conference of Trades Unions. This would be useful as indicating -where the unemployed or well-provided emigrants had best direct their -steps. It may be safely assumed that the workmen of towns where high -wages may be had would not invite others to come and thus depress the -standard of the remuneration earned by labor. - -4. A council like that of the German “Reich.” This would be more -easily accepted than the sending of a contingent to either House of -Parliament, but it has not been discussed. - -Other suggestions might be mentioned which all partake too much of -the fault of looking at Federation as a means of making more powerful -the British vote in a general union, and in not being endorsed by -colonial voices. We should make vocal their desires rather than press -upon them our own. The idea of a Board of Advice, composed of their -representatives, has the merit of giving them opportunity of speech -and of knowledge. It would not “draw closer the bonds” so much as -prevent any strain on those which exist. Do not let us do anything -“behind the backs” of those whom our action in their behalf may touch, -however indirectly. Let no Minister in a colonial Parliament be -able to say, “We are threatened with this or that in consequence of -Imperial action; but it was not until the danger had been incurred -that we knew there was any likelihood that it would arise.” We need -have no misgiving that the colonies would be unreasonable in their -fears, or averse to incur the danger if fully informed, any more than -we apprehend from an English House of Commons repudiation of the -responsibility of the Executive charged with the responsibility of -war or peace. But the danger of repudiation becomes less, the more -those affected by the determination are taken into confidence. The -revival in some form of a Committee of the Privy Council, to advise -“on trade and the plantations,” would be the most certain method of -giving for the present knowledge and voice to the combined colonial -representatives. If the colonial Governments do not care for this, -the “question falls” for the time, and we may patiently await the -demand, taking care in the meantime to fully inform each individual -representative of our rising “auxiliary kingdoms” of what is passing, -and granting them free access to all persons and papers they desire to -see, if these may be shown to Parliament. It has been objected that -delay would be caused by any council. If the council be small, this is -not likely, because telegraphic communication makes Australia as near -to the Colonial Office as is Victoria Street. The time, if there be any -delay, may be well spent in avoiding future misunderstanding. There -is hardly any conjuncture where a Secretary of State must act with -lightning rapidity in colonial affairs; but, if the necessity arose, -the British Government must, as they do now, take the responsibility. -It is also said against the plan that in most cases the members of -the council whose countries are not affected by the business would -only sit twirling their thumbs. This objection applies to all boards, -councils, and Parliaments, and is an argument for autocracy. It is -also alleged that the Indian Council Board is an analogy, and has been -proved a nuisance. But the Indian councillors represent only their own -opinions, and these often formed on past experience, whereas the men -on the Privy Council Board of Advice would represent those whose voices -would be potent factors in deciding questions submitted, because they -are the mouthpieces of living nations and of living policy. A minute -drawn up by Australia, dissenting from a given policy, would not be -looked at so lightly as is a minute by an Indian councillor who may -object to an addition to a salt tax. We should therefore consult with -the colonial cabinets, and ask them if they do not think that we can -obtain, by regular and recognised conference with their envoys, more -intimate knowledge of the desires of their people; further opportunity -for them to bring their wishes directly to the notice of England and of -brother colonists; a better chance for them to combine to further the -views of one of their number, or to declare against any impracticable -project; less danger that any imprudent course shall be entered on by -any one colony without consultation with others and with Britain; a -time of discussion for any schemes for joint defence—in short, less -isolation, and consequently greater strength for any policy taken -up with forethought. The Secretary of State would be supported in -adopting any given line by knowing he had the Empire at his back, or, -by finding himself alone, would know when to advise withdrawal. But -it is a question whether the day for any such plan is yet come. It is -only yesterday that Canada became a Pacific Power. It is only to-day -that the Australians are being united by railroads, and they are still -sundered in fiscal policy. The Cape has not yet become possessed of a -people sufficiently powerful to make themselves felt. In any case let -the colonies speak out, and we can wait, for “all’s well” at present -with the loyal sentiments of our scattered brethren. - -During this last fortnight they have again proved that they are heart -and hand with us in time of trouble. Let us, if they desire it, make -their voices be heard in council. They have told us that their cannon -shall speak for us in the field.—_Nineteenth Century._ - - - - -ODD QUARTERS. - -BY FREDERICK BOYLE. - - -My record of campaigns and outlandish travel includes in its barest -shape, Borneo, Upper Egypt, Central America, the Cape, the West Coast -of Africa, the Danubian Principalities, Afghanistan, India, Turkey, -Greece, Egypt a third time; were I to count the episodes, it would -swell into a geographic catalogue. In such journeying I have found many -odd billets, a few of which I purpose to sketch just as they occur to -mind in writing, without story or connection. But, so far as may be, I -shall avoid those scenes which have been made familiar to the public -through historic events, and through the descriptions furnished by my -own “Special” fraternity. - -No eccentricity of fortune surprises me now, though it brings vastly -more discomfort for the time than in earlier days; and my recollections -grow weaker proportionately. However strange one’s quarters, however -distressed or frightened one may be, an abiding consciousness dwells -in the soul that one has seen and done and gone through the same -experience already. The power of observation is not dulled, nor the -sense of fun, still less that of alarm; but the circumstances do not -seem worth remembering particularly. If one reflects more, one feels -less. After his first visit to the Antipodes, so to speak, a boy has -stories inexhaustible of anecdote, remark, and adventure; but from each -succeeding journey he brings back shorter and drier reports, until -a trip to the moon would seem hardly worth telling at length: after -stating the facts, he has done. Last week I entertained a confrère -just returned from El Teb and Tamasi; we have served together in -divers parts, and the public, I understand, has been interested in our -stories; but all through the evening not fifty words were exchanged -touching on matters personal in his late vicissitudes. It seems less -and less worth while to dwell upon impressions and to carry them away, -the more impressions one gathers. This is not the common belief. We -read of men in novels, who having been everywhere and done everything, -are always ready with a tale of adventure that thrills the heroine. I -will venture to say that such a personage has not been far into terra -incognita, nor has served in many wars, unless, of course, he is a -professional talker. - -Thus it happens that a man’s earliest memories of travel are the -strongest, though they be insignificant compared with others he might -have collected on the same ground at a later date. I have a hundred -cabinet pictures of Egypt as I knew it, an idle boy, but not one worth -sketching from the late campaign. That was a very big business;—one -recorded the facts, stored them for use, and forgot the incidents. -It is only by an effort that I recall scenes therein quite otherwise -impressive than that unforgotten experience of Esné by night, which -struck me twenty-one years ago, and still remains fresh of color. At -that time the banished sisterhood of Almeh, Ghawazee, dancing and -singing women, still dwelt at the spot assigned them—or many did. We -had seen a performance in going up, and had ordered something more -special for our return. An old negress who kept what one may describe -as the box office, in a vile mud hut, assured us with conviction that -the best dancer and the loveliest woman in those parts would attend at -nightfall. A respectable Arab addressed us returning to the dabeah, and -asked permission to go with our party. In the evening he followed to a -hut, somewhat larger but not less vile than the box office. The only -lights were set on the mud floor, one by each of the musicians, who -squatted there smoking _hasheesh_ to nerve them for special exertions. -In a line across the back, their faces hardly to be distinguished, -sat the Ghawazee, arrayed in silks and muslins of the brightest hue, -the coins that decked their heads twinkling and faintly jingling as -they moved restlessly. The police-officer sat beside us, on one of our -chairs, in snowy uniform and gold belt. Everybody smoked, including -specially the candles, and the spiral cloud from every mouth had a -curious effect so long as it was visible. - -The band struck up, with voice and instrument—a metallic hum, a nasal -scream, a twang of strings so loose that they seemed to take their note -from the wood itself, a dull beat of tomtoms. Presently a Ghawazee -arose. You have all read descriptions of the performance, but it must -be seen in its natural habitat, as here, to keep any sort of interest. -I have never beheld it, that I recollect, in the pitiless glow of gas, -when, no doubt, it is grotesque. But in that dim and ruddy twilight, -the long robes and full trousers of the Ghawazee, quivering to the -tremulous movement of her limbs, have sudden strange effects of sheen -and shadow. The arms out-curved, with small castanets betwixt the -index and the thumb, the head thrown back, the closed eyelashes, the -white teeth gleaming, have significance and charm also in that misty -air, though they seem prurient affectation under strong light. But the -entertainment is monotonous. Before our programme was half through, we -called for the _prima ballerina_, and she came forward—a good-looking -woman, helmeted with coins—put out her small bare foot, the toes -turned up, rounded her arms, and tinkled her castanets with the air -of a mistress. At the instant our guest sprang by and seized her, -shouting—the musicians tumbled this way and that—the candles upset—a -woman took fire—the police-officer bawled—and we were a struggling -mass in the doorway! The dragoman afterwards explained that this man’s -son had married the dancer, on an understanding, of course, that she -dropped her profession. He heard that the box-keeper had tempted her, -with her husband’s consent, to perform for our benefit, and hence the -interruption. - -A series of earthquakes alarmed Nicaragua in January, 1866, and the -municipality of the capital asked us to explore Mombacho, an ancient -crater from which the disturbance was supposed to come. My companion -and I rode out, with guides, and at nightfall reached Dirioma, an -Indian village. A superb avenue of organo cactus leads to that secluded -settlement; the trunks, ten feet high, looked like fluted pillars of -marble in the pale glow of starlight. Dirioma is much the same now, -probably, as the Conquistadores found it, a marvel of color, softness, -and grace of form. Each dwelling, framed of bamboos and sticks, like a -bird-cage, stands in its own compound; the road runs straight and broad -and smooth in front; palms droop over the cactus hedge, black against -the night sky as ostrich plumes, and behind them lies a dusky mass of -foliage, gleaming red in the glow of the hearth. All day and all night -the place is still, for Indian children, if they play, are silent. - -Our billet assigned was such a hut, hung round with hollow logs used as -beehives; in dismounting we upset one, but the insects were familiar -with disasters of the sort, and they took it kindly. We asked about -“Carib Stones,” as usual—all antiquities are called Carib Stones in -Nicaragua—and the guide led us into another compound, where a very old -man crouched beside an enormous fire, with three or four Indians about -him. When our inquiries were explained, with difficulty, the veteran -brightened and began talking like a machine. Some feathers of the -quetzal bird lay beside him; these he snatched up, waved, and shook -to emphasise his statements. We could understand very little of the -patois, more than half Indian; but the naked old man’s shadow played -grotesquely on the lattice wall behind, the brandished plumes flashed -emerald and sapphire, the elders sat round like wrinkled effigies -in bronze, their small eyes fixed upon us with never a wink. The -ancient hero did not tell much—he spoke of the golden temple which, as -everybody knows, is hid somewhere in the neighboring woods; but gave -no precise information. Afterwards we learned that this was a lineal -descendant of the old caciques of Dirioma, who gave four thousand axes -of gold—or whatever the number may have been—to Gil Gonzalez de Avila. -Though he worked as a slave before the emancipation, the Indians revere -and obey him to such degree that a Secretary of State thought worth -while to ask of us what his remarks had been. - -Many odd quarters we knew on the West Coast, where men and -circumstances have a character all their own. Quisa recurs to my mind -just now; I could not tell why, for we saw places as strange under -more exciting conditions. This is the first town, or was, within the -Ashanti realm proper. It looked almost civilized to us, marching from -the coast—for refinement is comparative—and decidedly picturesque. -Quisa might be called a town, its ways streets, its dwellings cottages -of unusual form. A row of fine shade-trees in the middle of the chief -thoroughfare had earthen benches at their feet, where the elders sat -for council and gossip. The king’s house stood at the intersection -of the main streets. It had not the alcove or box in the outer wall, -so conspicuous in the architecture of Coomassie, but the façade, -of polished stucco, was broken by niches, and moulded arabesques, -two inches in relief, covered it all over. What they represented or -signified we could not make out with confidence, so thoroughly had -the style been “conventionalized” by generations of artists; but in -the original idea they were human figures probably, engaged in war -and ceremonies of state. The wall was colored in Venetian red, with a -pleasing gloss upon it, and it stretched twenty yards or so on either -side the doorway. This was a Moorish arch, of wood, the same in type as -those we are familiar with at Sydenham, and gaily painted. Inside and -out all was clean and perfect. - -Through this doorway a passage, smoothly coated with chunam, and tinted -red, opened into the _cour d’honneur_. On the right hand, just inside -the door, stood a fetich niche, very like an exaggerated font for holy -water. It contained the usual medley of rubbish—bones and sticks and -teeth and roots and tangles of string; a lot of eggshells also, pierced -and tied together. Opposite to this niche was a hollow in the wall, two -steps above the ground, just long enough and broad enough for a man -to lie; the quarters, doubtless, of a slave who kept the door. What I -have termed the _cour d’honneur_ was a small quadrangle, unroofed, with -alcoves much like boxes at a theatre on three of its sides. The middle -one, that fronting the entrance, occupied the full breadth of the wall, -saving a doorway that led through to the next court; the others were -smaller. These boxes stood on a level, perhaps five feet above the -floor of the yard. They had no way in from the back, but access was -gained by steps from below, and the parapet, of mud and chunam, was -cut away at that point. Wooden columns and arches, of Moorish design -and color, marked the king’s box—that in the middle. They had hangings -apparently, for pegs were there, and I found a silk “cloth” on the -ground. - -It was not difficult, with our experience, to refill this courtyard -with the pride and pomp and circumstance of Quisa royalty. There sat -the king on his earthen bench, wrapped in a spotless robe of cotton, -home-spun, and home-dyed in graceful patterns. His sandals, with a -golden sole and little, solid, golden figures for ornament, rested -on a patchwork carpet of silk. His arms were bare, but loaded with -bracelets; some of the costly Aggry bead, some a bristling string -of nuggets unworked. Arab charms, wrapped in small leather cases, -sewn with gold, encircled his wrists and elbows and knees, and they -dangled from the arch above. On the floor at either hand crouched a -page, one holding his pipe, silver-bound, one his drinking calabash, -mounted in gold and carved. Behind these favorites squatted the bearer -of the toddy jar, Dutch earthenware, set in silver, and the drinking -calabash, carved and bound in gold; of the silver-mounted stool and -gun, the silver spittoon, and knives with silver hafts in a belt of -leopard-skin—in short, the retinue essential to his majesty’s comfort. -Nearest of all stood the executioner, with his four-handled sword of -office, looking like a toy-stool of gold with a clumsy blade thrust -through the seat. The royal councillors sat upon the cross-benches, and -the smaller alcoves were occupied by wives and slaves, handsome enough, -many of them, their lips full but not thick, their noses straight, -their skins brown with a shade of gold. A mass of ornaments, in bullion -or filagree, decked the long wool of these ladies, combed to all manner -of fantastic shapes: eccentricity has no bounds in dealing with that -stiff and elastic material, which grows to a surprising length amongst -Ashantis and Fantis. I have seen it drawn out, kinkles and all, -eighteen inches from the skull, and thus remain stark on end, until the -lady had time to get it arranged in, for instance, the exact similitude -of a pine-apple, divided into lozenges, with a neat curl in the centre -of each. - -So the king of Quisa sat to display his magnificence daily, and to -administer justice. It is the inclination of us superior beings to -imagine that “off with his head,” is the monotonous refrain of every -judgment pronounced by negro royalty. The notion is gathered perhaps -rather from burlesques and comic songs than from inquiry, and I suspect -that shrewd comment and patient debate were often heard in that pretty -court. The general effect of it, even empty, astonished us all, from -Sir Garnet to Tommy Atkins. But we showed our emotion in various ways. -I entered with two young doctors, who had their billet at the palace. -After going through and surveying it in silence, one of them hurriedly -unpacked a trunk, produced his everlasting banjo, and sang an air of -the day: “You know it all depends upon the way in which it’s done!” -This exercise finished, he was equal to discussion. - -A natural halting-place, as one may say, at the end of the first march -from Jellalabad is the castle of a great Ghilzai chief, whose name I -forget. He had been an active enemy in the late war; but for reasons -unknown the political department long refused to let us take possession -of this building, which is called Rosarbad, though it was empty; nor -would they even permit us to encamp in the fields and groves about it. -Accordingly a very small post was established on a bleak hillside in -the neighborhood, a spot so stony and barren that pegs would not hold -in the soil. Two nights I passed there are scored in the blackest of -chalk among my experiences of mere wretchedness; for a gale was always -blowing and tents were always collapsing: if one’s own escaped, the -yelling and roaring of other sufferers made life almost as miserable. -As for the horses, they enjoyed a battle scarcely interrupted, and the -squealing all night, with the shouting of furious troopers, banished -sleep. A detachment which had three weeks’ duty at that outpost -lost a quarter of its strength by invaliding, the result of sheer -fatigue. When I add that a night attack was always probable, and often -threatened, the least fanciful of readers may conceive that existence -at Boulé camp was not happy. - -It was an aggravation and a mockery for these unfortunates to see the -great tower of Rosarbad above the cypresses and planes but a thousand -yards away, to know that it was confiscated by the laws of war, and -that no human being dwelt in those comfortable quarters. The state of -things became unbearable at last, the Politicals were overruled, and -when I came down country from Gandamuck I found the castle occupied. -It was late in the month of April. Quitting the barren, rocky highway, -we rode across a bridge, rough but neat, through a screen of trees, -and found ourselves in a landscape thoroughly and charmingly English. -The crops were strange, no doubt, but they looked familiar. The -stalwart peasantry who toiled there had dark faces and outlandish -dress; but, buried to the waist in green, stooping above their work, -they passed, at a glance, for English husbandmen. And the trees that -bordered these pleasant fields, full-leaved, deepshadowed, resembled -our native elm. Even the atmosphere was English, the still golden haze -of a midsummer evening. We pulled up, each struck with thoughts not -lightly to be breathed. The foreign landscape, the parched hills and -dusty road behind, were all shut out. One might fondly dream for an -instant that war and exile had come to an end, that these ruddy turrets -peeping above the trees marked the ancient, hospitable home where we -were eagerly expected. Our orderly looked and stared, and gazed and -muttered—the stupid exclamation does not signify; it was meant to -suggest wonder and delight and feeling beyond an honest trooper’s power -of expression. - -Envious fancy had done its utmost among those poor fellows camped at -Boulé, in picturing the spot they were forbidden to approach. But it -surpassed anticipation. I am not going to describe the scene, for I -made no sketch, and some who will read this did, whilst every one who -halted there keeps a recollection of Rosarbad. Nothing like it did -we see in any part of Afghanistan. Though built of mud, its lofty -walls, brand new, had almost the sharpness of granite, and they were -thick enough to stand some pounding of solid shot. Frosts have tried -them now, doubtless, rains have channeled them, the battlements are -ruinous, and not one right angle remains; but it was mighty handsome -in our day, looking like a feudal fortress, with a gate-tower almost -majestic overlooking a grove of cypresses on the other side the moat: -so dense was the foliage of this copse that daylight could not pierce -it. A miscellaneous throng of bunniahs had converted its twilight -arcades into a bazaar, hanging bright cottons from trunk to trunk, -and establishing booths full of cheap glitter. Sowars and sepoys, -in flowing, picturesque undress, strolled hand in hand through the -chiaroscuro. Giant Pathans prowled up and down, all beard and eyes -and dirt, gazing with rapt, vulture-like expression at the luxury -displayed. Sometimes a yell arose, a sound of scuffling, a rush -of frightened traders and of sepoys to the rescue; then from the -struggling mass a prisoner was dragged, and perhaps a groaning comrade -was borne to the gate. - -Within the portcullis and the vaulted approach lay a garden, actually -a garden, bordered on one side by the durbar hall, on another by a -row of small latticed chambers. In the hall, which was raised several -feet above the level, stood an enormous tub, into which a column of -water fell by a shoot. It was forced to the upper story, and thence -descended. Of all surprises that befell a visitor to Rosarbad, none -equalled this. A soothing cataract, a shower-bath, and a fish-pond all -in one make a convenience for the drawing-room hardly known in Europe. -After the first enthusiasm, however, certain disadvantages betrayed -themselves. The middle of the hall was a quagmire, and if in the zeal -of admiration one approached too near, the mud held one fast while -the shower wet one through. But this made part of the day’s fun. The -officers of the little garrison cherished their odd quarters, and they -applied their leisure to gardening, with such success that visitors -were sometimes presented with a rose. I need scarcely say that the -name of the castle has no connection with botany. The Pathan seems -to be acquainted with five flowers only—jasmine, rose, chrysanthemum, -iris, and narcissus. Painful to an enthusiast is the most successful of -Oriental gardens. Though they bear a mass of flowers so that Peshawur, -for instance, has an air laden with scents, the individual bloom is -mean and the tree pitiful. - -In contrast to the glories of Rosarbad, I recall a billet on the -other side of Afghanistan. We had been snowed up in the Kojak pass—a -miserable time, and when a thaw released us I pushed on with a comrade -towards Quetta—a ride to try one’s good humor; for with the thaw -came rain, which made that bare desert as slippery as ice—a peculiar -condition dreaded under the name of ‘put.’ We got off the track somehow -beyond Abdallah Karez, and very glad were we to find an empty village, -where a Baboo go-master was posted to collect stores of forage and -grain. He had three sepoys to protect him—a guard much less formidable -than a score of Pathan dogs, left by their masters, I suppose, which -fed upon the carcasses of camels lying all around. This Baboo was -an ingenious man. The mud huts had been dismantled perhaps; anyhow, -they were roofless and badly gapped. In the long frost our go-master -had a bad time; the thermometer below zero at night, or always close -upon it, and no better protection than a tent for his southern limbs. -Moreover, there was some chance that the enemy might swoop down, or -he thought so. Superstition loses its awful power in the extremity -of wretchedness. The Baboo, who was forbidden to touch a dead insect -or even to look at it, employed sepoys and muleteers, and anyone he -could catch, in building a fortification of dead camels all round his -store-house; and he lived therein, shuddering with remorse, but warm -and secure. While the frost lasted it was mighty comfortable, but the -thaw had reduced that Baboo to sore distress. His wall was decaying -visibly under conditions which I need not suggest, and to enter the -enclosure needed more heroism and more cotton wool than the average -mortal is provided with. A camel’s is a heavy and unwieldy carcass when -frozen hard: a regiment of scavengers could not have cleared away those -scores of bodies when loosed by the thaw. The Government stores were -protected after a fashion hitherto thought peculiar to Chinese warfare, -by “stink-pot” torpedos in effect, and neither friend nor foe dared -approach. I do not know the end of that story. If it is the traveller’s -privilege to see queer incidents, it is too often his ill-luck to miss -the explanation and the catastrophe. - -A scene I cherish with especial tenderness is that passed at Changhi, -behind Singapore. A Malay fishing village lay beneath our bungalow, -upon a broad and snowy beach. In barbarous regions of the North men -live underground, but these dwellings were suspended in the sunny air -amongst plumes of cocoanut and betel; behind them rose the shadowy -jungle. There was no cultivated land in sight, for the Malay finds his -harvest and his garden in the sea. The smooth sand below high-water -mark was a parterre of sponges, green and red, and purple blue, -intermixed with coral. Old-fashioned people in Europe cherish certain -round masses of limestone, daintily fluted, and put them under a glass -case for ornament. Imagine their beauty in the spot where nature places -them, every lip and hollow on the cream-white surface traced out in -vividest pencilling of green, with the seaflowers of sponge around them. - -But after the first impulse of delight, one almost comes to overlook -this charming foreground; for beneath the water lies a tangle and a -maze of all things lovely for shape and color and growth and motion. -Coral takes a hundred flowery forms, weeds branch like trees or wave -like serpents, sponges are cups of amethyst and ruby. When waves lie -still, one sees just as clearly into the depths below as into the air -above, and almost as far, as it seems. The vegetation is gigantic in -its loveliness. There are coral growths shaped like an Egyptian lily -and as white, but three feet in diameter, wherein a mermaid might take -her bath. Others break into a thicket, each twig covered with snowy -rosettes which bear a morsel of green velvet in their bosoms. Others -are great round hillocks diapered with emerald, with here and there a -bush of scarlet thorn springing from their sides. Through and over the -garden, long silvery weeds tremble and quiver in a net. Small fish -as quick as humming-birds, and almost as gay, dart to and fro. Water -snakes float past in coils like Indian enamel of every shade, in red -and brown and yellow and purple. I am grateful that fate allowed me -three weeks of life at Changhi. - -But I have dwelt also, too long, with those northern people referred -to who burrow in the earth, and with those southerners, not half long -enough, who inhabit the trees. Not to be forgotten are our quarters -before Plevna, in the compound of a Bulgar farm-house. The floor of its -single room lay perhaps two feet beneath the soil, and one entered by -a steep incline—that is to say, the inhabitants entered. The ends of -the roof descended just so low as to give room for a foot-square window -at the level of the earth; but on the incline mentioned, it rose. One -of my comrades in this hostelry was poor MacGahan, who lay on his back -and sang the whole day through when at home. He had laid some hay upon -the “stoop” beside the entrance, and from amongst it his bright eyes -watched and his voice resounded. I lived in a waggon. One day the -gudewife interviewed my dragoman. She expressed her belief that it was -MacGahan’s songs that brought the rain, which, indeed, was perennial. -She clung to her point with vehemence. Her husband arrived, and so -did some Cossacks. They listened with great interest for a while, -understanding not a word, and then, with a happy impulse, hustled the -Bulgar head first into his den. The motive of this proceeding lay -beyond our comprehension, and theirs also, no doubt; but the Cossack is -an irresponsible being. When we laughed they roared, crinkling their -jolly, ugly faces until the eyes vanished altogether. I gave them a -drink, but not a many-bladed knife, which was lost to human sight in -that hour. - -The dirtiest experience to which mankind may be subjected is a -campaign; but when Russ meets Turk on Bulgarian fields you have a -conjuncture of men and circumstances not to be realised elsewhere. The -country was sodden at that time, the camps mid-leg deep in puddled -clay. General Zortoff, who had the command, occupied a hut much like -ours, a couple of hundred yards away; but we always mounted to pay a -call, for the space round head-quarters was an actual bog. Officers -waiting on the general sat perched upon fences round his yard, in a -manner very drolly miserable. The staff had their office in a cowshed -which had not been cleaned for years. - -A month in a Dyak house is another pleasing recollection. For that -space of time, barring nights camped out, my quarters lay besides -the council fire. A hoop of human heads hung above it, within arm’s -length of my own. Ugly were they as valued—precious ugly, one might -say with literal truth—but the ghosts never visited my dreams. All -the inhabitants of a Dyak village dwell under one roof, more than a -thousand feet in length sometimes. The whole building stands twenty -to sixty feet in air on massive posts. Every family has its single -apartment side by side, the chief’s in the middle, and every door opens -on a clear, sheltered space running from end to end, which we call -the inner verandah, for there is a second beyond the eave. Opposite -the chief’s door lie the big stones of the council hearth, the heads, -belonging to the clan, strung on hoops, and details of common property. -That month spent with savages, living their life, noting the thousand -small events of every day, about which the most thoughtful of men would -hardly think of asking speculative questions—the experience of that -time taught me much that has been useful since: for the naked barbarian -and the æsthetic philosopher are one. He who knows by practice the -instincts of human nature understands a thousand mysteries inscrutable -to one who has only its acquired customs to guide him. - -Pleasant was the teaching. Fog alone was visible from the top of the -ladder when the house began to stir—a sea of mist from which arose, -with no trunks perceptible, the crowns of fruit trees and feathered -crests of palms. First the married men turned out, and then the -bachelors appeared from their separate quarter; shivering under his -bark blanket, each cut a plug of betel and chewed it. Then graceful -girls came out with long shovel baskets, some leisurely and composed, -others bustling; these had not winnowed the paddy over night, and -certain of the youths knew why. After a while the housewife opened her -door, and in that defiant voice which belongs to hard-working mothers -everywhere, summoned her family to breakfast. When they reappeared the -fog was lifting, the sky dappled like an opal. Cheered by the growing -warmth men moved briskly, arranging their tools and arms and gear. The -young women and maidens followed, a pleasing bevy, with loads strapped -to their backs, and all the villagers descended to the lower earth. - -Only the chief and his old councillors remained—sitting over their -eternal fire, chewing their eternal betel—the grandames, and the sick. -Towards sunset the laboring folk returned, and the males sat to chew -and gossip, but the girls had still their hardest work to do. Presently -all the house resounded with the thud of pestles, and the air was -filled with husks from the pounded rice. A silence of interest and -hunger followed whilst the meal was cooking, and then the pleasure of -the day began. For the elders it was only talk, always the same, as far -as I could gather, of bad times and good times, and the prospect of the -year; seldom personal, and never gossiping, at the chief’s fire, where -all heads of families assembled. No one paid attention to the youth or -to the maidens, so soon as their household duties were complete. By -this time darkness had quite fallen, and there was no light excepting -the low fires. Shoulders glossy as brown silk were faintly luminous -in the twilight, as we looked down the house; from time to time a -fire shot out, revealing the seated group around, lively enough, but -subdued. Shadows stalked from hearth to hearth, tinkling and sparkling -in brazen finery, and vanished with the gloom;—then the whispered -chatter of girls, the smothered merriment, became more loud, with -expostulations and mirthful appeals for help. A very pleasant scene; -but I loved also to awake at midnight, and observe that different -picture. The councillors, taking no exercise, never turned in; all -the night through they maundered, and dozed, and coughed, and chewed -betel. Above them the teeth of the weazened “heads” glimmered through -the smoke. A labyrinth of posts and beams was faintly outlined in their -rear. Now and again a young form passed stealthily, for in the hours -of darkness courtship is seriously pursued. Beneath the cave I caught a -glimpse of azure sky, and palm fronds gleaming in the moonlight. Of all -the odd quarters I have known this is still the dearest to memory. - -Once upon a time I lost myself in the veldt, somewhere by the Vaal -river. Leaving Pniel in a “spider cart,” with a mulatto groom, I -inspected the wet-diggings as far as Gong-Gong, and then got off -the track. They told me that to go wrong would be impossible, with -an Africander to steer my course, but I contrived to do it. Some -philosophers would have you think that every savage has an instinctive -mastery of woodcraft, but experience leads me to think that fools are -almost as common in Barbarie as in Christendom. We lost ourselves, and -wandered two days, heading direct for the Atlantic—and for nothing else -in particular, besides the Namaqualand desert. Settlements are very few -in that veldt, and the only one we came across was Jantje’s kraal on -the second evening;—Jantje has since rebelled, and is now an outlaw, I -believe. It had some forty huts on the top of a mound, encompassed by -raging brooks;—for the sky had been little better than a sieve since -we started. There was no sign of life, but a swelling roar of voices -directed me to a wooden church, which I entered. All the population -were there, and the vehemence of their devotions was deafening. A fat -man hurried up, not ceasing to howl with the rest—his mouth opened from -ear to ear and nose to chin. He took my arm, and led me out like a -stray dog, whilst the congregation bellowed and stared without a pause. -So many white lips—and teeth—fixed on me, in a gathering darkness that -obscured the black faces, had an effect indescribably gruesome and -absurd. - -Outside the church this personage turned to resume his place, singing -all the time as loud as he could bawl. My groom coming up arrested -certain demands of explanation, which began to take a serious form, -but no help could be got from Jantje’s people. We annexed an empty -hut and camped there supperless, wet through. My first experience of -tompans was made that night. This curious insect dwells in deserted -Kaffir buildings and nowhere else, I believe. He is armed after the -best and newest suggestions of science for naval equipment—his vital -parts and locomotive machinery protected by the cuirass, his artillery, -of great weight and superior rifling, on the Moncrieff system, swift -to attack and agile to retreat. You cannot crush him with any weapon -less ponderous than a hammer; to ignore a beast as large and as flat as -a threepenny bit is impossible, and moral influence seems to be quite -ineffective. To sing hymns and cultivate tompans was the only visible -employment of Jantje’s kraal. I cannot affect to regret that its -inhabitants have been scattered to the winds. Wherever they have fled -they have found an opportunity to study better manners. - -But I was going to recall the odd quarters at Jacobsdaal which brought -this adventure to a fitting close. We had no treaty of extradition with -the Free State at that time—I do not know that we have one now. All -sorts of criminals took refuge at Jacobsdaal, a tiny but prosperous -settlement lying just across the frontier. During my absence a gust -of indignation had swept over the Diamond Fields, and all the guilty, -the suspected, and the alarmed had fled. The landlady of the best -“Accommodation House” declared to me, almost with tears, that her -dwelling, hitherto inveterate in virtue, was become a rendezvous of -malefactors. She advised me to try the other shop for once, since even -thieves would not go there by choice—naturally. I did so, and found -the guests sitting down. In the place of honor was a canteen man, -badly wanted by the New Rush police. I also recognized an acquaintance -accused of cheating at cards in the “Pig and Whistle;” another who had -been lately described to the magistrate as “tremendous delirious;” an -American gentleman whom the police had vainly besought to render an -account to his partners. One of these latter, in attendance on his -fugitive associate, identified for me a man charged with murder, and -two common thieves. The conversation was most polite. The chairman’s -suasive tones in proposing a “leetle mutton” were as good as testimony -to character. He had a trick of cocking the old smoking-cap upon his -head before every observation, as if to point it with knowingness. The -extreme propriety with which he guided the conversation so overawed -the thieves that they were too hoarse to talk. My poor “tremendous” -friend yielded to the same wholesome influence, and addressed everyone -in the third person as “the honorable gentleman on my right,” or left, -or opposite. As for the manslaughterer, he showed warm philanthropy, -arguing with vehemence that black people have as good rights as -white, and better in their own country. Circumstances made this topic -embarrassing to the chairman. He cocked his smoking-cap from side to -side, imploring everyone to take some more of everything. After supper -he made a little speech, ending with a toast—“Home, lads, mothers and -dads.” The company drank it with deep emotion.—_Belgravia._ - - - - -SIR TRISTRAM DE LYONESSE. - -BY E. M. SMITH. - - -The ancient adage that “there is no new thing under the sun,” has been -recently applied by a popular writer of fiction to the romantic stories -of the day. But surely nowhere are the words of the Preacher more -abundantly illustrated than in the realm of narrative poetry. With whom -did “The Canterbury Tales,” “The Fairy Queen,”“The Idylls of the King,” -originate? Certainly not with Chaucer, Spenser, or Tennyson. The hidden -sources of those delightful rivers of song lie far away, so far that -few care to trace them. The same, or nearly the same, story is handed -down from one man to another, till at last some master-mind catches -its true significance, tells it for once as it was never told before, -and links his name with it through all the ages. Sometimes though more -rarely, different capabilities of the same story will strike more than -one master-mind, and then the comparisons are full of interest, and -bring out into sharp relief the idiosyncrasies of each narrator. It has -been so with portions of the “Iliad,” of the “Nibelungen Lied,” and of -our own “Morte D’Arthur.” It is so still with the story of Sir Tristram -de Lyonesse, who, of all King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table, -seems to have gone the farthest and fared the best. Rarely indeed has -the homage of poets so far apart in time, and varying so widely in -spirit and conception, been tendered so persistently to one object. -Arthur may pass away in peace to the cool valley of Avilion, Launcelot -to his grave in Joyous Guard, Galahad to the Blessed Vision which last -he saw with mortal eyes in the city of Estorause; but Tristram is of -the earth, earthy, and on the earth he abides. Twelve centuries have -not quenched the ardor of his love for fair Iseult, nor traced one -wrinkle on his brow. - -Briefly, the legend of his life is this: Sir Tristram de Lyonesse as -his first great exploit slew Sir Marhaus, the deadly foe of his uncle, -King Mark, but was by him so desperately wounded that he sailed to -Ireland under the name of Tamtris, to be cured of his wound by the -surgical arts of the Queen of Ireland, sister to Sir Marhaus, and -mother of the beautiful Princess Iseult. On his return to Cornwall he -described the Princess in words so glowing that King Mark resolved to -marry her, and sent his nephew back to escort her over the sea. Fearful -lest all should not go well, the Queen gave to her daughter’s faithful -maid, Bragwaine, a magic potion, which the bride was to drink on the -night of her marriage with King Mark, to ensure their mutual love. -Unwittingly, however, Tristram and Iseult drank of it together on board -the vessel; and, all their lives, it wrought them woe and misery, until -at length they died together, and were buried side by side. The facts -are always much the same—but the hero alters so completely as to change -the whole aspect of the story, and make the interpretation put upon it -different in every age. - -When we first meet with him among the Welsh bards of the sixth century, -he is simply Drystan, or Trystan, the Tumultuous; his name has not -already doomed him to that _triste_ existence, which grows consistently -more and more tragic throughout the later records of his life. He -is the son, not of King Meliodas, but of Talwz; his lady is Essylt; -his uncle, Mark Meirzion; and the chief points in his character are -curiously brought out by his association with Greidial and Gwgon, as -one of the three heralds of Britain; with Gwair and Cai, the diademed -princes; with Call and Pryderi, the mighty swineherds; with Gwair and -Eiddillig, the stubborn chiefs; with Caswallan and Cynon, the faithful -lovers. Heraldry, obstinacy, fidelity—no very promising material for a -hero nowadays; but then the lines on which a poet worked were simpler. - -For three years this tumultuous being withdrew from Arthur’s Court in -disgust at the issue of one of his quarrels, and the King, with almost -incredible folly, instead of rejoicing at the deliverance, sent after -him twenty-eight warriors in succession, all of whom Trystan overthrew. -At last, Gwalzmai with the Golden Tongue (the Gawaine of later days) -tried his fortune, accosting the fierce chieftain in these words: - - Tumultuous is the wave naturally - When the sea is its base: - Who art thou, warrior incomprehensible? - -To which Trystan Ossianically replies: - - Tumultuous be a wave and a thunderstorm: - While they be tumultuous in their course, - In the day of conflict I am Trystan. - -Finally the Golden-tongued prevails, and they return together. - -Our next glimpse of him is in the kingdom of the _trouvères_ -and _troubadours_, with whom he is a great favorite. The famous -Mademoiselle Marie, in her translation, the “Lai Dee Chevrefoil,” -written about the middle of the twelfth century, sings of a pretty -episode in his love, which none of her successors have improved upon, -and which most of them have omitted. There are allusions to him in -Chrestien de Troyes, who wrote before the year 1191, and in the works -of a poetical king of Navarre, about 1226. The date of the Auchinleck -MS., “Sir Tristram,” which Scott raised such a tempest by ascribing -to Thomas the Rhymer of Ercildoune, is said to be 1330. It is written -in a curious and very effective metre; the short abrupt line of two -syllables falling regularly near the end of each stanza reins in the -full swing of the rest with great force and directness. The poem is -full of life and vigor, and there are touches of naïf insight here and -there in strange contrast with the rough, matter-of-fact tone of the -whole. Many and quaint are the adventures of the hero, especially when -he kills a dragon in Ireland for the sake of Iseult, that “brid bright, -as blood upon snoweing,” and her mother cures him of the pain caused by -its poisonous tongue, with treacle; or when, having overcome a terrible -“geaunt” in Brittany, he requires him to adorn the walls of his castle -with “images” of Iseult and Bragwaine, the beauty of which so astounds -his young brother-in-law, evidently a novice in works of art, that he -straightway falls backward and breaks his head! - -This poem, or another much like it, was celebrated both at home and -abroad, where “Thomas of Britain” was henceforth quoted as the great -authority on the subject. About the same time lived Raoul de Beauvais, -who also made it his study; Rusticien de Puise, whose work is in -prose; and the authors of two metrical fragments in French, from one -of which Scott completed the Auchinleck MS., though its end had not -been unearthed when he became its editor. The translation, which -carried the name of Tristram northward as far as Iceland, is still -kept in the library at Copenhagen; and G. de le Flamma tells us that -when the tomb of a Lombard king was opened in 1339, there was found -inscribed on his sword, “This was the sword of Sir Tristram, who killed -Amoroyt of Ireland.” Seghart von Bamberg wrote of him in 1403, and also -Eylhard von Habergen. Of the same period is the Romance by Gotfried of -Strasburg, who died in the midst of his work, leaving it to be finished -in a less poetical spirit by Ulrich von Turheim and Heinrich von -Vribert. - -Our own Geoffrey of Monmouth was the first to draw Sir Tristram into -the magic circle of Arthur’s knights, in whose good company he has ever -since remained. Lady Juliana Berners mentions him as the inventor of -“venery” or terms of hunting; and his name occurs in “The Temple of -Glass,” and in Gower, who states that he fell by King Mark’s own hand, -a tradition followed only by Sir Thomas Malory and Tennyson. In the -“Orlando Furioso” we hear of the “Rocca di Tristano,” and Ariosto and -Boiardo drew from his legend, old even then, their fountains of love -and hatred. Dante places him next to Paris among the lovers flitting -by like cranes in his “Inferno.” In 1485 Sir Thomas Malory, himself a -knight, published his noble “Morte D’Arthur,” in which Tristram is one -of the most striking figures; and it is remarkable that although he -never seems to have thought there was anything to condemn greatly in -the nephew’s conduct, he palliates it by defaming the uncle as much as -possible—a moral concession not to be found in either of the earlier -romances, which he must have consulted for his work. But we will not -multiply references, lest the reader should be fain to cry with the -author of “Sir Hain and Dame Anieuse,” - - Or pues tu chanter de Tristan, - Ou de plus longue, se tu sez. - -The theme was getting wearisome. Le Seigneur Luce du château de Gast -had exhausted it in his prose Romance (where, for the first time, -Palamides, the Paynim lover of Iseult, and Dinadan, the foolish, -knight, appear); and, besides this, there was a “Romance of Meliodas,” -Tristram’s father, and afterwards a “Romance of Ysaie le Triste,” his -son; so that all the details of his private life were nearly as well -known as those of Mr. Carlyle’s to the present generation. “Ysaie le -Triste” appeared in 1522; and in 1554, when no imagination, however -vivid, could possibly add a single exploit to those which had been -recounted already, Jean Maugin took a new departure, and turned the -whole thing into an allegory, in which Sir Tristram became the type of -Christian chivalry. His queer attempt is justly ridiculed by Scott; -but it is not altogether without interest, as the first indication of -the symbolic spirit in which modern poets have treated the legend—with -the exception of Scott himself, whose beautiful Conclusion and -Ballad are pure imitations of the mediæval spirit as well as of the -mediæval form, and have nothing modern about them. Towards the end of -the sixteenth century the taste for chivalrous romance died out in -Europe—or rather fell asleep—and the name of Tristram was no more heard -for more than two hundred years, except in a glowing stanza or two of -Spenser’s “Fairy Queen.” Then came the revival of Scott and Southey to -prepare the way, and lastly that signal triumph of the ancient story -in our own day, when four of the greatest living poets singled it out -for illustration, and it became a living power again in the hands of -Wagner, Tennyson, Swinburne, and Matthew Arnold. But its power is of -a different kind, for a change has come over the spirit of the dream, -since it was first dreamed long ago among the Welsh mountains. - -Accordingly Tristram, once the mere sport of existing circumstances, -becomes a highly responsible person with correctly oppressive notions -of duty. He has grown old along with the rest of the world; he rides -no more light-hearted through the forest, sails no more gaily across -the sea, forgetful of all but life and its deliciousness, woos no more -whom he would. Nor, in the modern versions, does he die merrily, as he -died in the “Morte D’Arthur” and in the “Book of Howth,” “harping afore -his lady La Belle Isoud.”Wagner, to whom one might have fancied, _à -priori_, that such an exit for his tenor would have been most welcome, -sentences him to lingering death of a wound given him by the traitor -Melot; Tennyson fells him with a blow of King Mark’s from behind; in -Matthew Arnold he dies naturally; in Swinburne the false words of -Iseult Les Blanches Mains finish the work of sickness. His love, his -death, are all-important now; whereas of old the first was but an -interesting episode in the life of a man who was second only to Sir -Launcelot at a tourney, and the last so insignificant as to be disposed -of in a single sentence. We hear nothing now of the Castle of Maidens, -or of Lonazep; nothing of the wife of Sir Segwarides, or of other fair -ladies; nothing at all of that great crisis in his life when he met Sir -Launcelot at the peron, “and either wounded other wonderly sore, that -the blood ran out upon the grass.” - -Of course there may be a reason for this in the fact that we look upon -Tristram as a hero by himself, and therefore have no need to illustrate -his inferiority to Launcelot, and to Launcelot only, in love and in -war. But where are ye now, Sir Palamides, Sir Bruno, and Sir Elias? -Your very names have a forgotten sound. - - The knights’ bones are dust, - And their good swords rust, - Their souls are with the saints, I trust. - -But he who wishes to find any record of their doings with Sir Tristram -must search through the length and breadth of Malory’s twenty-one books -ere he find it. Nor is there any trace in the modern poems of the sweet -old story, how after that “deep draughts of death” had taken the Lady -Elizabeth, Tristram’s mother, and his father, King Maliodas, had “let -call him Tristram, the sorrowful-born child,” and had actually, for -love of her, “endured seven years without a wife,” he married a wicked -lady, who tried to poison Tristram; and how she was condemned to death -for the attempt, and he rescued her from his father’s wrath, and made -them accorded, and how she “loved him ever after, and gave Tristram -many great gifts.” - -All these things, which relieved the sombre hues of the picture have -faded into dimness. The martial glory of Tristram has passed away; -nothing but tragedy remains—the sin, the sorrow, the inexplicable -fate which linked two separated lives together. Long ago it was a bit -of witchcraft pure and simple; now the magic drink has become the -symbol of mystery and doom, and what not. Like Paolo and Francesca da -Rimini, the guilty souls are hurried round and round without a moment’s -respite by the whirlwind of their passion, in that wonderful opera -which the most devoted followers of Wagner esteem his masterpiece of -blended poetry and music. The fierce, dark, rapturous rejoicing of -love on the very edge of death lights it up with a lurid glare, which -makes everything else look pale and fanciful by comparison; it has no -parallel in art, even among Wagner’s other works, nor can any one -desire that it should have. The great difficulties which stand in the -way of its representation may prevent it from ever becoming popular -in the sense in which “Lohengrin” and “Tannhäuser” are popular; but -those who have had the good fortune to hear it will not easily forget -its unique and terrible power. It is strange that Wagner should have -made King Mark an ideal uncle, tender and forgiving to the last degree, -and so full of self-denial that had he but known of the fatal drink -in time, he would have resigned his bride to his nephew with the best -grace in the world. Dramatically the action loses by this change; the -sympathies of the audience are baffled and divided; do what we will, -the conduct of the hero seems mean and treacherous, and his death -more arbitrary than it need have been, since Melot, the traitor who -gives him his mortal wound, had far less reason to hate him than had -the injured bridegroom. Indeed, it is difficult to see what Wagner -himself thought that he gained by this amendment, unless that tragedy -itself becomes more tragic by the needless suffering inflicted on a -high and noble soul, ready to sacrifice its dearest hopes rather than -undergo the agony of seeing another’s virtue tempted beyond endurance. -There is also one dire offence against good taste, worthy of Wagner’s -earliest models (and of Shakespeare in “King Lear”,) in the scene where -Tristram tears the bandage from his wounds. But if the hero fares -rather badly, until we forgive him for the sake of his death-cry, -“Liebe!” the heroine has never in the course of her long life found -such an interpreter. She has lost, indeed, her old, light-hearted -innocence; but she has lost it to become one of the grandest and most -original creations in the whole range of the drama. She surpasses even -the bounds of passion; the very _fury_ of love is upon her, from the -moment when, foreseeing that she can no longer live without him, she -resolves to make Tristram drink with her of the death-drink, and the -charm begins to work, to the moment when she falls dead besides his -body. The magic only reveals what shame forbade her to confess. The key -to her whole character lies in her answer to Bragwaine’s entreaty that -she will not give the signal for Tristram’s approach by extinguishing -the torch in the window of her tower in King Mark’s palace— - - Und wär ’es meines Lebens Licht, - Lachend es zu löschen - Zag ’ich nicht. - -Wagner showed his wisdom when he left her alone in her glory, and made -no attempt to introduce that other Iseult of Brittany, who certainly -interferes with any conception of Tristram as the most faithful of -lovers. “And for because that Sir Tristram had such cheer and riches, -and all other pleasures that he had, almost he had forsaken La Beale -Isoud. And so upon a time Sir Tristram agreed to wed Isoud les Blanches -Mains. And at the last they were wedded, and solemnly held their -marriage,” But this is far too natural and unheroic for the nineteenth -century; and poor Iseult the Second fares ill at the hands of our -poets—excepting Matthew Arnold who, with unwonted chivalry, has taken -up the cause of this distressed damsel (this “snowdrop by the sea,” -whose own brother forsook her for her namesake), and made of her one -of those meek, motherly, sweet little women, who are ready to forgive -any one they love anything; and who, too weak either to make or mar the -lives with which they come in contact, yet hold their own by the power -of that clinging, lasting devotedness, which is all their innocent -natures let them know of passion. Very sweet is his picture of her, -standing in her gorgeous robes by the chimney-piece with the firelight -flickering on her white face and her white hands, and her jewelled -clasp, ready to vanish gracefully the moment her rival enters; and it -is with a gentle feeling of regret that we lose sight of her at last, -wandering on the seashore with her children, while she tells them -the old story of Merlin and Vivien to beguile the weary hours of her -widowhood. Here and here only the pure, white-handed maiden-wife bears -away the palm from the old Iseult of Tristram’s dreams, with - - Her proud, dark eyes, - And her petulant, quick replies; - -and we rather resent her intrusion than welcome her, when she comes -back to nurse him, very repentant indeed, like a sort of queenly -Sister of Mercy. His dying request is also a great innovation: - - Close mine eyes, then seek the princess Iseult; - Speak her fair, she is of royal blood! - Say, I charged her, that thou stay beside me— - She will grant it; she is kind and good. - -The hero of “the last tournament” is a very different being. Of all -those who have told the story, Tennyson alone seems to have looked -upon Tristram as thoroughly base and unworthy. Such a knight as this, -so rough, licentious, and wanting in courtesy, could never have been -Launcelot’s second; and indeed Tennyson lays no stress whatever on the -strong friendship which existed between them—so strong that neither -would ever wittingly harm any relation or friend of the other. As -Wagner has made the legend a symbol of that strife between man, his -passions, and his circumstances, which is the complex motive of our -latest tragedy,—as Matthew Arnold has drawn from it the lesson, that -quiet and neglected lives often do more to make the world lovely than -great and brilliant ones (a lesson which chivalry would never have -found there),—so Tennyson has made it a symbol of that degradation of -the whole nature, which follows the conscious surrender of the spirit -to the flesh, and has drawn from it the lesson that the very happiness -of partners in guilt is tainted with bitterness and turns to ashes -in their mouths. Nowhere else is there such a sharp contrast implied -between Launcelot, the sinner who repented and was given time for -repentance, and Tristram, the sinner who repented not and was cut off -in the midst of his sin. There is a great gulf between them, across -which they do not even join their hands. - -Iseult stands in much the same relation to Guinevere; she is coarser, -more ironical, free from any feeling of remorse; but she surpasses -Tristram as Launcelot surpasses Guinevere, in “faith unfaithful,” and -one has a strong compassion for her in her lonely home, looking out -over the wild sea, with that stealthy spy of a husband, dogging her -every footstep. How full of compressed, dramatic force the last lines -are! - - He rose, he turn’d, then, flinging round her neck, - Claspt it; and cried “Thine Order, O my Queen!” - But while he bow’d to kiss the jewel’d throat, - Out of the dark, just as the lips had touch’d, - Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek— - “Mark’s way,” said Mark, and clove him through the brain. - -Not so has Swinburne read the character. His Tristram of Lyonesse is -once more the free, open-handed, light-hearted hero, or rather he -would be if he had not inevitably contracted some of the _Zeit-Geist_, -its weariness, its languor, its power of analysis. His gaiety is not -spontaneous—his song is as labored as if he had had to send it up for -an examination; his love is over-heavy with its own sweetness. The -long-drawn, honied lines drag on and on through pages of description, -till we almost long for a rough, dissonant note to break the eternal, -soft, alliterative hissing and kissing. But Iseult bears the wealth -of jewelled epithets lavished upon her, and it is easy enough to -understand them when we are under the spell of her fascination, or -when she is finely contrasted with the cruel, cold-blooded Iseult of -Brittany, who in her jealous anger kills her husband, by telling him -that the sails of the ship which is bringing his love to him are black -instead of white, so that he thinks she has refused to come: - - And fain he would have raised himself and seen - And spoken, but strong death struck sheer between, - And darkness closed as iron round his head, - And smitten through the heart lay Tristan dead. - -So there he lies. But he may yet be born again, and fight, and love, -and die, for who knows what shall be in the days to come, or to what -ancient songs the houses of our children’s children may echo? It may be -there is yet a further interpretation of the riddle, the outlines of -which we cannot even guess; and that the two Iseults may come to like -each other. Things even more strange than this have happened. It was -said that out of Tristram’s grave there grew an eglantine, which turned -itself around Iseult’s; and although it was cut three times by order of -the king, the eglantine was ever fair and fresh. By this time it has -grown into a mighty tree, and, for all we know, it has not done growing -yet.—_Merry England._ - - - - -OLD MYTHOLOGY IN NEW APPAREL. - -BY J. THEODORE BENT. - -We are generally accustomed to consider mythology as a bygone episode -of _juventus mundi_; it may seem at first sight strange to realize that -what we have read of in Homer exists to-day. But so it is, and the -following facts collected during lengthened tours in remote corners of -Greece will prove, I hope, that the mystic beings of classical Greece -are present now, when the world is supposed to be growing old. All -my instances are from the islands of the Ægean Sea, the Cyclades and -the Sporades, where communication with the outer world has never been -great, and over which the various waves of Goths, Italians, Turks, -which in a measure destroyed the identity of continental Greece, had, -comparatively speaking, slight influence, and that only in the towns -near the coast, whereas up in the mountains of Naxos, Amorgos, &c., -pure Greek blood still flows. - -Here the mythology of their ancestors is deeply ingrained in the -inhabitants, both in the ritual of their Church, and in their manners -and customs; the ritual, indeed, of the Eastern Church is but an -intellectual adaptation under Christian guidance of the problems -propounded by the later philosophers to the popular doctrines of -polytheism. - -I was in the island of Keos, or Zia, one of the Cyclades, when the idea -of forming this collection struck me, and it was on the occasion of -being told that here St. Artemidos is considered as the patron saint of -weakly children. The church dedicated to this saint is some little way -from the town on the hill slopes; thither a mother will take a child -afflicted by any mysterious wasting, “struck by the Nereids,” as they -say; she then strips off its clothes, and puts on new ones blessed by -the priest, leaving the old ones as a perquisite for the church; and -then if perchance the child grows strong, she will thank St. Artemidos -for the blessing vouchsafed, unconscious that she is perpetuating the -archaic worship of Artemis. The Ionian idea of the fructifying and -nourishing properties of the Ephesian Artemis has been transferred to -her Christian namesake. - -About these Nereids, too, we hear much in modern Greece, and they have -the properties of many of our mythological friends, those of Keos, for -example, are supposed to live on cliffs and in trees; if a man sleeps -under the shadow of a cliff or tree, and is taken with a cold sweat, -they say “the goddess of the tree has injured him,” and accordingly -to appease her they spread on the place a clean white cloth, and put -on it new-made bread, a plate with honey, another with sweetmeats, a -bottle of good wine, a knife and fork and an empty glass, an unburnt -candle, and an incense pot; an old woman utters some mystic words, and -then all go away, “that the Nereids may eat and the sufferer regain his -health.” We have here a ceremony very like that anciently performed at -Athens to appease the Eumenides when a banquet was laid near the caves -they were supposed to haunt, of which honey and milk were the necessary -ingredients. - -The Nereids in many cases correspond to the nymphs of antiquity; they -preside over healing streams, and they wash in them at night when the -waters sleep, and no one at that time dares to approach for fear of -becoming frenzied (νυμφόληπτος). - -The cloak of Phœbus Apollo has fallen on the prophet Elias. As of -old temples on all the highest hills of the islands are dedicated to -the sun-god; the reason is obvious. Ἡλιος, the sun deity -(the _h_ not being aspirated), at once suggested Elias to the easily -accommodating divines, and to all intents and purposes the prophet -supplies the place of the sun-god of antiquity. Prophet Elias has power -over rain; in times of drought people assemble in crowds in his church -to pray for rain, and in this he has the attribute of ὄμβριος -or ὑέτιος Ζεῦς. When it thunders they say the prophet is -driving in his chariot in pursuit of demons. - -To pass on to another analogy. There is a curious parallel between St. -Anarguris, the patron saint in some parts of flocks and herds, and -the god Pan of ancient days. On the island of Thermià (Κύθνος) I saw a -church dedicated to St. Anarguris built over the mouth of a cavern, as -the protecting saint of the place, instead of Pan, the ancient god of -grottos. But a still more marked instance of the continuation of Pan -worship occurs to-day on Keos at the little church of St. Anarguris, -at a remote hamlet called 'στὸ μακρινὸ. Whenever an ox is ailing they -take it to this church and pray for its recovery; if the cock crows -when they start, or they hear the voice of a man or the grunt of a pig, -there is every hope that the animal will be cured; but on the contrary, -if they hear a cat, a dog, or a woman, it is looked upon as an evil -omen. When at the church of St. Anarguris they solemnly register a vow -that if the ox recovers they will present it to the saint when its days -of work are over; accordingly, every year on the 1st of July, the day -on which they celebrate the feast of St. Anarguris, numbers of aged -oxen may be seen on the road to this church, where they are slaughtered -on the threshold and the flesh distributed amongst the poor. - -St. Nicholas, again, is the lineal descendant of Poseidon; he is the -sailor’s god. Wherever in ancient times there existed a temple to the -honor of Poseidon we now find an insignificant white-washed edifice -dedicated to St. Nicholas. This is especially noticeable at Tenos, -where was in antiquity the famous shrine and feast of Poseidon. On this -island the chief town is now called St. Nicholas, and hither yearly -assemble to worship thousands of Greeks from all parts of the world -before a miracle-working shrine. Modern priestcraft, in short, has -cleverly arranged that Tenos should be the modern Delos where the topic -of independent panhellenism can be freely discussed. - -Everything nautical has to do with St. Nicholas; in Mykenos a little -church built on a rock out in the harbor is dedicated to him; another -on the sea shore at Paros is dedicated to Ἅγιος Νικόλαος Θαλασσίτης; -his picture, or εἰκὼν is painted on the inside of crabs’ backs, which -are gilded outside and worshipped. In nautical songs St. Nicholas is -always alluded to as the inventor of the rudder, and is represented -as seated at the helm, whilst Christ sits at the prow and the Virgin -in the middle. In a storm sailors call on him for assistance, as the -ancients did on the Dioscouri, whom they thought to have power to allay -storms direct from Poseidon himself. - -We always find St. Dionysius as the successor of Dionysos in the -Christian ritual. The island of Naxos was a chief centre of the worship -of the wine-loving god in antiquity; and a fable about St. Dionysius, -still told in the islands and on the mainland, clearly points to the -continuity of the myth. It is as follows:— - -St. Dionysius was on his way one day from his monastery on Mount -Olympus to Naxos, and he sat down to rest during the heat of the day. -Close to him he saw a pretty plant which he wished to take with him, -and, lest it should wither by the way, he put it into the leg bone of -a bird, and to his surprise at his next halting-place he found it had -sprouted; so, accordingly, he put it into the leg bone of a lion, and -the same thing occurred; finally, he put it into the leg of an ass, and -in reaching Naxos he found the plant so rooted in the bones that he -planted them altogether. And up came a vine, from the fruit of which he -made the first wine, a little of which made the saint sing like a bird, -a little more made him strong as a lion, and yet a little more made him -as foolish as an ass. - -At Melos they have a curious feast which recalls a Bacchic revelry. -Every landowner who wishes to plant a vineyard calls together, on -a certain day, fifty or more men, when church is over; to these he -gives a spade apiece, and slaughters some goats and fills skins with -wine. Then they all start off together to their work, preceded by a -standard-bearer holding a white banner. In the field they eat the food, -drink the wine, and plant the vineyard, all in the space of one day, -and return home again, most of them in a decided state of intoxication. -This is followed by a dance and further revelry in front of the church, -which doubtless the village priest will hallow with his presence. The -Greeks, taken as a whole, are a sober race, but on certain occasions -and festivals it is almost a religious duty to drink heavily. In the -island of Paros there actually exists a church dedicated to the -drunken St. George, whose feast-day is on the 3rd of November. The -priest thereof, in answer to my inquiries about this strange name, -remarked that the 3rd of November is the anniversary of St. George’s -burial, and then the inhabitants usually tap their new-made wine and -get drunk; but why they should on such a solemn occasion speak of Ἅγιος -ΓἍοργιος μεθύστης I could not divine, unless we take into account the -hereditary tendency of the Greeks to deify passions. - -A curious instance of the survival of the mythical Titans I met at -Chios, at the southern point of which island exists a colossal white -rock; this the natives told me was a stone which Samson had once hurled -against God, and it had fallen here. But of all the myths of antiquity -which exist to-day none is more marked than the belief in Charon, the -Styx, and Hades. In Thermià they believe that in Charon’s infernal -kingdom are lamps which represent the life of men, and when each man’s -lamp is extinguished for want of oil he will die. - -A Greek peasant looks upon death quite differently from what a peasant -of the western world is taught to believe. To him it is the end of all -joy and gladness; the songs over his body (myriologues) speak of the -black earth, the end of light and brilliancy. A popular Klephtic song -on the death of Zedros, when read by the side of Sophocles’ description -of the death of Ajax, shows how curiously alike are the ideas of -death as painted in the two poems. Charon is still believed to be a -white-haired old man with long and fearful nails, and in myriologues or -lamentations, which are still of every-day occurrence in the islands, -you actually hear of Charon’s caïque. He is now spoken of as Charos. -I had been told that, in some parts of Greece they still put money on -the mouth of a deceased person to pay the passage (ναὗλον). I sought in -vain for instances of it in the islands; but one day, whilst attending -a child’s funeral in a mountain village of Naxos, I saw a wax cross put -on the childs’ mouth by the priest, and on inquiry I was told it was -the ναὗλον, _i.e._, freight money—so completely has the Eastern Church -incorporated into itself the ancient ideas. - -In a popular song I have heard Charon spoken of as a “bird like unto -a black swallow,” which compares curiously with the passage in the -twenty-second _Odyssey_, where Athena is represented as sitting on the -roof of the palace at Ithaca like a swallow, on the day of vengeance -for Penelope’s suitors. - -It will be apparent from the above remarks that at the time of the -change of religion from paganism to Christianity, names were given -to saints to supply wants felt by the abandonment of polytheism. -There are many instances of this. For example, St. Eleutherius is -the saint called upon by women in childbirth to deliver them; deaf -people are recommended to consult St. Jacob (Ἄκουφος as he is called, -κουφος—deaf), and in Lesbos I was told that St. Therapon could heal all -manner of diseases. In the same way young married people who wish for a -numerous progeny chose St. Polycarp as their patron saint, so that they -may have many teeth in their house, as the saying goes (πολὺ 'δοντια -'στὸ σπίτι). - -St. Charalambos is, however, the Æsculapius of modern days. He used -to hold jurisdiction over the plague, and is represented as a hideous -wizard, trampling under foot a serpent with smoke issuing out of its -mouth; and in fever-stricken, marshy districts St. Charalambos still -reigns supreme. In many places it is the custom on the outbreak of -a pestilence for forty women to make a garment in one day, which is -hung up in the saint’s church. For instance, at Zephyria, the mediæval -capital of the island of Melos, which was abandoned altogether about -twenty years ago as unfit to live in, I visited the ruins, and in the -centre of them saw still standing the church of St. Charalambos, and -an old man, who happened to be picking his olives there at the time, -told me the history of the desolation, and the methods they used to -resort to when he was young to rid the place of disease; how they used -to bury heifers whole; and how they used to fasten up illnesses in -a cauldron—that is to say, they wrote down the names of the various -maladies on paper, and boiled them in a cauldron with some money and -a cock in front of the shrine of the modern Æsculapius. But in vain; -the town had to be abandoned, for it had been cursed by a priest, and -never could hope to recover salubrity. - -It is a very common custom for Greek peasants to pass the night in a -church of St. Charalambos with a view to cure an ailment; at festivals -too, near miraculous _eikons_, such as the one at Tenos, the invalids -pass whole nights in the church, reminding one forcibly of that -ridiculous scene in Aristophanes (Plut. vv. 655) when the priests -stole the food from the invalids who were asleep in the temple of -Æsculapius, and we can easily see in this custom a mild form of the -ancient ἐγκοίμησις when the sick folks lay down in the skin of a newly -killed ram in the churches, and in this luxurious couch awaited the -inspiration of the divinity. - -The quackeries and incantations common in Greece to-day as specifics -for certain diseases are many of them very quaint, being long rhymes -and formulas mixing up Christ, the Virgin, and saints with magic words -and signs which savour of heathendom. It is the old women only who are -supposed to know them, and they are very shy of producing them before -a foreign unbeliever. They are just like those women who in ancient -Athens practised quackery and secret cures, which were zealously -guarded and kept up as specialities in families. Curiously enough these -old women in Greece who profess to cure diseases will tell you, arguing -from the analogy of plants, that all diseases are worms, which consume -the body, and that they are generated by the wrath of the gods. They -have arrived at the bacillus theory by much straighter reckoning than -our physicians. - -On the day of the commemoration of the dead I was in a small village -in Amorgos, and there witnessed the quaint ceremony of κόλλυβα. Every -house on this occasion sends to the church a plate of boiled corn; -tottering old women with one foot in the grave generally bring it, -and pour the contents into a large basket placed before the high -altar whilst the service is going on, and then into the mass of corn -they stick a candle, and if the family is especially grand they have -separate plates with sesame seeds, or adorned with patterns of raisins -and almonds. After the service is over the boiled corn and other -delicacies are distributed amongst the poor outside the church. These -offerings are very suggestive of the ancient idea of Demeter and her -daughter. - -We will now consider another branch of mythology—the fickle goddesses, -the Fates (Μοῖρα), whose workings in modern Greece are looked upon with -as much superstition as of old. On the island of Sikinos I attended -an interesting ceremony called the μοίρισμα of a child, which happens -a year after its birth. All the friends and relatives are gathered -together to a feast. A tray is brought out, and on it are put various -objects—a pen, money, tools, an egg, &c., and whichever the infant -first touches with its hands is held to be the indication of the μοῖρα -as to the most suitable career to be chosen for it. The meaning of the -first-mentioned articles is obvious. The demarch of Sikinos told me -that his son had touched a pen, consequently he had been sent to the -university at Athens, and had there distinguished himself, but the -meaning of the egg is not quite so clear, and the egg is the horror -of all parents, for if the child touches it he will be fitted for no -calling in life—he will be a good-for-nothing, a mere duck’s egg, so to -speak, in society. - -Some ceremony such as this must have been the one alluded to by -Apollodorus when he tells us that seven days after the birth of -Meleager the Fates told the horologue of the child, and the torch was -lighted on the hearth. In some places still the seventh day is chosen -as the one for this important ceremony, and it is called ἑφτὰ. When -it is dark and the lamps lighted a table is put in the middle of the -house, a basin full of honey in the centre of the table, and all round -quantities of food. Numerous oil lamps are then lighted; one dedicated -to Christ, another to the Virgin, another to the Baptist, and so forth. -A symbol of faith is then read and deep silence prevails, and the saint -whose lamp is first extinguished is chosen as the protector of the -infant. At this moment they say the Fates come in and “κάλομοιραζουσι” -the child, and take some of the food from the table. - -The Fates are in some places supposed to write on the forehead of a -man his destiny. Pimples on the nose and forehead are called γραψίματα -τῶν Μοίρων. The decrees of the Fates are unalterable. According to -various legends, attempts have been made to change them, but without -avail. Only once, a girl of Naxos, so I was told, up in a mountain -village, who was excessively ugly, managed to learn from a magician -where the Fates lived, and that if she could get them to eat salt they -would go blind and change her fate. She contrived to bring this about, -and became lovely, married a prince, but had no children; “showing,” -continued the legend by way of moral, “that the Fates never consent to -a person being altogether happy.” - -This changing from ugliness to beauty is a common subject for legends -and beliefs. The first woman to see a child after birth must be -lovely, so as to impart to it her beauty, and the first man must be of -great strength, so as to impart his vigor. This reminds one of one of -Herodotus’s stories (vi. 61), when he seriously tells us of the change -of an ugly child into the fairest woman of Sparta by her nurse taking -her daily to the temple of the heroine Helen to pray. One day the -heroine met the nurse and predicted that the child would become fair, -which accordingly, says Herodotus, came to pass. - -In Melos the Fates are greatly consulted in matrimonial concerns. The -25th of November, St. Catharine’s day, is considered the most suitable, -and St. Catharine is accordingly prayed to by unmarried maidens to -intercede on their behalf. On the vigil of her feast they make cakes -with a good deal of salt in, which they eat before going to bed. As -a natural result of eating so much salt and thinking about matrimony -their dreams often take the turn of water and a kindly man offering -them to drink. If this is so they are sure to marry that man. - -Many of our mythological personages and legends have their parallel -to-day. There are the Lamiæ, for instance, evil-working women who -live in desert places, ill-formed like their ancestors, daughters of -Belus and Sibyl; utterly unfit are they for household duties, for -they cannot sweep, so an untidy woman to-day is said to have made the -sweepings of a Lamia (Τῆς Λαμίας τὰ σαρώματα); they cannot bake, for -they put bread into the oven before heating it; they have dogs and -horses, but give bones to their horses and straw to their dogs. They -are very gluttonous, so much so that in Byzantine and modern Greek -the verb λαμιώνω is used to express over-eating. They have a special -predilection for baby’s flesh, and a Greek mother of to-day will -frighten her child by saying that a Lamia will come if it is naughty, -just as was said to naughty children in ancient days; for the legend -used to run that Zeus loved Lamia too well, untidy though she was, -and Hera, out of jealousy, killed her children, whereat Lamia was so -grieved that she took to eating the children of others. Some Lamiæ -are like the Sirens, and by taking the form of lovely nymphs, beguile -luckless men to their destruction; for example, an ecclesiastical -legend, savoring strongly of Boccaccio, tells us how a Lamia charmed a -monk as he sat by the side of a lake one evening; dawn came, and the -monk was seen no more, but some children swore to having seen his hoary -beard floating on the waters of the lake. - -Dragons are common now in every weird place, especially where those -large stoned Hellenic walls are standing, and stories like those of -Perseus, the Centaurs, the Cyclops, &c., are common among the peasants -who speak of these old remains as Τοῦ Δράκου τὸ σπίτι, the Dragon’s -house. In one fable we have the exact story of Ulysses and Polyphemus. -One Spanos is the traveller, ὁ Δράκος is Polyphemus, and the facts are -the same. - -The witches (στρίγλαι) of modern folk-lore are supposed to be over a -hundred, and to be able to turn into birds at will like the harpies -of old; they love the flesh of unbaptised babies, and for this reason -children wear charms, as they do also against the evil eye (βασκανεῖα). -My host on the island of Pholygandros most solemnly told me how a -person with the evil eye could wither a fruit-tree by admiring it, and -on my looking sceptical, he quoted several instances which had come -under his immediate notice. This is the ὀφθαλμὸς βάσκανος of antiquity, -the god Fascinus of Latin mythology, whom Pliny tells us was worshipped -so strangely by the Vestal Virgins. - -I witnessed a very sad case on the island of Kimolos of a sailor who, -in a storm, as he rounded the dreaded Cape Malea on his return home, -had been struck, as they told me, by that mysterious ghost-demon the -Τελώνια; he was kept in the village church all day, and had been in -there all night, whilst his relatives were praying vehemently around -him for the return of his shattered intellect. This τελώνια is a -species of electricity, and appears during storms on the mastheads, -which the Greek sailors personify as birds of evil omen, which settle -on the masts with a view to destroy the ship and drown the sailors. -They have words expressly for exorcising this phantom, and sometimes -they try to drive it away by beating brass or shooting. In Italy this -is called the fire of St. Elmo, and is evidently the same idea which in -ancient times was connected with the Dioscouri. - -From these points it will be easily seen how much that is old lives -to-day. In manners and customs and daily life the peasant Greeks -reproduce even more that can be identified as ancient, but this is -apart from my present subject.—_Macmillan’s Magazine._ - - - - -OUTWITTED. - -A TALE OF THE ABRUZZI. - -I. - -It was a warm afternoon in April, and the sun was blazing hotly down -upon the wooded heights of the Abruzzi and upon the marble cliff -against which nestles the little village of Palenella. - -The blue-green aloes were unfurling their sharp-pointed leaves in the -clefts and crannies of the rocks above, and every now and then the wild -roses sent a pink shower fluttering down to the flat roofs below, where -maize and wheat were spread out to dry in the sun. - -Lucia Ceprano was sitting at the door of her gray stone cottage this -hot afternoon, busily engaged in peeling and splitting willow rods -preparatory to mending a certain dilapidated old basket which lay on -the ground beside her. - -The stony village street was silent, and not a creature was visible but -herself, except, indeed, a few fowls which were promenading in the sun, -and some little black pigs which lay sleeping with outstretched legs in -sundry dusty hollows. - -The fact was, that the whole population of Palenella was gone to take -part in a procession in the little town of Palene. Not a creature had -stayed at home but Lucia Ceprano; and no one now was surprised at this -or anything else she took it into her head to do, for the villagers had -made up their minds that she was “cracked.” - -Lucia had refused the wealthiest young men in the district; Lucia -owned property, yet she worked as hard as if she were poor; Lucia did -not dance the tarantella, was not merry, would not have a lover, and -never beat her mule, even when he was as obstinate as only a mule can -be! - -Such was the indictment against her; and in an out-of-the-way village -like Palenella, where every one was about five hundred years behind the -outside world, any one of these eccentricities would have been quite -enough to make people call her crazy. - -Then again, though she certainly was beautiful, it was in a very -different style from her neighbors; indeed, she was of quite a -different type from what one usually sees anywhere in the whole -district, as far South as Naples. - -The women in these parts are small, agile, and graceful, with pretty -little dark brown faces, small, sharp noses, pouting lips, and wild -curly hair, almost entirely covering their low foreheads. They are -light-hearted creatures, laughing and chattering the whole day long; -and in character they are an odd mixture of carelessness, shrewdness, -passion, cunning, and narrow-mindedness. - -Lucia, on the other hand, was well grown and stately-looking; her face -was oval, and she had smooth black hair and wonderful deep brown, -tranquil eyes, which seemed to look thoughtfully at everything; and -her mouth, though well-formed and full-lipped, was firmly closed; she -moved about in a dignified, deliberate way, and she was reckoned the -most unsociable girl in the village, for she never spoke a word more -than was actually necessary. - -The very fact of her being so unlike other village girls, however, -caused Lucia to be quite the rage at one time. All the young men for -miles round were crazy about her, and she had as many offers as there -were Sundays in the year; for she had other attractions besides her -beauty. Every one knew that besides the very tolerable property in -Palenella, which was all her own and quite unencumbered, Lucia also -possessed 10,000 lire, or something over 400_l._, in the national bank -of Rome, so that for these parts she was a considerable heiress. - -Lucia allowed her suitors to say their say without interruption, and -then raising those calm, wonderful eyes, and looking steadily at them -for the space of a second, she announced that she had no intention of -marrying. - -Things had gone on in this way from Lucia’s fifteenth birthday for five -years; every Sunday and holiday some one made her an offer, and every -Sunday and holiday some one was refused, until she gave up answering -at all, and merely waved her lovers off with a gesture of her hand, -neither more nor less than contemptuous. - -The young men had taken offence at her behavior at last, and now -revenged themselves by pronouncing her cracked, and leaving her to -herself. All but one of them at least did so, and he was the son of a -wealthy farmer, Pietro Antonio by name, who lived higher up among the -mountains. Pietro was not so easily to be got rid of as the rest, and, -do what she would, he followed her everywhere, lying in wait for her -at the fêtes and processions, watching for her at church and market, -and persecuting her to such an extent, now with pretty speeches and -entreaties, and now with angry threats, that at last Lucia gave up -going to the fêtes, and did not even venture to church except in the -late evening, when she could do so unobserved. - -For Pietro was a wild, passionate youth, with something of the savage -about him, and as Lucia disliked him even more than her other suitors, -she had determined to stay at home this afternoon for fear she should -meet him at Palene and be exposed to his vehement importunities. - -She had therefore been alone for some hours; but now she heard a -distant sound of voices, laughing and chattering. The villagers were -coming back, and were climbing the rocky pathway which led to their -homes, and soon the little street was all alive again. - -At the first sound of their approach, Lucia had retreated into the -cottage, and set about warming up the polenta for her mother; and as -she stood in the large kitchen, with the blaze from the fire lighting -up her grave, madonna-like face, this personage came in. - -She was an old, grey-haired woman, but there was an almost wild glare -in her small, sharp eyes, as she glanced angrily at the girl. - -“What a shame it is!” she cried, pulling off her red silk neck-kerchief -and kicking away a chair. “The idea of my being the only woman to -have an unmarried daughter! Here I am pointed at by every one! I’m -the mother of the ‘crazy girl,’ forsooth, and I can’t show my face -anywhere!” - -“Bah!”said Lucia, without looking up from the fire; “where can’t you -show your face?” - -“Why, neither in the village nor in the whole country round,”returned -the old woman, passionately. - -“Don’t you trouble yourself about any of their gossip, mother; and -don’t force me to marry, for I can’t take any of the young men about -here,” said Lucia, calmly. - -“Forced you will be, sooner or later,” returned her mother. “One of -them will cut off your hair, and then you know you must marry him, -whether you like it or not,” she added dolefully. - -“Shame on the men here, then!” exclaimed Lucia, with flaming eyes. -“Shame on any man who forces a woman to marry him by such means! lying -in wait to cut off her hair, and then making a show of it in the -village until the poor thing is obliged to marry the thief, or she will -be forever disgraced and never get another husband! Shame on men who -win their wives in this fashion!” - -“Ah, well! it has been the taming of a good many obstinate girls for -all that, and they are happy enough now. Look at Emilia Mantori and -Teresina,”continued the mother; “they held out for a couple of years, -and then one fine day they lost their plaits! They came back from the -fields with their hair cut short; the boys hooted them down the street, -and three weeks later there were two merry weddings, and now it is all -as right as can be!” - -“I hope that will never be my fate, mother,”said Lucia; “never!” and -she clenched her brown hand with its long, shapely fingers, while all -the blood left her lips. “If people behave like brigands, they may -expect to be treated like brigands. Any one who lays a finger on my -hair will have to look out for himself, as all the ruffians about here -know full well, and so they keep their distance.” - -“Our lads are not ruffians; they may be a little wild, but there are -some good fellows among them.” - -“I don’t know a single one, then, and I won’t marry a soul here. If -ever I am married, it shall not be to a man who will beat me and make -me work just as if I were a mule; and you know very well that is what -all the men do here in the Abruzzi, so why do you go on complaining -and fault-finding? I tell you what will be the end of it, if you go on -scolding and worrying, you will drive me away, and I shall go to Rome -and open some sort of little shop—” - -“And leave your mother here in poverty and misery!” - -“You are not poor, mother, for you can stay here as long as you live, -and there is quite enough to keep you well, without your having to work -hard. Besides, I don’t want to leave you at all, as long as you don’t -want to force me into a marriage I hate!” - -“Very well, I won’t, then,”said the old woman. “Stay as you are, since -you will have your own way.” - -By this time the sun was almost setting, and a flood of red-gold light -was pouring in through the open door; the mountains were all bathed -in purple vapor, and the still warm evening air was fragrant with the -scent of roses, geraniums, and lavender. - -The mother and daughter had eaten their supper in silence, and Lucia -had just risen to take away the things, when a shadow fell across the -threshold, and on Lucia’s looking up, a bold voice said, “Good evening, -signorina.” - -The speaker was a fine young man wearing a blue velvet jacket, -high-crowned hat, and a large woollen scarf, which was knotted round -his waist, and he was looking passionately at Lucia with his piercing, -coal-black eyes. - -“Do you want to see my mother?” asked Lucia, in anything but an -encouraging manner. - -“No; I want to see you, signorina,” answered the young man, with much -polite suavity, taking off his hat as he spoke. - -“If you are come to say the same as before, Pietro Antonio, you may -spare yourself the trouble,” said Lucia, clearly and firmly. - -“Then you won’t let me come into your house, Lucia Ceprano?” asked the -young man, with a sudden contraction of his thin-lipped mouth, and a -look in his eyes not unlike that of an enraged tiger. - -“The door is open, you can come in,” said Lucia, calmly, “and you can -talk to my mother if you like;” and with that she left the room by the -back-door, and went out into the little garden which was fenced round -with aloe bushes. - -Meantime Pietro stepped into the cottage, and throwing his hat upon the -table, sat down opposite the old woman, saying, “You don’t seem to have -made much progress, Mother Ceprano.” - -“You can see for yourself,”said she, in a low voice. - -“Then she will soon be off to Rome, and you will have to work like the -rest,” said the young man, without any apparent malice, “for everything -here belongs to her. It was her father’s property, I know, and settled -on her.” - -“She will let me have it,”said the old woman, dejectedly. - -“But she won’t go on doing all the work for you! She works for you both -now; and then there’s the interest of her money; of course she will -want that for herself when she is in Rome,” continued the young man, -casting a sharp sidelong glance at the old woman as he spoke. “Yes, -your comfortable, easy-going life will be quite at an end, mother, -unless—but perhaps she is going to take you with her?” inquired Pietro, -in a tone of much sympathy. - -“I’m sure I don’t know; but she was saying only this very day again -that go she would, and I believe she will.” - -“Ah!”returned the young man, his lips working with suppressed passion, -“then you will just have to hire a couple of strong women to do your -field work—that’s all!” - -“You know very well there’s not land enough to keep three -people,”retorted the mother, angrily. - -“Then keep the girl!” said Pietro, lightly. - -“Keep her! keep her! it’s easy talking; pray, can _you_ keep her, -Pietro Antonio?” - -“Yes, I can, if you will help me,” said the young man, softly. - -He rose from his seat, and going to the back-door, peered out into the -garden. But Lucia was not there. No doubt, thought he to himself, she -had gone out somewhere to avoid the chance of encountering him again. -At all events, she was safe out of the way; and closing the door again, -he drew his chair nearer to the old woman, and said in a low tone, -“Look here, mother, I can force her to stay here. She wouldn’t be the -first girl who found herself obliged to marry the man who wanted her! -You know what I mean; and though it would be a real pity to spoil her -hair, such beautiful hair as it is, too—still—” - -“And what if she were to stab you, Pietro? You don’t know what she is,” -and the old woman looked uneasily at the floor. - -“It will be your business to take care that she can’t do anything of -the kind. Take her knife away when she is asleep, hide me in the garden -and let me in when it is all safe. When she wakes up again the plait -will be mine, and then we shall be all right.” - -“She will turn me out of the house when she knows, and I shall be worse -off than ever,”returned Mother Ceprano, anxiously. - -“I shall be there to look after you, shan’t I? and won’t it all be -for her own happiness? You know I am the richest fellow in the whole -district, and there isn’t another girl who would refuse me. You know -yourself she couldn’t make a better match, and her refusing me is -nothing but a whim; and if you give way to her, she will end by being -an old maid herself, and making you into a common working woman—so -there!” - -“Yes, I know that; it’s all true enough, and it would be a real -blessing for us all—for you and me and herself—if she would have you; -but I say you don’t know her, Pietro, you don’t know her, and I am -certain some mischief will come of it.” - -“Bah! that’s all talk—a woman indeed—that _would_ be a new idea,” said -Pietro, with a contemptuous laugh. “I’ll soon tame her! The prouder -and wilder they are to begin with, the tamer and more gentle they are -afterwards. When I carry her plait through the streets—and that’s what -I will do if she makes any more fuss—she will follow me like a lamb, -see if she won’t! There has never been a girl in these parts yet who -has been disgraced in this way without being thankful to marry the only -man who could give her back her good name.” - -“Ay,”interposed the mother, in a frightened tone, “but then she is not -like other girls. You are strong and clever, and thought a great deal -of, and you are the chief man in the place for miles round; but where -is the good of all that if she hates you, and perhaps does you some -injury, and turns me out of doors?” - -“She _doesn’t_ hate me, it’s only her childish pride; I know all about -that, and it does not trouble me a bit,”returned Pietro, coolly. “You -know I have promised to settle so much a year upon you if she marries -me, and I will engage that you shall stay here and have the use of the -cottage and the land rent-free, and be able to keep a servant. There! -So now, please to make up your mind at once, mother. Will you or won’t -you? yes or no?” - -“I can’t—I daren’t.” - -“Then be poor, as poor as the poorest in the place! Work is wholesome; -those who work long, live long! Good-bye, Mother Ceprano,” said the -young man, scornfully, moving to the door as he spoke. - -“Stay!” cried the old woman, hoarsely. “I’ll do it.” - -“When?”asked Pietro, still standing in the doorway. - -“I will send you a message when I think there is a good chance. I shall -only say that I want you to come and speak to me, and then you can come -about eleven o’clock that night.” - -“Well, then, it’s settled, mind. Be careful, don’t gossip, and, above -all, keep your word.” - -“I shall keep my word,” said old Mother Ceprano, gloomily, as she -accompanied Pietro to the door; and as she went back into the now dark -kitchen, she muttered, “She can’t make a better match; he is rich, very -rich, and he is looked up to, and he is handsome, and there are others -worse than he. She will be all right, and what he says is quite true; -it is only a whim.” - - -II. - -Early the next morning, before her mother was astir, Lucia was up and -busy in the yard; and after fetching the mule from his stable and -loading him with a couple of large flat baskets full of onions, she -mounted him herself, and trotted off towards Palene. - -Lucia’s dress was like that of the other peasant women, and consisted -of a red silk kerchief tied closely over the head; another of yellow, -which covered her shoulders, was crossed over her chest and tied -behind; and a green woollen gown. Her beautiful black hair was smoothly -braided in one long thick plait, which hung down her back. So far there -was nothing remarkable about her costume; but she also wore what was -peculiar to herself, a leather belt with a metal sheath and a large -gardening knife stuck in it. She kept her hand almost constantly upon -this weapon, a circumstance which gave her a rather savage Amazon-like -appearance, strangely at variance with her calm madonna face, and -smooth hair. - -But as the mule jogged on through the fresh morning air, and Lucia -watched the golden sunlight playing on the rocks above and the fields -below, her thoughts were anything but savage, for she was saying to -herself, “Who would think that human beings could be so wicked when -one sees how beautiful and peaceful, and happy everything is? They -don’t notice it, for they are like animals still; they live like wild -beasts. It is different in towns; it is better even in Palene, but how -very different it must be in Rome, or Florence, or Naples! There, so I -have read, people are good and gentle, and forgiving. They don’t love -like wolves and hate like tigers. I know just one man myself, but then -he is a foreigner, and they would be certain to kill him if I married -him. Couldn’t we escape to Rome?” pursued the maiden thoughtfully, -bending her body down over the mule. “But no,” she went on, “they would -find him out even in Rome, and one fine day he would be found dead and -I should have murdered him.” - -The mule, finding that his mistress was not paying any heed to him, -now stood quite still and put down his head to crop a few mouthfuls of -grass. But this roused Lucia from her dreams, and taking hold of the -reins and uttering a loud “Aia!” she put him to a quicker pace, and in -a few minutes more they had reached the end of their journey. - -The little town of Palene consists of three narrow streets, a small -market-place, a municipal building, and a tolerably large and handsome -church. Facing the market-place are two houses rather superior to the -rest, which are painted pink and blue, and have bright green blinds. -One of the two, at the time of which we are writing, was a shop kept -by a man named Lugeno, who called himself a “general-dealer, barber, -coffee-house and tavern keeper.” In front of the shop stood a table -and four chairs, while baskets of fruit and vegetables stood about the -entrance, and over the door hung half-a-dozen cages containing canary -birds. - -The owner of this miscellaneous business, Don Ernano Lugeno, was -standing at his shop-door enjoying the fine spring air, and comfortably -smoking a short meerschaum, as Lucia came up on her mule. Now people -in Palene do not smoke meerschaums, so this circumstance alone was -enough to suggest the idea of his being a foreigner, and the impression -was only confirmed by a glance at the man’s face and figure. With -his broad shoulders, yellow hair, fresh complexion, golden beard, -and bright, deep-blue eyes, Don Lugeno was the perfect type of the -northern giant, in spite of his Italian name. In truth his real -name was Hermann Lütgens, and he was a native of Pomerania, but -some accident had brought him to Italy when a boy, and there he had -remained ever since. He was now about thirty, and for the last ten -years he had been in business at Palene; but in spite of the numerous -strings to his bow, already mentioned, he did not get on very well, -and in fact, made but a very poor living. Yet he was very industrious, -and in addition to selling green-grocery, singing-birds, coffee and -wine, he repaired watches, mended tables and chairs, put in window -panes and painted beautiful sign-boards; so that he was looked upon -as quite indispensable in all times of need, and was highly popular -with everybody for his cheerful, obliging temper, and not less for his -moderate charges. Still Don Lugeno did not prosper, and the reason was -that he had one darling passion; he was an ardent sportsman, and every -now and then he would disappear for two or three days into the woods, -quite forgetting his business and his customers; and when at length he -came home looking dishevelled and half wild, he seldom brought with him -more than a lean hare, a small marten, or a miserable quail. In spite -of his small success, however, Don Lugeno could not break himself of -his love of sport, and it was this which kept him a poor man. - -Still, in spite of his poverty, all the women in the place, whether -old or young, had a very kind feeling for Don Ernano, as he was called -(all the people in the place being usually known by their Christian -names), and, if he had been so inclined, he might several times have -made such a match as would have raised him at once to a position of -ease and comfort. But he was not inclined to give up his liberty, or -so it seemed, and the men liked him all the better, for being, as they -believed, a woman-hater. - -Whether, however, he really was the inveterate woman-hater he was -supposed to be might reasonably have been doubted by any one who had -chanced to observe how instantly his face lighted up when Lucia and -her mule turned the corner into the market-place. They were coming to -him, of course, for Lucia supplied his shop with vegetables, and had -done so for years. He had known her and dealt with her ever since her -childhood, and now that she was a woman, and a beautiful woman into -the bargain, it had more than once crossed his mind that, if he could -afford to marry, there was no one in the whole neighborhood whom he -should like so well to call his wife as Lucia Ceprano. Well as he knew -her, however, he was far too shy, and far too humble to hint at such -an idea, for Lucia was an heiress—a great heiress for those parts, -and he—how could he have the face to ask her to marry a poor man like -himself, when she might have the choice of all the young men for miles -round? Still, though he drove the thought away as often as it rose, it -only returned again, and each time, somehow, it looked more fascinating -than before. If only he were better off, if only he could get away from -Palene to some more civilised place and ask Lucia to go with him, he -felt as if he could do anything, even give up his sporting tastes, and -settle down steadily. But it was of no use thinking of such a thing; -for even if all the other difficulties were disposed of, what right -had he to suppose that she cared a straw about him, except as a good -customer for her garden produce? No, the idea must be put away; and to -assist him in getting rid of it, Don Ernano went out for two or three -days’ shooting, and when he came back he was poorer, and his home -looked more desolate than ever, and the first thought which entered his -mind, as he crossed the threshold, was, “How different it would be if -Lucia were here to see after things!” - -Altogether, therefore, the poor Don’s expeditions were not very -successful, and on this particular morning he was feeling a little -dejected in spite of his cheerful looks. But the mule stopped at the -shop, and as Lucia sprang lightly down, he went forward with a smiling -greeting to help her unfasten the heavy baskets. - -“Are you quite well, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia, looking up at him with -her deep brown eyes. Then, as the giant blushed and turned away to hide -his confusion, she added, quickly, for she pitied him for his shyness, -“Here are the onions you wanted; beautiful large ones, aren’t they? but -can you use so many?” - -Don Ernano had apparently not quite recovered his composure, for he -pulled his ear for a moment or two without speaking, and then said -slowly, “I could use them all, certainly, but—well—the fact is, -signorina, I haven’t much ready money just now.” - -“Ah! I know,”said Lucia, calmly; “Don Ernano has been out shooting -again.” - -“The signorina knows?”said Don Ernano, looking at the beautiful girl in -amazement. - -“Yes, I know, and I have been thinking why it is that you don’t get -rich,” pursued Lucia, without a trace of coquetry in her manner. “You -are clever and handy, you don’t gamble and you don’t drink; why, you -might be the foremost man in the town, and yet you don’t get a step -farther. I have come to the conclusion that it is the shooting which is -at the bottom of it.” - -Don Ernano gazed more and more earnestly at the girl as she spoke, and -the sympathy which he read in her face went to his very heart. But he -only pulled his ear again, and said rather sheepishly, “The signorina -may be right, but it is the only pleasure I have in the world. What am -I to do? It is so dreary at home, and sometimes I get bored almost to -death.” - -“Ah! you ought to marry, Don Ernano,”said Lucia, simply, still busying -herself with the onions. “If you had a wife you would have a real home -and some one to work for.” - -“Yes,”returned the light-haired giant, “marry! it is easy to say, but -who would have me, a penniless foreigner? I have thought about it now -and then; but it is a hard matter for a man like me to get a good wife.” - -“I should not think that,”said Lucia, reflectively, looking at him -again as she spoke, for they were old acquaintances these two, and on -intimate terms—“I should not think that. You see I have known you ever -since I was a little girl, and I know you are good and clever. I dare -say, the truth is you like your liberty.” - -“Maybe,”returned Don Ernano; and then with sudden gravity he added, -“but maybe also the right one has not yet come my way.” - -“Ah! then you are fastidious; I understand. Now, Don Ernano, what sort -of wife do you want, I wonder? I am quite curious to know.” - -“What sort?” repeated the Don, again pulling at his ear, and then -adding, in a low tone, “Well, one like yourself, signorina.” - -“Me! you are joking!”returned Lucia, with an attempt at a laugh; “why, -I am only a small farmer’s daughter.” - -“My father was less than a small farmer. He was an iron-worker, and -emigrated first to Austria and then to Italy; so you see you are above -me, even if I were not as poor as a rat. And as you are so far above -me, there is no harm in my saying that a wife like you is just what -would suit me, eh?” - -“Don Ernano, can you make any use of the onions?” interrupted Lucia, in -a frightened tone, without venturing to raise her eyes from the ground. - -“Certainly, signorina, if you don’t mind leaving them and letting me -settle with you at the end of the month.” - -“I’ll trust you,”replied Lucia, hurriedly emptying the baskets; and -with a hasty “good-bye,” she reseated herself on the mule and trotted -off again to Palenella, leaving Don Ernano half afraid that he had -managed to offend her. - - -III. - -As soon as Lucia was well out of the little town, she seemed suddenly -to discover that she had plenty of time to spare, for she let the -mule walk on as slowly as he pleased, while she herself gazed at the -golden hedge of broom which bordered the road, as if she were intent on -counting its million blossoms. - -Travelling at this pace, it was noon before she reached the village; -but instead of receiving her with reproaches for her long absence, as -would usually have been the case, her mother spoke so pleasantly, that -in spite of her absence of mind, Lucia could not help being struck by -it. - -She knew how obstinately bent her mother was on getting her married, -and she began to feel suspicious and alarmed. “Pietro was here a long -time yesterday,” she suddenly thought to herself; “there is something -in the wind, no doubt.” And when evening came, without saying a word to -any one, Lucia dragged her bed from its place beside her mother’s in -the large kitchen, and put it in a little store-room, with a heavy iron -door and a grated window. - -“Is it possible she can have overheard what we were saying?” thought -the old woman, as she watched her daughter’s proceedings in silent -dread. But no, that was out of the question, Lucia had spent nearly -the whole time of Pietro’s visit in the church, for she herself had -met her there later. “It is only another of her whims,” she went on, -trying to comfort herself, “and it will be easy to spoil the lock of -the door some night before she goes to bed. Pietro Antonio shall not -be thwarted, if I can help it.” And having thus made up her mind, she -too went to bed; but she was still much perturbed about Lucia’s odd -behavior, and she began to fear that the girl would suddenly take -herself off to Rome and so escape out of her clutches. The more she -thought of it, the more eager she grew to bring about the marriage with -Pietro without any further loss of time. “To-morrow she will be hard at -work all day,” mused the old woman; “she will be tired out and sleep -soundly. I don’t know that there is likely to be a better opportunity.” - -All through the night Lucia’s mother lay wide awake, tossing to and fro -and revolving her cruel plans in her mind. Early in the morning she -sent the previously agreed message to Pietro Antonio, and when evening -came she put a stone in the lock of the door, and thought she had made -all safe. - -Lucia went to her room that night tired out with her day’s work, as her -mother had expected; but she was not too tired to notice that there was -something amiss with the door. She tried it over and over again, but it -was all in vain, the lock would not act, and she gave it up in despair. - -She guessed at once what it meant, and for a moment she stood still, -trembling and almost gasping for breath; but in another moment she had -recovered herself, and made up her mind what to do. - -She put out the lamp and laid down on the bed just as she was, without -undressing; but after lying there quite still for about an hour -she rose again, slipped quietly out to the stable, fetched a great -wood-cutter’s axe, and hurried noiselessly back to her chamber. - -Once more she lay down, keeping her eyes wide open, listening with all -her might, and hardly daring to breathe. - -Presently she heard the sound of whispering, then there was a light -step in the yard, and in the house. - -One bright ray of moonlight shone through the grated window and made a -pattern of black and white bars on one patch of the stone floor, but -otherwise the room was quite dark, and Lucia now got up and stationed -herself in the darkest corner of the room. But all remained quite quiet -for nearly another hour, every moment of which seemed a century to the -poor girl. - -At the end of this time, a faint light appeared through the crack of -the door, which was gently pushed open, and then appeared her mother -holding a lamp and followed by Pietro Antonio, who had a large pair of -vine-shears in his hand. - -As they entered, Lucia suddenly advanced from her corner with the axe -uplifted. “Come here, you coward, if you dare,” she cried to the young -man, who stood there speechless, motionless, and as white as death from -surprise and fright. - -He looked at the pale-faced girl, looked at the uplifted axe and her -strong arms, and slowly moved away without uttering a word, followed by -the old woman, who was shaking all over to such a degree that she could -hardly stand, while her teeth chattered loud enough to be heard. - -They were gone! and all was still again; but Lucia spent the rest of -the night sitting on the bed-side, with her beautiful head resting -against the hard cold stone wall, without venturing to close her -eyes. In the morning she neither spoke to her mother nor prepared the -breakfast as was her custom, and kept her mouth more tightly closed -than ever. - -When she had washed and dressed, and plaited her hair more carefully -than usual, she brought out the mule, saddled and bridled him; but to -her mother’s immense astonishment, instead of proceeding to load him -with vegetables, she just mounted and rode away in the direction of -Palene. - -The mule trotted along merrily and quickly, but as it was still very -early, Lucia stopped him after a while and allowed him to graze, while -she got down and lay on the grass, resting her weary head on her hand -and gazing into the distance with her large brown eyes. Little by -little her pale face brightened, and began to lose the hard look it had -worn since the previous night. She even began to smile a little and -looked almost happy. At last some pleasant thought seemed to strike -her, for she actually laughed and blushed, and then getting up and -calling her mule, she went on her way. - -In little more than half an hour she was again standing before Don -Ernano’s shop in the market-place. - -“Ah, signorina, you are early indeed to-day,” he began; then glancing -at the unloaded mule, he went on, “you want the onions back, no doubt? -I was afraid Mother Ceprano——” - -“I did not come about that,”replied Lucia abruptly, with an odd shy -smile. “I came to-day to ask your services as hair-dresser; you cut and -dress hair, I know. Will you be so good as to cut off my hair?” - -“What, signorina!”cried the horrified barber, “cut off your beautiful -hair! No, you don’t mean it, I couldn’t have the heart!” - -“Are you a barber, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia with the gravity and -firmness peculiar to her. - -“Yes, it is on the sign-board, and I cut anybody’s hair when I am -asked, but—but—do you want to sell your beautiful plait?” he asked, -with quite a sad expression in his kind eyes. - -“No, I don’t want to sell it, but I want it cut off, and I have come to -ask you to do it for me,” answered Lucia firmly and decidedly. - -“Must I really?” said Don Ernano, feeling a little cast down by the -girl’s energetic tone and manner. - -“Yes—you must—if you will,” was her rather odd answer, and therewith -she hurried into the shop. - -“If you knew how it grieved me!” began the barber again. “Is it a vow, -signorina?” - -“Something of the sort, but it is more than that to me,”was the short -answer. - -“Then you have quite made up your mind?” he ventured to ask once more. - -“Will you do it or will you not, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia as if she -were much offended and would leave the shop. - -“Well—if it really must be done—please to sit down, signorina,” said -the barber, moving reluctantly to the cupboard in which he kept his -implements. - -Just at this moment two men came into the shop, and said with a sly -glance at his fair customer, “You’re engaged, Don Ernano?” - -“At your service in a moment, gentlemen,” he answered; then bending -over Lucia and taking her great plait, which was almost as thick as her -arm, in his hand, he said in a low tone, “You will have just a little -bit left?” - -“No, cut it off close,”answered Lucia in a whisper. - -Don Ernano gently put her head in the right position; and Lucia, -looking calmly and cheerfully into the little glass before her, -could see with what a dismal countenance the light-haired giant went -about his task, which was no such easy one, and took some minutes to -accomplish. It was done at last, however, and the barber held the -severed plait in his hands, his face wearing a very troubled expression. - -“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Lucia, rising and bowing to the two -men; “good morning, Don Ernano!” and before he had recovered from his -astonishment, Lucia was out of the shop and trotting away on her mule, -leaving him to look after her and shake his head in perplexity, while -he still held the beautifully plaited tail of hair in his hands. - -“A very pretty customer, signor!” said his visitors, who had not heard -all that had passed. - -“A lovely girl,” answered Don Ernano thoughtfully, “but strange, very -strange, I can’t make her out.” - -“Have you bought the plait?”they asked. - -The barber shook his head gravely. - -“What then?” they asked with curiosity. - -“I don’t know,” was the short answer, as the barber made hurried -preparations for shaving his customers. - -He was anything but nervous in a general way, but to-day his hand -trembled so much that he would certainly have performed his duties very -clumsily if he had not made a great effort to recover his self-command. - -“What does it mean?” he muttered, when he found himself once more -alone. “What am I to do with it? I wonder whether it is a vow; I know -the women about here do make strange vows sometimes; but she is so -clever and sensible and not at all superstitious.” - -Don Ernano thought over the affair for some time, but as he could -not arrive at any conclusion, he locked the plait of hair up in his -cupboard, and spent the next few hours in a rather uncomfortable state -of mind, feeling that he was involved against his will in a matter -which he did not understand. - - -IV. - -Lucia reached Palenella again about midday, and rode into the village -holding in her hand the kerchief she usually wore on her head, a -circumstance which of itself would have been enough to attract -attention, since uncovered heads were rarely seen in the village. But, -as the absence of the kerchief revealed the fact that her heavy plait -had disappeared leaving only a short, stubbly stump to show where once -it had been, it was not many minutes before the whole village was -exclaiming, “Lucia’s hair has been cut off!” - -The news had spread like wild fire even before Lucia reached her own -door, and was speedily confirmed, if confirmation were needed, by the -fearful outburst of weeping and wailing with which Mother Ceprano -received her disfigured daughter. - -The old woman wrung her hands, tore her hair, uttered maledictions, -screamed and howled so wildly that she was heard even in the -farthermost houses, and the whole population speedily collected round -the house. - -Lucia had not yet dismounted, and there she now sat on the mule, -looking perfectly calm and collected, while the children danced round -her mocking and jeering, and the men and women whispered and gazed in -astonishment. - -It must be confessed that the villagers’ first feeling was one of -hearty satisfaction in the proud Lucia’s humiliation. But they quite -expected to see some young man appear waving the plait in triumph, and -when they found this did not happen, their gratification gave way to -wrath and indignation against the unknown person who had done the deed. -The pride of the whole community was hurt, and wild voices were heard -shouting, “Whoever it was he shall not go unpunished! A girl of our -village—he has insulted us all, every one—he shall make it good or pay -for it with his life!” - -The men doubled their fists and raised their arms, uttering savage -threats and imprecations, as they pressed round Lucia who sat like -a statue, watching the growing excitement and tumult with intense -interest. - -“Who was it? who did it?” they shouted to her from all sides. “Do you -know him? Who has dared to insult you and all of us? You _must_ say who -it is!” were the cries uttered in various tones by a hundred angry men -and women. - -“He must marry you, he must, or he shall die! Who was it? who?” - -“A man in Palene,”answered Lucia in a clear voice. - -“Palene? he shall die if he won’t do his duty. But what is his name?” - -“Don Ernano!” - -“What, he? a foreigner! the light-haired man! the sportsman!” cried -several voices. - -“It’s all the same,” screamed others, “it’s just the same. It would -make no difference if he were a townsman—he shall die if he won’t do -you justice and restore you to honor; yes, he shall die by our hands,” -cried all, old and young, with angry, flashing eyes. - -“He must give the village satisfaction at once,” cried one who had -taken the lead; “I will go to him now. Take your knives, my men, and -say who’ll go with me?” - -“I! I!”cried at least twenty voices and a number of men separated from -the rest and started off at a rapid pace along the road to Palene. - -Lucia now dismounted, led the mule into his stable and retreated to her -dismal little room out of her mother’s way. Here she sat down quite -exhausted on the only chair it contained, and drew a deep breath. - -“Now no one can kill him for marrying me, for they will make him,” she -said softly to herself, “and he won’t refuse. He likes me, I’m sure of -that now, and Pietro Antonio won’t dare to touch him, for he would have -the whole village against him.” - -It was about an hour after all this commotion that the first of the -Palenella peasants entered Don Ernano’s wineshop and called for a -tumbler of wine. In a few seconds more another came in, and then a -third, and before the barber knew where he was, his room was filled -with peasants, all of whom carried knives in their gay-colored sashes, -and looked very menacing. - -Don Lugeno, though peaceably disposed, was a brave man enough, but he -could not help feeling somewhat aghast on the present occasion, for -there was evidently something strange about his visitors. - -“Don Ernano,” began the spokesman, “you have cut off the plait of one -of our girls—eh? is it so?” - -“Yes!”returned the barber with some embarrassment, but without the -slightest suspicion of what was meant, or what the question boded. - -“Have you the plait?” - -“Yes, I have.” - -“Then please to show it to us.” - -The barber went and fetched it from the cupboard and held it up, -saying, “Here it is.” - -“You know the girl?”they inquired further. - -“Yes, it is Lucia Ceprano; I have known her a long time.” - -“Good! Will you marry her?”inquired the leader suddenly stepping up to -the barber. - -“_Marry_—Lucia Ceprano?” exclaimed Don Ernano quite taken a-back. - -“Will you?” and a dozen large knives flashed into the air, while in an -instant the men had closed the entrance into the shop, surrounded the -terrified owner and driven him into a corner. - -“Yes or no?” said they in suppressed tones. - -Lugeno looked from one to the other and tried to collect himself. He -saw plainly enough that it was no laughing matter, for the men were -looking at him with an expression of deadly hatred in their eyes, and -they looked so sullen and determined that he felt he had never before -been so immediately face to face with death. He could hardly breathe, -but he struggled to say, “Only tell me——” - -“Still, man,”whispered the ringleader; “no shirking, and no unnecessary -words. Answer me; will you marry Lucia Ceprano of Palenella, whose -plait you have cut off, or not? Say you will, now, this instant, -without any humbug, or in two minutes you are a dead man, as sure as we -all stand here!” - -A gleam of joy and relief came into Don Ernano’s eyes; he breathed more -freely, and wiping his forehead, said with a smile, “Why, of course I -will, my men, with all my heart, if she will have me.” - -“She must!”was the rejoinder, spoken in tones of as much determination -as before. “Then you swear, here before us, to marry Lucia, as soon as -possible, at all events within the month, and you will be married in -our church, by our priest?” - -“I swear it,”said the barber with great alacrity. - -“That’s well; and you have acted wisely, master, let me tell you, for -you would not have left your shop alive otherwise!” - -Thereupon the men put up their knives, ordered some wine, each -separately drank to the health of the still bewildered Don Ernano, bade -him a polite farewell, and returned to the village. The evening was not -far advanced when they reached Palenella, and going straight to Mother -Ceprano’s house, they found her still lamenting and vituperating the -rascal who had done the evil deed, while Lucia was sitting contentedly -at the table eating her supper with a good appetite. - -“We have good news for you, Lucia,” cried a dozen voices; “he’ll marry -you. He has solemnly sworn to marry you within the month. You may be -quite easy about it, for he will do all that is right by you, and he -will give us satisfaction. He is a clever man, much respected, and as -good as anyone in the village.” - -“Thank you, my friends, I am quite satisfied. You have done me a good -turn and I’ll never forget it,”said Lucia, looking positively radiant -with happiness. - -That night the village was a long time in settling down to its usual -state of quietness; for the men felt they had achieved a grand victory -and could do no less than celebrate it, little guessing, of course, -that they had been outwitted by a girl, and that so far from being the -victors they had actually been defeated, and had had their own weapons -turned against them. - -Meanwhile, in spite of her happiness, Lucia was feeling a little -uneasy as to the way in which Don Lugeno might view her conduct, and -very early in the morning she was in the shop again. So early was she, -indeed, that he did not hear her enter, as he was busy with his coffee -in the kitchen. - -“Don Ernano,” began Lucia in a humble, tremulous tone, “can you forgive -me?” - -The barber turned round like a flash of lightning. - -“Lucia! Lucia!” he exclaimed joyously; “but, my dear girl, do for -mercy’s sake tell me what it all means. Is it true? Am I really to -marry you?” - -“Do you mind very much, signore? I thought—I fancied—”said poor Lucia, -trembling, and panting for breath. - -“Mind! Ah, signorina, it is not that; I am only too happy to think I am -to have such a dear, good, beautiful wife,” said Lugeno consolingly, -and his manner was so hearty as to leave no room for doubt as to his -sincerity. “My dearest girl, don’t cry; this happiness has come upon me -like a—like a thunder-bolt. You’re the very wife I should have chosen -above all others; but I don’t understand what has happened, or how it -has all come about. Why, I have been forced to accept happiness such -as I dared not even dream of at the point of twenty knives! How is it, -dear signorina? And why did you make me cut off your plait?” - -Don Ernano spoke so kindly and pleasantly that Lucia had soon dried her -tears, and now looking up at him with a beaming face, she said, “I -will tell you all about it, Don Ernano. You see I was obliged to do as -I did, or you could not have married me without incurring the vengeance -of that wicked Pietro who is very angry at my refusing him. Now you are -under the protection of the whole village, and he will take good care -not to come in your way.” - -Then Lucia went on to tell her lover all the ins and outs of the -affair, and how, after Pietro’s attempt two nights ago, she had made up -her mind to get him to cut off her hair rather than let anyone else do -so. - -“And now will you forgive me?” she asked in a gentle, shame faced tone. - -“Forgive? I’ll thank you with all my heart, you dear, brave, clever -girl. I declare you are wiser and cleverer than the wisest lawyer,” and -drawing the tall, handsome village maiden to him, he gave her a long -kiss, which was cordially returned. - -“What a pity about your beautiful hair! I wish it were grown again,” -said he, tenderly stroking his bride’s close-cropped head. - -“Well, you are a hair-dresser, so you must see what you can do,” said -Lucia; “but I have made a good exchange. Where is the girl who would -not sacrifice the finest head of hair for a good husband, especially,” -she added shyly, “when the lover himself cut it off?” - -While Lucia and Don Ernano were thus pleasantly engaged, there had been -a great disturbance at Palenella. Pietro Antonio, having just heard all -that had happened, had hurried to the village in a furious passion. -First he poured out his wrath on the peasants for their stupidity, and -then tried to set them against the barber, whom he had always hated, -and now of course detested more than ever. He told the peasants that he -was a crafty rascal, that he and the girl understood one another, and -had acted in concert, and that he only wanted her money. - -But he soon found that this would not do. The villagers had no mind to -be robbed of their triumph, and were quite certain they understood the -matter better than he did, and they used such forcible arguments to -convince Pietro of the justice of their views, that he retired to his -bed for a fortnight, and after that, not only gave Palenella a very -wide berth, but soon left the district and went to Naples. - -Mother Ceprano behaved in a most amiable and polite manner to her -future son-in-law, who, by Lucia’s advice, determined to let the little -property at Palenella and allow his mother-in-law the rent of it for -her life. Also he made up his mind to sell his business in Palene and -have a nice barber’s shop and small _café_ in Rome, where he and Lucia -would do their utmost to please their customers. - -Three weeks later the marriage was celebrated with much firing of guns -and rockets in the presence not only of the whole village, but of most -of the inhabitants of the town of Palene, and there was every reason to -hope that it would prove a happy one, in spite of the strange way in -which bride and bridegroom had been brought together.—_Belgravia._ - - - - -THE BANK OF ENGLAND. - -BY HENRY MAY. - -The simple definition of banking is money-dealing. A banker properly -so called is but a tradesman engaged in buying and selling money, -that symbol of wealth which in all civilised countries facilitates or -renders possible the exchange of commodities, which are wealth itself. -A banker produces nothing, nor does he, except in a most indirect -manner, add anything to the wealth of the country. His business is -the collection and distribution of that general representative of -merchandise, money, much in the same way as an ordinary shopkeeper -collects and distributes the special articles of his individual -trade. Joint-stock banks, then, are but co-operative distributing -associations formed for the purpose of fighting against some real or -fancied oppression, and of competing, to the supposed advantage of -the public, with private enterprise. They are formed for the purpose -of competing with private bankers whose business they appear to be -gradually absorbing, possibly by a sort of process of the survival of -the fittest. In this way the origin, in 1694, of the Bank of England, -the parent joint-stock bank of the kingdom, and the largest and most -important money-dealing institution in the world, may be traced to the -combination of the Government, merchants, traders, and the general -public to oppose the exactions, usury, and financial tyranny of the -goldsmiths and stock-jobbers of the period. A very limited acquaintance -with pamphlets published at the time of the Great Revolution will -show that the Bank of England was the natural outcome of necessity, -a necessity which guaranteed its success if honestly and prudently -managed. Through its means the foundation of a safe paper currency was -secured, the national credit maintained, and the system of usury and -extortion prevalent throughout the country undermined—at the expense, -it is true, of many so-called bankers, stock-jobbers, and goldsmiths, -but to the great gain of the nation, its commerce, and the general -public. Of the originator of the Bank of England—Mr. W. Paterson, -who remained a director only for a year or two—we know really very -little, except that he was equally the founder of the ill-fated Darien -Expedition of 1698, that he was an able, honorable, and enthusiastic -man, and that he died in Scotland, where, “pitied, respected, but -neglected,” he lived for many years. - -The original capital of the Bank was £1,200,000, which was subscribed -in a few days. The whole of this amount was, as a condition of -the charter, lent to the Government at eight per cent., the Bank -being allowed an additional £4,000 a year for the management of -the Government accounts. The necessary capital for carrying on the -banking business appears to have been obtained from the public by the -issue of bank bills, termed by some flippant writers of the period -“Speed’s notes,” from the name of the first chief cashier. These -bills were evidently a sort of “deposit receipt,” bearing interest at -the rate of twopence per cent. per diem, or at the rate of three per -cent. per annum, and they appear to have given sore offence to the -goldsmiths. The Bank of England commenced business in the Mercers’ -Hall, Cheapside, where the first “General Court of Proprietors” was -held. But after a few months, this situation being found inconvenient, -an agreement was made with the Grocers’ Company (which appears to have -been in difficulties) for the use of their hall in Princes Street. The -original working staff of the Bank consisted of fifty-four clerks, -whose united salaries amounted to the modest sum of £4,340 a year, -averaging a little more than £80 a year each. The chief cashier (Mr. -T. Speed), the chief accountant, and the secretary received £250 a -year each, and one clerk is scheduled in the pay-sheet as working -“gratis.” Addison, in No. 3 of the _Spectator_, gives us the following -pleasant little glimpse of the Bank at work in 1710: “In one of my late -rambles, or rather speculations, I looked into the great hall where -the Bank is kept, and was not a little pleased to see the directors, -secretaries, and clerks, with all the other members of that wealthy -corporation, ranged in their several stations, according to the parts -they act in that just and regular economy.” From which it would seem -that the Bank dignitaries of old had a firm belief in the virtues of -the “master’s eye,” scorned bank parlors and private rooms, and were -content to work with their servants _coram populo_—a good, homely, -old-fashioned practice, no doubt, but one scarcely adapted to modern -banking requirements. Bank of England directors in those days, however, -had a good deal more to do with mere clerical duties than they have at -present. They by no means shirked the most practical responsibilities -of office, for we find that at that period, and for many years -afterwards, even the warrants for the payments of dividends were signed -by two of their body. - -It was not until after the Bank had existed some forty years that the -directors found the business so completely outgrow the accommodation -afforded by the Grocers’ Hall as to necessitate a separate building -of its own. The foundation of the present building was laid in 1732 -on the site of the residence of Sir John Houblon, the first governor -of the Bank, and business was commenced in the new premises in 1734. -The edifice was greatly enlarged between the years 1770 and 1786, -and was completed, pretty much as it now stands, in 1786, an Act -having been procured in 1780 to enable the directors to purchase the -adjoining church, land, and parsonage—in fact the whole parish—of St. -Christopher le Stocks, to the rector of which non-existent parish the -Bank pay £400 a year to this day. The drawing office now stands on the -site of the old church, the garden being the churchyard. In 1800, when -Princes Street was widened, the present wall-screen round the Bank was -erected by Sir John Soane giving a uniform appearance to the exterior -of the building. There is much in the architectural interior of the -Bank which is well worthy of admiration; for instance the quadrangle -called the bullion-yard, in Lothbury, the garden, rotunda, and court -rooms, &c. The long prison-like stone-colored passages and offices -devoted to public business, however, are singularly cold and cheerless, -owing chiefly to some apparent, yet unaccountable, objection of the -authorities to employ color as a decorative auxiliary; possibly from a -fixed but mistaken idea that color is antagonistic to cleanliness and -brightness to business. - -Although the necessities of the State contributed to the establishment -of the Bank of England, they were, at intervals of every few years, -compelled, after making a feeble resistance, to purchase the -continuance of their privileges on exceedingly onerous terms. The -history of the seven renewals of the charter between 1694 and 1800, and -of the accordance of permission to increase the capital of the Bank, is -one continuous record of State exactions. The Bank, as a condition of -State patronage, were on each successive occasion forced to increase -their loans to the Government at low rates of interest or without any -interest whatever, three millions sterling being lent for six years -without interest in 1800. Interest on previous loans was reduced, -exchequer bills were cancelled, and on one occasion a free gift of -£110,000 was made to the State. As a consequence the Government debt -to the Bank increased at a rapid rate, till it amounted at last to -upwards of fourteen and a half millions sterling, or rather more than -the whole capital of the Corporation. In 1833 the Government paid off -one-fourth of this debt in reduced annuities, and thereby reduced it -to £11,015,100, at which amount it now stands. While Ministry after -Ministry thus accurately tested the pliability of the “Governor and -Company,” and relentlessly preyed on their fears as to the continuance -of their monopoly, it is pleasant to read of the intense feeling of -loyalty which actuated the directors in all their dealings with the -State. When, after the Rebellion of 1715, the Government proposed to -reduce the interest on the National Debt from six to five per cent., -the Bank testified to their desire to assist the measure by at once -agreeing to accept the lower rate, and to provide money to pay off -those creditors who declined to submit to the reduction. Again, when -a further reduction in the interest on part of the National Debt was -proposed in 1750, the Bank at once assented, and arranged to find a -sum of money to pay off the dissentients. The passive attitude lately -assumed by the Bank directors towards the conversion scheme of the -present Chancellor of the Exchequer contrasts somewhat unfavorably -with the loyal attachment of the Bank to the State in olden times. -The transactions of the Bank of England with Government for a period -of one hundred and twenty years ending with 1816 are but a series of -loans and advances by the Bank in anticipation of the revenue, or of -payments of treasury bills drawn by the Government agents abroad. These -large advances and payments were entirely independent of the permanent -loan made to the Government by the Bank, and were supposed to be but -temporary assistance rendered to the State in times of sore need, to -be repaid periodically as the revenue was collected. But repayment -was not made. Again and again did the Governor and Company represent -to the Ministers that they were unable to continue to increase the -floating debt without endangering the safety of the Bank. Coaxed and -bullied in turn (especially by Pitt), they allowed their loyalty to -outrun their prudence, and yielded more or less gracefully time -after time, till at last in 1797 they were compelled to suspend cash -payments, entirely through their exertions to aid the Government. -Undoubtedly the exclusive privileges which the Bank in the infancy of -banking enjoyed were in some sense a _quid pro quo_ for their services -to the State, and the fear of losing their charter may have been a -strong incentive to loyalty. The subsequent gradual enfranchisement -of banking by the various enactments between 1826 and 1858 and the -enormous progress which banking has since made throughout the country, -have, however, considerably lessened the value of these privileges, and -from a mere proprietor’s point of view it is quite possible that the -Bank of England might profitably forego their charter altogether, now -that they are in no fear of losing it, and, so far as pure banking is -concerned, they no longer enjoy a monopoly. These considerations may -have tempered the loyalty of the directors, and may account for the -very independent fashion in which they nowadays approach the Government -for the transaction of business upon which, in the olden time, they -were accustomed to enter with fear and trembling. - -The establishment of branches by the Bank of England in 1826 was -a direct consequence of the great panic of 1825, caused, as the -Government alleged, by reckless speculation encouraged and fostered -by private banks, and by the overissue of country bank notes. In -a correspondence with the Bank, the Government expressed their -determination to “improve the circulation of the country paper,” and, -after paying the Bank the complement of saying, “We believe that much -of the prosperity of the country is to be attributed to the general -wisdom, justice, and fairness of the dealings of the Bank,” suggested -that the Bank of England should establish branches of their own in -different parts of the country, and should, moreover, yield part of -their exclusive privilege of joint-stock banking by permitting the -formation of banks with more than six partners, except in or within -sixty-five miles of the metropolis. After a vain attempt to obtain -some compensation for the concession of their monopoly for joint-stock -banking the Bank yielded on both points, and an Act was passed -authorising the establishment of Bank of England branches and the -formation of country joint-stock banks. The circulation of one and two -pound notes was also prohibited by this Act. - -The Bank charter was again renewed in 1833, when Bank of England -notes were first made a legal tender, and the usury laws repealed so -far as they affected three months’ bills. The most important clause -in this charter, however, was that which legalised the establishment -of joint-stock banks in and within sixty-five miles of London. This -led to the establishment of the London and Westminster Bank in 1834, -the first of those numerous metropolitan joint-stock banks which -now so extensively and beneficially administer to the commercial -wants of the country. Up to about this time it had been universally -considered that the Bank of England enjoyed the exclusive privilege of -joint-stock banking within the above radius, but now the astonishing -discovery was made that this was not so, and in fact never had been -so; and this discovery was confirmed by the law officers of the Crown. -The directors protested, but resistance was useless. The Bank lost -its supposed privilege, though it is very questionable whether the -Government behaved quite straightforwardly in the matter. This Act, -together with one or two subsequent banking Acts, thus completely -enfranchised banking, and abolished a monopoly which was, after all, -obstructive both to financial and commercial progress. The abolishment -of any monopoly is invariably but a question of education and time, -and, in accordance with the doctrine of experience, it does not appear -that the Bank have really lost anything by the competition engendered -by the enfranchisement of joint-stock banking, while commerce and the -community have undoubtedly gained enormously. - -We come now to Sir Robert Peel’s famous Bank Charter Act of 1844, -entitled “An Act to regulate the issue of Bank Notes, and for giving -to the Governor and Company of the Bank of England certain privileges -for a limited period.” It confirms the curtailed privileges of the -Bank for eleven years, subject afterwards to redemption on twelve -months’ notice being given and the repayment of the debt due by the -Government to the Bank. A clause in the subsequent National Debt Act -of 1870, however, provides that the Bank of England shall continue -to be a corporation until all the public Funds shall be redeemed by -Parliament, thus practically granting it a lease in perpetuity. The Act -of 1844—to some of the special provisions of which I shall presently -refer—practically regulates the whole banking system of the country, -and at the present time governs the Bank of England in the conduct of -their business. In accordance with its provisions, the issue of Bank of -England notes was first kept distinct from the banking business proper -by the creation of the “Issue Department” and the “Banking Department,” -with which probably most of my readers are perfectly familiar, at -least by name. Besides these Issue and Banking Departments, there is -in the Bank a third most important department, devoted to what is -generally, though somewhat inaccurately, termed “the management of the -National Debt.” In their capacity of bankers to the State the governor -and company of the Bank of England have always acted as the financial -agents of the Government for distributing, and paying the dividends on, -the funded debt, as well as for the performance of other book-keeping -duties in connection therewith. Of late years the Bank have undertaken -similar duties for the Indian and several Colonial Governments, for -the Metropolitan Board of Works, and for various corporations and -municipalities. The considerable portion of the Bank premises devoted -to this agency business is now generally spoken of by financial and -banking writers as “The Department for the Management of the National -Debt”—an imposing title doubtless, which says a good deal more than -it means, and one, for aught I know, adopted nowadays by the Bank -themselves; but, possibly influenced by the recollections of days long -gone by, I confess my partiality for the old familiar title of “Stock -Offices.” - -In the conduct of their business, then, the Bank of England perform -three distinct and important functions—that of financial agents, -that of issuers of notes under the control of the State, and that -of Government and general bankers. The duties involved in these -functions are discharged, severally, towards the State and the various -governments and corporations for whom they are agents; towards the -general public, from or to whom they buy or sell notes and gold; and -towards the Government and customers for whom they act as ordinary -bankers. I will consider briefly the system by which these three -functions are discharged. The offices comprised in the department for -the management of the National Debt are the various stock offices in -which are kept the stock ledgers and the transfer books, the Dividend -Office, the Cheque Office, the Unclaimed Dividend Office, the Power -of Attorney Office, and the Will or Register Office. The nature of -the business transacted in these different offices is sufficiently -indicated by their names, with the exception of the Cheque Office, -which, on the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle, is probably so called -because it has nothing whatever to do with “cheques,” but is devoted, -for the most part, to the purpose of checking the amounts and totals -of the dividend warrants paid by the “Dividend Pay Office,” an office -which belongs to the Banking Department. Some idea of the amount -of work done in the various Stock Offices may be gathered from the -circumstance that they employ the services of some 450 clerks. Nearly -2,000 books are in constant use in some ten or twelve rooms. The -dividend warrants on the funded debt alone number about half a million -a year, and are, when paid, sent to Somerset House for verification, -together with a duplicate copy of the dividend book. As a remuneration -for its services in connection with the National Debt, the Bank is paid -a commission of £300 per million on the first six hundred millions of -the amount and £150 per million on the remainder. Since the funded debt -is now altogether about £628,500,000, the Bank receives on this account -about £184,000 per annum, a remuneration which cannot be considered -excessive. - -The extreme accuracy and dispatch with which the clerical labor -involved in the business of the Stock Offices is performed, is almost -marvellous, and reflects the highest credit on the administrative -machinery of the Bank. Every possible expedient is resorted to for -the purpose of facilitating the work and guarding against error, even -to the free employment of the Bank’s printing-office and the use of -the stereotype process in the preparation of the dividend books in -duplicate. It is worth mentioning that all the old stock ledgers, -transfer books, vouchers, and documents connected with the various -stocks which have been created since the establishment of the Bank are -carefully preserved and systematically arranged for ready reference in -the Stock Office Library under the charge of a librarian, whose duties, -however, though involving great responsibility, are more monotonous -than onerous. - -The “Issue Department” of the Bank of England is the outcome of -the determination expressed by the Government in 1844 “to regulate -the issue of bank notes.” The experience of former years, more -particularly that of 1825, had fully demonstrated how undesirable, and -even dangerous, it was to leave the circulation of bank notes to the -uncontrolled discretion of country bankers, and though there can be no -reason to doubt that the Bank of England had hitherto used the power -which they possessed of expanding or contracting their circulation -at will with great judgment, and substantially to the benefit of the -mercantile community, it was thought desirable that the control of -the whole circulation in the country should be practically vested in -the State, and be governed by some sound financial principle. The -theoretical basis of the Act of 1844 is the principle that bank notes -should not be mere symbols of credit—simple I O U’s, as it were, which -are a confession of a want of cash—but of actual “ear-marked” gold; -of ready money, which alone regulates, or should regulate, the extent -of the commerce of the country. The soundness of this principle is -doubted by many financial authorities on the ground that it checks -the proper expansion of trade and in times of crisis has failed -in practice. I cannot, however, here discuss the large subject of -currency, but must accept the law as I find it, merely stating that -in my opinion it affords the only safe basis upon which any sound -currency can be regulated. To carry out this law effectually, then, it -was obviously necessary that the Government should create or select -some establishment from which bank notes might be issued, and in which -the gold that these notes represented should be set apart or stored. -As the State Bank, the Bank of England was naturally entrusted with -these functions. Hence the creation of the “Issue Department.” But in -order to afford some elasticity to the circulation, and to deal gently -with the “vested interests” of the Bank of England and country bankers -alike, the Act provides that no banks of issue shall be permitted -other than those in existence in May, 1844, and that an average of -the note circulation of these banks shall be taken, which shall in -future be the maximum circulation allowed to them. This maximum -was subsequently fixed at about eight and three-quarter millions. -Provisions are also made by which, on certain terms, issuing banks may -cede their privilege of issue to the Bank or forfeit them altogether -in case of bankruptcy or certain changes in the constitution of their -partnerships. The total amount of these “lapsed issues” since 1844 is -about two and three-quarter millions, leaving the present authorized -maximum circulation of the country banks at about six millions. No -stipulation is made that any proportion of this circulation shall -be based upon gold. This matter is left entirely to the judgment of -the bankers themselves, whose discretion, however, there seems no -reason to question, since from the weekly returns supplied to the -Government in conformity with the Act, it appears that not more than -one-half the notes of the maximum issue are in actual circulation. -With regard to the Bank of England, permission is accorded to the -Issue Department to issue notes to the amount of fourteen millions -upon securities—including the £11,015,100 due by the Government to -the Bank—to be set apart for the purpose of guarantee. The Bank is -furthermore permitted to increase the amount of notes issued on -securities to the extent of two-thirds of the lapsed issues of country -banks. The extra issue thus acquired is now £1,750,000, which brings up -the total amount of issue on securities to £15,750,000, inclusive of -the Government debt. Any further issue of notes must be represented by -an equal amount of bullion or gold coin transferred to the separate -vaults of the Issue Department, but one-fourth of the amount so -transferred may consist of silver bullion. - -The Bank are required to furnish the Government with a weekly report -of the accounts of the Issue and Banking departments. This report, -which is popularly called “The Bank Return,” is published each -Thursday afternoon, and is copied in the morning newspapers of Friday, -together with the comments and deductions, more or less speculative -and intelligent, of the different City editors. The Bank Return, so -far as it regards the Issue department, is simplicity itself. Let the -reader put one of them before him. On the one side he will find the -total amount of notes issued, and on the other the bases of the issue, -divided into the “Government debt,” the “other securities” (which -together make up the total of £15,750,000, above mentioned), “gold coin -and bullion,” and “silver bullion,” if there be any, which is very -seldom the case. The simple term “bullion” signifies gold bullion, or -gold in bars, which the Bank are compelled to receive from any person -tendering it, in exchange for notes, at the rate of £3 17s. 9d. per -ounce of 22 parts out of 24 of pure gold. - -It is evident that the amount of bank notes issued varies in exact -proportion to the amount of gold in the Issue Department, the issue -against the Government debt and other securities being invariable. -Roughly speaking, the contraction or expansion of the circulation -indicates a corresponding curtailment or increase in commercial -facilities or requirements. Hence the Issue Department return becomes -an important guide to the operations of bankers, brokers, and financial -firms, by whom it is carefully watched, since the increase or -diminution of the stock of gold may be said respectively to be a signal -of safety or danger. The receipts or withdrawals of gold in any large -quantity by or from the Bank are of two kinds, inland and foreign. -The former for the most part occur at certain regular periods of the -year, such as the harvest season, Scotch “term-time,” &c. They exercise -but a very modified and temporary influence on the money market, for -the laws by which they are governed are very fairly understood and -recognised, and the amount of gold _actually in the kingdom_ remains -unaltered. It is far different, however, with the demand or supply of -gold from foreign countries, the importance of which to the financial -world is so great that the amount of gold received or delivered by -the Bank on foreign account is by them made known day by day, and -is duly chronicled in the City articles of the morning papers. The -exports and imports of gold (which practically, regulate the note -issue) are governed by the state of the foreign exchanges, which are -probably a mystery to many of my readers, but which up to a certain -point may be readily understood. Approaching the subject as tenderly -and in as elementary a manner as possible, I will at once simplify -matters by saying that, with a few exceptions (such as regard India, -Russia, China, &c.), the foreign rates of exchange represent the -amount of money in its own currency (be it paper or gold) that the -specified financial centre of each country is willing to give for a -pound sterling on London. They vary almost daily, and are indications -either of indebtedness or of the abundance or scarcity of money, and -are described as favorable or unfavorable to this country according -to whether they are high or low. A rate of exchange is an indication -of indebtedness, according to the position of the balance of trade or -indebtedness between the country fixing it and England. When in any -given country this indebtedness is in favor of England, it is obvious -that in that country bills on London for the purpose of remittance will -be in demand, and will fetch more money; consequently the rate at which -they will be purchased rises. When the balance of trade is against -England, it is equally evident that bills on London are not so much -wanted, and the price of them—that is the rate of exchange—consequently -falls. - -But I have said that a rate of exchange may be an indication of -abundance or scarcity of money in the country quoting it; and it is -often so in this manner. Let us suppose that there is no balance of -trade to settle between a given country and England, but that the -rate, of discount, or value of money, in the former is, say, three per -cent., while in England it is, say, four per cent. It follows that -_primâ facie_ it is more profitable to send surplus money to England -for employment than to keep it at home. In the absence of trade bills -a demand for drafts transferring money to London sets in, and the rate -of exchange rises. Let us now reverse this condition of things. Suppose -money to be dearer in a given country than in England; it is evident -in that case that capitalists here would find it more profitable to -employ their money in that country than at home, and that the foreign -rate of exchange would consequently fall. I have spoken hitherto of -remittances by bills or drafts only, but it is obvious that a scarcity -of these vehicles for the transfer of money may so drive up the rate -of exchange that it becomes more profitable to send gold. When this -point is reached the foreign rate of exchange is said to stand at “gold -point.” If I have made myself clearly understood, the reader will now -see how the rate of discount by attracting or repelling money affects -the movement of gold in the Bank of England, and why, when the Bank -desire to either simply protect their stock of gold or their “reserve,” -and so prevent any contraction of the note issue, or to attract gold -from abroad and so expand the circulation, or increase the “reserve,” -they raise the official rate of discount step by step until the desired -end is accomplished; or why, when the stock of gold is large and the -note issue may with safety be contracted, they facilitate the trade of -the country by lowering their minimum rate, at the risk of gold being -required for export. He will, too, gain some slight idea of how the -world’s stock of gold is moved about from country to country at the -call of commerce, and how true it is that the trade of any country is, -or ought to be, regulated solely by its supply of gold, or ready money. - -The offices comprised in the Issue Department of the Bank are the Hall, -the Bullion Office, and the Gold-weighing Room. In the Hall, notes -and gold are exchanged by the public one for the other, and notes are -exchanged for other notes of a higher or lower denomination. In the -Bullion Office bar-gold is bought at the rate of £3 17s. 9d. per ounce, -or exchanged for sovereigns at the rate of £3 17s. 10½d. per ounce, -at which rate bullion is also sold. Nearly all the imports of gold and -silver to this country are taken to the Bank of England for delivery -to the consignees. The duties connected with these consignments are -undertaken by the Bullion Office, where small charges are made for -weighing, packing, and collecting freight, &c. In the Gold-weighing -Room gold coin is weighed automatically, at the rate of about 2,000 -pieces an hour each, by about a dozen beautiful little machines worked -by an atmospheric engine. Bank notes are not re-issued after having -been once paid, and in the Bank Note Office registers are kept in -which are recorded the dates of issue and return to the Bank of each -respective note. The particulars of the payment of any note can be -ascertained by a reference to the Bank Note Library, where the paid and -cancelled notes are kept for seven years, after which they are burnt -on the Bank premises. For the privilege of issuing the £15,750,000 -against securities, and for exemption from stamp duty, the Bank pay -an annual sum of about £200,000, together with any profit which they -may derive from the notes issued against gold to the Government. The -paper on which bank notes are printed is manufactured expressly for the -Bank of England at Laverstock in Hampshire, but the dies from which -the water-mark is made, as well as the plates from which the notes are -printed, are made at the Bank. The notes are all printed at the Bank’s -own printing-office under the care of the printing superintendent, -the quantity of notes required from time to time being regulated by -the chief cashier, who is responsible for their safe custody as soon -as, by a second process of printing, the numbers and dates have been -filled in for the purpose of issue. The average number of bank notes -paid and cancelled each day is more than 40,000, and no less than -80,000,000 cancelled notes may be found as a rule, stored and sorted -for reference, in the Bank Note Library. The Bank of England also -undertakes the printing of “rupee paper” for the Indian Government. - -The “Banking Department” of the Bank of England is the separation of -the ordinary banking business from the business of financial agency -and issuing notes. In a speech on the renewal of the Bank charter -in 1844 Sir Robert Peel said, “With respect to the banking business -of the Bank, I propose that it should be governed on precisely the -same principles as would regulate any other body dealing with Bank -of England notes.” The Bank Act of 1844, then, does not touch the -management of the Banking Department in any way beyond requiring that -a weekly statement of its assets and liabilities shall be published. -This statement—which forms part of the “Bank Return”—may be thus -analysed. On the left hand side are the liabilities, divided into the -liability towards the proprietors of the Bank as shown by the amounts -of “Proprietors’ Capital” and “Rest” (which latter is practically an -addition to the capital); the liability to the Government, as shown by -the amount of “Public Deposits,” which are the balances of different -Government accounts; the liability to the customers as shown by the -amount of the “Other Deposits,” which are the sum of the balances of -the current or “drawing” accounts; and the liability to the holders -of the Bank’s acceptances as shown by the amount of “Seven-day and -other Bills” in circulation. On the other side of the statement are -the assets by which these liabilities are represented, divided into -“Government Securities,” which show the amount of the banking capital -invested in Government securities; the “Other Securities,” which show -the amount of other investments made by the Bank; and, separately, the -“notes” and “gold and silver coin,” which show the amount of cash in -hand for the current purposes of the Banking Department. This sum of -notes and gold and silver coin forms, so to speak, the cash assets of -the Bank, and the proportion which it bears to the current liabilities -disclosed by the public and other deposits and seven-day bills is -called the proportion of reserve to liabilities, and is always a matter -of great interest, and often of great anxiety, to the City on Thursdays. - -The question of the proportion which these cash assets should bear -to liabilities is one of extreme importance to a prudent banker. -It is generally considered that it should be about one-third, but -a proportion of reserve to liabilities of only 33 per cent. in the -Bank Return would create considerable anxiety, while in an ordinary -joint-stock bank’s accounts it would, I fancy, be abnormally great, -far greater than that disclosed by the half-yearly accounts submitted -to the shareholders, which may naturally be supposed to represent the -financial position in the most favorable light. The publication of the -weekly Bank Return is so useful and important to commerce, banking, -and finance that it is to be regretted that the law which calls for it -is not extended to all joint-stock if not to private banks. We might -then hope to see an end put to that faulty system of banking which -in good times, in order to pay extraordinary dividends, encourages -over-trading by giving every possible facility to speculation, and, -when a reaction comes, suddenly cuts off all “accommodation,” calls in -all resources, and drives its customers to the Bank of England, in the -hope of obtaining that ready money which it is no longer willing itself -to supply. The Bank of England, through their Banking Department, -undertake duties merely towards their own customers and the Government. -Their banking business is conducted for the most part (in theory, at -all events) on the same lines as any other banking institution. It is -unreasonable, therefore, to suppose that it is any part of their duty, -in times of panic or crisis, to find ready money for a public shunted -over to them by its own bankers, who from an inordinate desire to pay -large dividends have placed themselves in a position of inability or -unwillingness to find it themselves. And yet some such theory as this -is advanced by many well-known writers on banking and finance. Bankers, -probably knowing the weak points in their system, become sadly selfish, -and are quick to take fright at the first signs of a panic, which they -often do much to increase. The suspension of the Bank Act is to them -the only true solution of the difficulties caused by over-trading, -over-speculation, and inflation of general business. At their earnest -entreaty—not at the solicitation of the Bank of England—has the Act -been thrice suspended: not, as subsequent events proved, because any -suspension of the Act was really necessary, but because bankers -hesitated to do their duty to their customers, except under the shelter -of its protecting wing. Nothing can be more erroneous, or, indeed, -more mischievous, than the doctrine that it is the duty of the Bank -of England to keep the “reserve” of the whole country, simply on the -ground that, for Clearing House purposes, it suits the convenience of -bankers to entrust them with large balances, and because they act as -agents for the Government in automatically regulating the note issue of -the kingdom. - -The business of the Banking Department—which, except as regards the -magnitude of its transactions, and the current accounts of other -bankers and of the Government, differs but little from that of any -other London banks—is carried on chiefly in the Private Drawing -Office, the Public Drawing Office, the Discount Office, and the Bill -and Post Bill Offices. Besides these offices there are the Dividend -Pay Office, devoted to the cash payment of dividends, and the Chief -Cashier’s Office, where advances on securities and the various public -loans are initiated, and to which is attached the private room of the -chief cashier, which for the most part corresponds with the manager’s -room in any ordinary bank. In the Private Drawing Office are kept the -private accounts of the general customers of the Bank, a separate -counter being reserved for the exclusive convenience of bankers. It is -a popular error to suppose that the conditions of keeping an account -with the Bank of England differ in any essential particular from those -of most of the other banks. A satisfactory introduction will enable any -one to open an account, and no restriction is placed upon the amount -of balance to be kept, except that if it does not prove remunerative -to the Bank a charge is made in proportion to the amount of trouble -and expense involved. Roughly speaking, a remunerative balance in -ordinary cases is considered to be an average balance throughout the -year of one pound for each cheque drawn. Thus if a customer draws two -hundred cheques in a year and keeps an average balance of £200 his -account is probably considered remunerative. Cheques may be drawn on -the Bank of any amount however small, though there was, I believe, -many years ago, a sort of understanding that customers should not draw -cheques for an amount under five pounds. The Public Drawing Office, as -its name implies, is devoted to the custody of the drawing accounts -of the Government and various public companies and institutions. The -Discount Office is charged with the reception of all bills offered for -discount by parties who have opened discount accounts with the Bank. -These bills are submitted to a committee of directors (sitting daily -for the purpose) who decide upon the amount of accommodation to be -granted and the rate of discount to be charged. The net proceeds of -the bills discounted are then passed to the credit of the customer’s -account, while the bills themselves are entrusted to the care of -the Bill Office, which occupies itself with the duty of sorting and -arranging them (together with bills belonging to customers) so that -they may be duly presented for payment at maturity. In the Post Bill -Office the Bank issue to the public their acceptances at seven or sixty -days’ sight, technically called “Bank post bills,” for any required -amount, in even or uneven sums. The amount of business transacted in -this office has considerably diminished of late years, owing to similar -facilities being granted by bankers generally throughout the country. -The Bank of England have nine country branches, which keep separate -accounts for the Issue and Banking departments, and the particulars of -each day’s transactions, together with the balance sheets, are posted -nightly to the Branch Banks Office in London, through which office -all the correspondence and business transactions connected with the -branches are carried on. There is also one branch in London at the -West-End. - -The economy of the Bank of England is controlled by the Governor, the -Deputy-Governor, and twenty-four Directors. The clerical machinery -is divided into the “Cash side” and the “Accountant’s side.” The -former, under the practical charge of the chief cashier, comprises the -transaction of all business where actual cash is concerned, together -with the necessary book-keeping which it involves; the latter, under -the charge of the chief accountant, takes cognizance of all matters -of pure book-keeping where no actual cash is concerned, such as those -which relate to the National Debt accounts, the registration of Bank -notes, and so on. In olden times these divisions were kept much more -distinct than they are at present. There was formerly a certain -antagonism between the two “chiefs” which, however, has long since -disappeared, and they now live together in a state of remarkable -harmony, without even fighting over the question of precedence -which the chief accountant is supposed to claim—mainly, I fancy, on -alphabetical grounds, because A comes before C. The supervision of each -office on both “sides” of the Bank, is intrusted to a principal and -deputy-principal, who are accountable in the first place to the chief -cashier or chief accountant, as the case may be, and afterwards to a -committee of directors. The secretary is a separate officer of the -Bank. He stands midway, as it were, between the two “sides,” having -certain relations with each. He nurses the charter, and sees that its -forms and ceremonies are complied with; he records the proceedings of -the courts, summons and attends all committees, and “picks up their -bits.” He waits upon the governors, and does odd literary jobs, stops -notes, puts the candidates for clerkship through their preliminary -examination, collects income-tax, and grants orders to view the Bank, -&c. His duties, in short, are as multifarious as those of the General -Post Office, and it is satisfactory to think that they are as equally -well performed by the present incumbent and his staff. - -The total number of employés all told in the Bank is about 1,100, and -the salary list, including pensions, is about £300,000 per annum. There -is an excellent library and reading-room in the Bank, to which the -directors have liberally contributed both money and books. There are -also a Widows’ Fund and Guarantee Society, a Life Insurance Company, a -Volunteer Company, and a Club, or dining room, where clerks can dine -cheaply and well, connected with the Bank, which owe very much of their -prosperity to the liberality and kind consideration of the directors. -The governors and directors of the Bank divide between them £14,000 per -annum. Of this the governors receive £1,000 each and the directors -£500 each. Beyond the status which their position gives them, they -derive no benefit from their office, while they tax themselves most -liberally by their contributions towards the welfare of their clerks. -The governor and deputy-governor remain in office for two years only, -and this short tenure of office is, with considerable reason, thought -to be detrimental to the efficient and consistent administration of -the functions of government. The great blot of the system seems to -be the want of continuity of policy which is engendered. A governor, -let us say, is an enlightened financier; for two years his policy -is paramount; but his successor then comes, and perhaps reverses -everything, and the onus of the change, so far as the Bank customers -are concerned, is left to be borne by the permanent officers of the -Bank, who have perhaps never been consulted in the matter, or whose -opinions, based on the experience of many years, may be ruthlessly -ignored. The two years’ system undoubtedly has its advantages in the -constant introduction of new blood, it also strengthens the governors -from above and below the chair. The directors below the chair give the -governor a loyal and hearty support, because they feel that one day -their own turn may come, while those above the chair, having passed -through the ordeal, know the value of their colleagues’ support. But -the result of this is nevertheless the institution of a sort of -one-man power, which is well enough when there is a Hubbard, Hodgson, -or Crawford in the chair, or if there is a Baring, Hambro, Rothschild, -or Goschen to follow, but which may have its disadvantages. - -I have thus traced the rise, sketched the progress, and dwelt briefly -on the present position of the Bank of England. In spite of the gradual -abolition of their monopoly, in spite of the curtailment of their -exclusive privileges, and in spite of all consequent competition, the -“governor and company” have never failed to lead the van of the banking -progress of the kingdom, and to maintain their proud position as the -first banking institution in the world. Bill-brokers may occasionally -grumble at the late revival of an old rule restricting the periods -of advances to six weeks before dividend time, and customers may -occasionally smile or fume at the traces of red-tapeism which still -linger in the establishment; but no one can look back, as I do, over -a period of forty years, without fully appreciating the value of the -important and beneficial changes and improvements which have lately -been effected in every department of the Bank for the purpose of -facilitating the transaction of business and studying the convenience -of the public, or without feeling an increased veneration and respect -for “the old lady in Threadneedle Street.”—_Fortnightly Review._ - - - - -EXPLORATION IN A NEW DIRECTION. - - -One great temptation to the exploration of the world is rapidly -passing away. There is little to be found that will gratify the love -of the marvellous. Of an absolutely new land there is now no lingering -hope. We know enough of the ocean to be sure that there exists no -undiscovered continent, no unsuspected peninsula—unless it be in the -Antarctic circle—and no island large enough to be either of value or -of interest. It is not, it is true, many years since Saghalien, which -was supposed to be a peninsula, was discovered to be an island; a new -island near Spitzbergen was found the other day; and there may be an -unnamed islet or two in the North Pacific still awaiting visitors; or a -rock in the Indian Ocean, as forgotten by all mankind as that strange -British dependency, the Chagos group—a series of hill-tops just peering -above the water—is by nearly all Englishmen; but such discoveries can -only be classed as rectifications of detail in geography. They neither -arouse imagination nor stimulate enterprise, as the old discoveries -did; nor can there be many more of them. The coasts of the world and -its oceans have been surveyed by the persistent energy of half-a-dozen -Governments, who have gone on with their work unnoticed for more -than a century; and the water-system of the little planet has been -thoroughly explored. The survey of the land is less complete; but it is -advancing, as the Scotchman said of Sunday, “with fearful regularity.” -What with England, Germany, France, Portugal, the African Association, -Mr. Thomson, Mr. Johnston, and the merchants hunting for bargains, we -shall soon be in possession of a perfect map of Africa; and are already -tolerably certain that no unknown race exists, and that there is no -considerable space in which we are likely to find either new animals, -or a new flora of any but scientific importance. The kind of delight -which woke among men when the first giraffe was caught, or the first -kangaroo was exactly sketched, is not, we fear, a delight reserved -for this generation. There is just a faint hope of such a “find” when -we get fairly inside New Guinea; but it is only faint. There may be a -buried city somewhere in the back of Peru, as interesting as the ruined -city in Cambodia, and Yucatan might repay much more patient searching -than it has received; while there are spaces in Thibet unknown to white -men, and a province or two outside Afghanistan which even Russians have -not visited. Indeed, if rumor does not lie, they discovered a village -a few weeks ago which no official had seen for eighty years, and where -the people were entirely self-governing; but the story looks a little -mythical, and the people thus discovered were still only Russians. -Brazil has not been thoroughly searched, but knowledge of its contents -accumulates at Rio, and its less-visited provinces are known to be -almost blank; and now Mr. im Thurn, with his patient courage, jumping -upwards from rock to rock and tree to tree, has revealed the mystery of -Roraima, the secret mountain-top in Guiana which a correspondent of our -own first set the world agog to discover. It is a plateau, twelve miles -by four, entirely bare of trees, with no animals upon its surface, -which is full of small lakes, and with nothing to repay the explorer -except the consciousness of victory, a magnificent prospect, and a few -orchids which fashionable gardeners will hardly prize. There is no clan -living up there isolated from mankind for a few thousand years; and -the wonderful animals of which the Indians talked, and which should, if -the fear of man is not instinctive, but only a result of centuries of -distrust, have trotted up to Mr. im Thurn saying, “Come, sketch me,” -existed only in the wild imaginations of men who honestly believe that -all dreams are real, and who cannot completely dissociate their own -thoughts from the subjects of their thoughts—the possible explanation -of many a rare old legend. So disappears one more though remote hope -of scientific excitement. There are not many Roraimas in the world; -and when some bold gold-seeker has traversed Eastern Peru, and some -adventurous Frenchman, with muskets for sale, has forced his way up -among the Shans behind Laos, and the African land-grabbers have met, as -they will meet, and the first Australian has killed the first German in -the centre of New Guinea, there will be little left for the explorer, -who now shakes his head over the wonderful dream we heard a missionary -recount thirty-five years ago,—that in the depths of Australia we -might yet discover a buried town, and evidences of a civilisation -which had rotted-down till its survivor was only an aborigine who had -forgotten fire. How that discovery would delight the Duke of Argyll, -giving him the victory in his life-long defence of the possibility of -utter degeneracy! But we fear that the pleasure—which, as hard-headed -thinker, he well deserves—is not reserved for him. - - * * * * * - -We fancy exploration, to become again thoroughly interesting, must be -directed towards things, rather than places; the whole world being -searched for things of value, and especially new dyes, new fibres, and -new foods. We have always thought that there was nearly as much to -interest men in Mr. Fortune’s hunt of years for the green indigo—which -undoubtedly exists, though he failed to find it—as in any exploration -of a new island. The delight of the American who has just discovered -a cotton-plant six times as fruitful as the old variety, must be very -keen, and not altogether tainted by the reflection—though that is -unavoidable—that in such a plant there must be dollars. Just imagine -what that man would do for mankind who found a new and vigorous -potato, different from the plant which now grows in Ireland, and which -is, according to a writer in the _Cornhill_, being propagated by -cuttings, which is a single undivided plant, liable to inherit, through -all its millions of apparently separate existences, the weaknesses of -the original tuber, and liable also to exhaustion, as of old age. It -has no children; only a power, so to speak, of having bits of its flesh -cut off and planted. It is never renewed from seeds, and so, by all -the analogies of Nature, will perish; though the banana, which also -is never renewed—and, indeed, in one variety, has become seedless—has -lasted ages. It is quite possible that there are only two bananas in -the world. Or imagine a new and successful cereal,—a real one in the -true silica armor, with a head twice as heavy, and grains twice as -nutritious, as those of wheat. Why should wheat be the final source -of bread? Man got saccharine matter from all sorts of things—grapes, -honey, and fruits—from the earliest times; but he was old in the world, -and had passed through many civilisations, before he discovered the -cane and crushed the beet, and so got his present boundless store -of sugar. A cereal as fruitful as wheat and as hardy as rye would -change the face of Northern Europe; while one which could flourish on -exhausted soil or in a damp climate, might affect the distribution of -mankind. The direct gain of mankind from such a discovery might be -counted by hundreds of millions; and we know of no law of Nature which -should prevent it, and of no guarantee that the cultivating races have -exhausted search. They most of them, in the early ages, when they -longed for substitutes for fish, and meat, and berries, must have -clutched the first edible grass they could find without much hunting -for better. Farmers will smile, but there may be grains they never -saw. Mincing Lane thinks it knows all about tea, and, no doubt, does -know a good deal; but Mr. Alexander Hosie, of the Chinese Consular -service, has eaten and drank a tea which needs no sugar. At least, in -the fascinating Report which he has presented to Sir H. Parkes, and -which has just been published by Parliament to teach travellers how to -observe, while recording the result of his hunt after white tree-wax, -he says:—“I come now to the last class of tea, the discovery of Mr. -Baber. If my memory is not at fault, he was regaled by a priest on -Mount Olmei with tea possessing both the flavor of milk and sugar. It -may have been in the very temple on the mountain-side in which I am -now writing that Mr. Baber was agreeably surprised. At anyrate, I am -sipping an infusion which is without doubt sweet, and which is declared -by the priest to be brewed from a naturally-prepared tea-leaf. It is -a large dark-brown leaf, and is very sweet when chewed. The people at -the bottom of the mountain, whom I first questioned regarding this tea, -asserted that the leaves were sweet because they were first steeped -in molasses; but the balance of evidence, as I have since found from -extensive inquiry, is against any such artificial preparation. The tree -is said to grow in only one gorge in the mountain, whence the leaves -are brought for sale.” What will Mincing Lane give for a shipload -of that tea, the very existence of which, till drunk and eaten, the -dealers would have regarded as a solemn joke? Men are wise about -silk-culture in Italy and Southern France; but they do not know, as -the Chinese told Mr. Hosie, that the mulberry-leaf is too strong food -for baby-silkworms, and that the wretched little insect, if you want -plenty of silk, should be fed-up in earliest infancy on the leaves of -a silkworm thorn-tree, fifteen feet high, unknown to Europeans, though -Mr. Hosie found it everywhere in Szechuen, growing by the road-sides, -and as hardy as the thorns, of which it is a variety, usually are. -How much difference in annual cash-earnings would the importation of -that thorn make in Lombardy? Why should not the Governments, which -so steadily map-out the seas, even combining to do it, institute a -patient and exhaustive search for new grasses able to produce flour, -and new vegetables fit for eating? They might not produce many Mr. -Hosies, who, if the Members of Parliament read his Report, will very -soon find himself as well-known in London as any popular author; but -they also might. The men like Mr. Fortune and Mr. Hosie, the men -whose observation nothing escapes, are not rare among botanists, and -would need but little encouragement to carry on for years a persistent -inquiry which, if carefully limited to defined objects, would almost -certainly produce some considerable result. The work, it will be said, -is one for Societies; but it seems a pity to waste the great resource -which Governments possess in the wide distribution of their agencies, -and in their power of carrying-on their inquiries without reference -to time. There will be a Legation at Pekin and Lima, and Jeddo, and -Teheran, a hundred years hence; and one official inquirer who records -everything, and is replaced when he departs, and is always protected -and treated with civility, can, in that space of time, accumulate -much knowledge, and will cost but little money. It is organised and -protracted inquiry, not a mere spasmodic effort, that we want to see, -and that will benefit mankind. Let the Societies hunt for their rare -orchids, and plants with lovely blooms, and all manner of scientific -novelties, and let the Governments promote the search for prosaic -things which the ordinary inquirer will neglect. We shall find no -new edible animal, we fear, unless it be some variety of goat which -can be bred into fatness, and made to yield sweet meat—kid properly -cooked, that is, roasted to death, is better than most mutton—but a new -cereal is clearly a possibility, and might be worth all the botanical -discoveries made since the settlers in Virginia sent home the potato. -The late Mr. Bagehot, who was always dropping witty wisdom, used to -say that the wildest speculator he ever heard of was the first man who -dropped grain into the earth and waited till it grew up, and to regret -that his name, like that of the discoverer of fire, and of the first -man who mastered a horse, was for ever lost. We think we may venture to -say that the name of the man who next discovers a cereal of true value -will not be.—_The Spectator._ - - - - -A RUSSIAN PHILOSOPHER ON ENGLISH POLITICS. - - -About five-and-twenty years ago, I happened to be engaged in the -service of my country in a distant part of the world. The duties -which devolved upon me threw me into a daily contact with a Russian -officer similarly employed. Notwithstanding the conflicting interests -which we severally represented, and the somewhat delicate and often -strained relations resulting therefrom, we had not been long in each -other’s society without becoming sensible of a personal sympathy too -powerful to be resisted, and which soon ripened into an intimacy which -lasted for many years; indeed we were thrown so exclusively upon our -own resources, deprived as we were of all other society, that we must -probably soon either have become bitter enemies or fast friends. A -certain similarity of taste, I had almost said of aspiration, forced -upon us the latter alternative; and it was probably due to this that -we were enabled to bring the special duties upon which we were engaged -to a successful conclusion, whereby we earned the approval of our -respective Governments,—represented in his case by a decoration, and -in mine by a curt complimentary despatch; for in those days C.B.’s and -C.M.G.’s were not flung about with the lavish profusion which has since -so largely depreciated their value. It was a relief, when the labors -of the day were over—which had taxed all our powers of ingenuity and -forbearance, and we had fatigued our brains by inventing compromises -and devising solutions which should satisfy the susceptibilities of -our respective Governments—to jump on our horses and take a sharp -dash across country, just by way of clearing our brains of diplomatic -cobwebs. Generally we played at follow-my-leader, and we took it in -turns to be leader; for we were both young, and had, in fact, been -weighted with responsibilities beyond our years, which made us rush -into a reaction that consisted in an active endeavor to break our necks -every afternoon with all the keener zest,—to the intense astonishment -of the natives of the uncivilised region to which we had been -temporarily banished. Then, as we jogged slowly home, we would fall -into those discussions, on social, religious, psychological, and moral -problems, by which our souls were vexed, which lasted through dinner, -and often far into the night. I found in my companion an earnestness, -depth, and originality of sentiment which were most remarkable in one -so young, the more especially as I had not supposed that his training -and early associations had been of a character to develop that side -of his nature; possibly the very restraints to which he had been -subjected had stimulated his instincts for independent thought and -speculation. Knowing English, French, and German almost as well as -his mother-tongue, he had read extensively and greedily in all three -languages; and, owing to certain family circumstances, he had spent -the most part of his life away from his native land, applying himself, -with an acuteness and a faculty of observation extraordinary in one so -young, to a study of the political institutions, social conditions, -and national characteristics of the different European countries in -which he had lived. So precocious did his intelligence appear to me -in this respect, that I soon came to consider myself in some degree a -sort of disciple; and I have always been conscious that his influence -during the nine months that we were together affected my own subsequent -views of life, and indeed to some extent moulded my future. In the -course of these discussions he unburdened himself to me on all subjects -as fully as he would have done to a brother—indeed, considering who -his brother was, far more freely; and did not shrink from commenting -upon the social and political condition of his own country, and from -giving vent to opinions which would probably have consigned him to -the mines of Siberia for life had he been known to entertain them. -The confidence which he thus displayed towards me only served to bind -us more closely together, though I was ever haunted by the fear that -the day might come when he might misplace it, with consequences which -might be fatal to himself. As he was absolutely devoid of all personal -ambition, this would be of little moment, if it only resulted in the -abrupt termination of his career, which, from his natural independence -of character, I anticipated could not long be postponed. It occurred -even sooner than I expected. Within six months of my parting from him, -I received a letter in which he told me he had fallen into disgrace, -and was going to live in Italy. The exigencies of my own service -had taken me to a very different part of the world; but we kept up, -nevertheless, an active correspondence for some years, during which -he occasionally sent me notes of a book he was writing, in letters -which continued to exhibit more and more the results of his extensive -reading and profound faculty of observation, philosophic speculation -and generalisation. Suddenly, about fifteen years ago, and without a -word of warning, these ceased. All my letters remained unanswered; and -when, some time afterwards, I found myself in Rome, and inquired at the -address to which I had sent them, it was only to learn that the present -proprietors of the house were comparatively new people, and had never -heard of him. Meantime I had myself retired from the service, and being -of a wandering and unsettled disposition, had only returned to my own -country for a few months at a time. I had lived too long in summer -climes, and under less conventional restraints, to be happy in it; but -one of my constant regrets was that I had never thought of providing -my Russian friend with a permanent address, so that in case of his -ever being able or willing to communicate with me again, he might know -where to find me. Meanwhile I could only account for his silence by -the painful supposition that he had in some manner incurred the severe -displeasure of his Government, and was languishing in that distant -semi-arctic region which is hermetically sealed to all communication -with the outside world. - -My delight may easily be imagined, therefore, when scarce two -months ago, chancing to be a passenger on board a steamer in the -Mediterranean, I found myself seated the first day at dinner next to -a man, the tones of whose voice I thought I recognised, though I was -for a moment puzzled by the alteration in his general appearance, -and who turned out to be my long-lost friend, upon whom, as I looked -at the furrows on his countenance, I saw that something more than -time—though it had extended over twenty-five years—had worked a change. -This same interval had, doubtless, done something for me; so we both -looked at each other for a moment in hesitation before permitting -the joy of mutual recognition to burst forth. We soon found, on -comparing notes, that we had been longing to find each other, and -that nothing now prevented our pitching our tent together on the -sunny Mediterranean shore, in the hope and belief that we should find -that the companionship which had suited us so well twenty-five years -previously, would only be rendered more full of interest and profit -by the experiences which we had undergone since that period; nor had -we conversed an hour before we became convinced that, however much we -might have changed in outward appearance, our affection for each other, -and our human sympathies generally, had undergone no alteration. It -is therefore in a villa surrounded by orange-groves, with terraces -overlooking the sea, built curiously into the fissures of impending -rock, that I am writing this; or, to be more strictly accurate, I -should say it is in a summer-house attached to the villa, fifty feet -beneath which the sea is rippling in ceaseless murmur, while my friend, -stretched on a Persian rug in the shade formed by the angle of the wall -with the overhanging rock, here covered with a creeping jasmine, heavy -with blossom, is watching the smoke of his cigarette, and listening -while I read to him passages here and there of the notes which I had -taken of our last night’s conversation. It had been suggested by the -arrival of letters and newspapers from England, and it occurred to me -that the remarks of my friend as a calm and unprejudiced observer upon -the present political, social, and moral condition of my own country, -possessed a value which justified me in asking his permission to be -allowed to publish them, the more so as he had just returned from -spending some months in London; and he was of far too liberal and -philosophical a temperament and cosmopolitan training and sympathy -to be influenced by national prejudice; while, had he ever been once -biassed by it, the treatment he had undergone at the hands of his own -Government would have long since effectually removed it. - -“I will introduce you to the public by telling the story of our -previous acquaintance, just as it occurred,” I observed. This the -reader will remark that I have already done; but I did not read my -introduction to my friend, as I knew he would have raised strong -objections to the complimentary passages. “Now tell me what I am to -call you?” - -“Ivan is safe, simple, and not far from the truth, unless you prefer -a pair of initials like my well-known countrywoman O. K. It has -amused me to observe,” he added, with a smile, “as I have watched the -performances, social, literary, and political, how much more easy it -is for a woman to understand the genius of a man than the genius of a -nation.” - -“Perhaps that is because the nation is composed of women as well as of -men,”I replied. - -“After all, it comes to pretty much the same thing,” said Ivan; -“for the genius that he understood well enough to beguile, seems to -apprehend equally well the genius of the nation he governs, or he could -not have beguiled it in the sense she desired. The whole incident -serves to illustrate the mystery of woman’s true sphere of influence, -so little understood by the women themselves who agitate for their -rights.” - -“I am not disposed to admit,”I answered, “that the incident in -question proves your case; for I know none of your own countrymen, to -say nothing of the women, who understand the genius of the English -people, for to do so implies an apprehension of the genius of their -institutions, and it is the incapacity of foreigners generally to -appreciate these which causes them to regard our domestic policy in the -light of an unfathomable mystery which it is hopeless to attempt to -penetrate, and our foreign policy as a delusion and a snare.” - -“When your Government gets into difficulties,”said Ivan, “it certainly -goes to work to get out of them in a way exactly the opposite to -that which other European Governments, and especially we in Russia, -are in the habit of pursuing. Foreign policy is with us the great -safety-valve by which the bubbling passions of the country find a -vent, and our central authority takes refuge from its troubles in -foreign wars and schemes of territorial aggrandisement; your Government -pursues a diametrically opposite system, and considers, apparently, -that its best chance of safety lies in stirring up domestic broils, -and exciting the people to fever-heat of political passion among -themselves. In other words, while our statesmen believe that they can -best secure their own positions and avert the perils arising from -mis-government by distracting public attention from internal affairs -and rushing into dangers abroad, yours hope to escape the consequences -of their blunders abroad by promoting revolutionary tendencies at -home. It would be curious to analyse the causes which have resulted -in such opposite political methods, the more especially as both, in -their different ways, are equally prejudicial to the highest national -interests, and, from a philosophical point of view, would furnish a -most interesting political and sociological study. As it is, my own -country produces upon me the effect of a dashing young woman, still -intoxicated with her youthful conquests and greedy for more, while she -refuses to admit that a gnawing disease is preying upon her vitals, -still less to apply any remedies to it; in yours, on the other hand, I -seem to see an old woman in her dotage, who makes blatant and canting -profession of that virtue which her age and feebleness have imposed -upon her as a necessity, while she paints, and rouges, and pampers -herself with luxury, and fritters away the little strength and energy -she still possesses in absorbing herself with domestic details and the -quarrels of her servants, and leaves her vast estates to take care -of themselves. Considering the dangers with which both countries are -menaced, the great difference which I observed between the Governments -of the two countries is, that in one, government takes the form of -active insanity—in the other, of drivelling imbecility. After all, -there is always more hope for a young lunatic than an old idiot. We may -pull through all right yet, but we shall have a very rough time to pass -through first.” - -“And you think that we are too far gone ever to do so,”I remarked, -rather discouraged by the gloomy view he took of the present condition -and future prospects of my native country.” - -“I don’t altogether say that. It is not with countries as with -individuals; the latter always pass from their second childhood into -their graves. But for nations, who can say that there is not reserved a -second youth? though history does not record an instance of any nation -having ever attained to it. The process is probably a slow one; but in -these days of rapid development, to say nothing of evolution, we cannot -be sure even of that.” - -“Still,”I pursued, a little nettled at the severity of his judgment in -regard to my own country,—I did not care what he said about Russia, -of which I was in no position to judge,—“I should like to know upon -what grounds you base your opinion that England is an old idiot. The -expression, I think, is scarcely parliamentary.” - -“In using the term to which you object,” said Ivan,—“which, after -reading the language recently used in debate in your House of Commons, -I maintain is strictly parliamentary,—I was not so much alluding -to England as to its Government; and I will endeavor to explain to -you the reasons which lead me to think that the expression is not -misapplied. There are at the present day, including the population -of the United States, between eighty and ninety millions of people -who owe their origin to the British Isles; who speak the English -language as their mother-tongue; who possess in a more or less degree -the national characteristics of the race from which they have sprung; -who exercise an influence over a greater area of the surface of the -earth than that of any other race upon it; who directly control over -250 millions of people not of their own race, and indirectly control -many millions more; whose commercial relations are more extensive than -those of all the other nations of the world put together; whose wealth -is unrivalled; whose political institutions have hitherto served as -a model, as they have been the envy of less favored peoples; and who -may be said, without fear of contradiction, to lead the van of the -world’s civilisation. It is difficult, when we spread a map out before -us, to realise that so small a dot as Great Britain appears upon it, -should have given birth to these stupendous forces; and one is led to -examine into the processes by which so marvellous a position has been -achieved in the world’s history as that which these small islands must -occupy, even though that position seems now about to be destroyed by -what appears to an outsider to be a combination of national decrepitude -and administrative impotence,—for it is only when a nation has itself -lost its vigor, that it tolerates imbecility on the part of its rulers. -The greatness of England has been built up, not on the conquests -of its neighbors, or of nations equally civilised with itself, as -we have seen occur in the cases of other great empires, but in the -comparatively easy subjugation of barbarous peoples; in the occupation -and colonisation of countries sparingly inhabited by savage races; in -the material development of vast tracts of the earth’s surface; in the -creation of new markets, of new sources alike of supply and of demand; -and in the energetic and profitable employment of capital in all the -regions of the earth. This was possible, and possible only because -her adventurous sons who went forth into wild and distant regions to -occupy, to develop, and to create, always felt that they had behind -them a motherland whose proud boast it was that she ruled the waves, -and a nation and Government so thoroughly animated by their own daring -and adventurous spirit, that they knew that none were too humble or -insignificant to be watched over and protected; nay, more, they were -encouraged in hardy enterprises, and often assisted to carry them out. - -“During the last two or three years, the circumstances of my life, -into which it is not necessary for me now to enter, have forced me -not merely to circumnavigate the globe, but especially to visit those -British possessions, and those seaboards of lands still relative -if barbarous, upon which your countrymen are so thickly dotted as -merchants or settlers, and where British subjects of foreign race -abound, who carry on their avocations under that British protection -which used to be a reality, but is now only a name. Familiar as I -have been with Englishmen from my youth, I found a spirit of bitter -discontent rife, which, even among your grumbling race, was altogether -a new feature in their conversation, especially with a foreigner. Many -were making arrangements to close up their business and abandon the -commerce in which they were engaged; some, and this was especially the -case among the British subjects of foreign race, were taking steps -to change their nationality. In some of the colonies the language -held sounded to my Russian ears little short of high treason; while -I often heard Englishmen in the society of foreigners say that they -were ashamed to call themselves Englishmen—a sentiment which I do not -remember ever having heard one of your countrymen give vent to in my -youth. - -“I only mention these as illustrations of the fact which was forcibly -impressed upon me during my travels, that the influence of England -was waning, not in Europe, where it _has_ waned, but where it might -be recovered by a vigorous stroke of policy,—but in Asia, Africa, and -America—in those continents from which she derives her position and her -wealth. The waning of British influence in Europe means, comparatively, -nothing, so far as British commerce is concerned. The waning of that -influence in the three other continents means national decay. It has -not been by her great wars, her European campaigns, that England has -achieved greatness, but by her little ones in those distant countries -which your Government seems ready to retire from, bag and baggage, at -the first word of a new-comer; and yet one would suppose that nothing -could be clearer to a people not in its dotage than this, that if they -do not protect their merchants, the latter will not be able to compete -with those who are protected. If you desire proof of this, look at the -increasing substitution of German for English houses of commerce all -over the world; and if commerce languishes, food becomes dearer for -those very classes who cry out against those little wars which, when -wisely turned to account have proved your best national investments, -and have been the indirect means of giving food and employment to your -starving millions. I see that there is some talk of a committee being -appointed to inquire into the causes of the depression of trade. Those -causes are not very far to seek; or rather, in another sense, they are -very far to seek. You must travel from China to Peru to find them, and -they will stare you in the face. I have been watching, while you are -squabbling over your Franchise and your Redistribution Bills, how your -trade is slipping from you. So you go on fiddling on the two strings of -your electoral fiddle, while Rome is burning. One would have supposed -that England was old enough by this time to have discovered that it -would not improve her voters to give them another shuffle; that she had -experience enough to know that electors were like playing cards, the -more you shuffle them the dirtier they get. With the interests of the -empire at stake, certainly in two if not in three continents, you play -the ostrich, and bury your heads in parish politics—parish politics of -the most pestilent and useless description. - -“Do you want to know why trade languishes? It is summed up in a short -sentence: Want of confidence on the part of the trader; it cramps his -enterprise, damps his ardor, spoils his temper, and crushes all the -manliness out of him. The commercial stability of England was not built -up by a lot of unprotected females, which is the condition the British -merchant abroad is rapidly being reduced to by the neglect and apathy -and indifference to his interests of his Government. He is perfectly -well aware in every port there is a consul, that he is considered a -nuisance by that functionary, who knows that in the degree in which he -prevents his complaints from reaching the department which is supposed -to direct the foreign policy of England, he will be considered capable -and efficient. No longer does he feel himself to be the _Civis Romanus_ -of old days. His sugar plantations may be destroyed in Madagascar, -his commercial interests may be imperilled in China, he may be robbed -and insulted in Turkey; but he is gradually being taught, by bitter -experience, that it is hopeless to look to diplomatic interference -for redress. Meanwhile the British taxpayer continues to pay for that -expensive luxury whose function it is supposed to be to protect those -commercial interests abroad upon which the prosperity and wealth of -Great Britain depends. In like manner the ties between the mother -country and her colonies are weakened by her persistent shrinking from -the responsibilities and obligations which the welfare and security of -those colonies involve. She sacrifices ruthlessly that prestige upon -the maintenance of which the safety, and in some cases the allegiance, -of her subjects depends. She deludes unhappy colonists into making -investments and settlements in half-civilised States upon the faith -of treaties, which she ignominiously shrinks from enforcing at the -first appearance of danger, and calmly leaves her savage allies to be -slaughtered and her colonists to be plundered, as in the case of South -Africa; or she makes transparent display of her timidity and weakness, -as has been conspicuously the case in her relations with her Australian -possessions; or retreats from the protection of her natural frontiers, -as she has lately done in India. And all this is in pursuance of a -theory of political economy incomprehensible to the unprejudiced -observer like myself, that it is cheaper and more advantageous to -the national prosperity to sacrifice the commercial interests of the -country than to incur the risks and expense of protecting them. The -only explanation one can give of an infatuation so incredible, of a -policy so short-sighted and so fraught with disaster, is, that it is -based on ignorance—ignorance of the present injury that it is working, -and ignorance of the dangers to which it is giving birth. There can be -no surer way of precipitating the crisis which England seeks to avoid, -and which, when it comes, must involve the utter ruin of her trade, -than the invitation which her craven attitude offers to her covetous -and unscrupulous neighbors, whether they be civilised or uncivilised, -to encroach to their own profit, until at last the veil which is now -before the eyes of the public in England will be torn away, and they -will find themselves suddenly called upon to abandon the parochial -details over which they have been wrangling, for sterner work. It will -be too late then to regret the penny-wise and pound-foolish policy -which plunged them into the mess: the only question they will have to -consider is, whether it is not too late to get out of it.” - -“I am a good deal surprised,”I remarked, after having listened to -the unflattering utterances of my friend with some dissatisfaction, -“that you entirely ignore all other considerations than those of mere -policy and expediency. Granting, as you say, that the present policy of -England imperils its commercial ascendency, are no other considerations -to be allowed to guide the policy of a nation than those connected -with its pocket? Have we no moral duties to perform, no example to -set, no principles to maintain? Or are we ever to remain a nation -of shopkeepers, fighting unscrupulously for markets; grabbing the -territory of savages, under the pretext of civilising them, which is -usually accomplished by the process of extermination; and jostling all -other comers out of the markets of the world by fair means or foul? -Because these means served us some centuries ago, and because, if you -will, our national greatness is built upon them, does it follow that -we should cling to them in these more enlightened days? If the moral -instinct of the people of England begins to revolt against them, even -to the prejudice of the national purse, do our money-bags constitute -a sufficient reason why we should remain in the Cimmerian darkness -and brutality of the middle ages? Of all men you were the last whom I -expected to hear confound moral progress with political imbecility.” - -“Nay,”returned Ivan, “I should be the first to congratulate you on a -policy of moral progress, if, in that pursued at present by England, -I could discover it. What moral progress is there in a policy which -has resulted in the slaughter of thousands of unhappy Arabs in Egypt -and the Eastern Soudan? Where does moral progress show itself in the -expedition which has worked its weary way into the heart of Africa, to -fight against the naked savages there? Where is the moral progress of -a policy which has necessitated another military expedition to South -Africa, and new annexations of territory there? What moral progress -have you achieved in Turkey, where you are bound by treaty to institute -reforms in that part of the empire over which you are supposed by the -same treaty to exercise a protectorate, the very existence of which, -under the policy of moral progress, it has been found convenient to -ignore, because it involves responsibilities towards an oppressed and -suffering people, whose oppression and whose sufferings it would now be -expensive and troublesome to recognise, though political capital enough -is made out of them when the exigencies of your local party warfare -demand it? The question is, in what does real moral progress consist? -Certainly not in the blatant profession of moral platitudes—the -abstract truth of which everybody recognizes—when they are accompanied -by a practice which gives them the lie direct. There can be nothing -more demoralising to the moral welfare of a nation than a policy which -is in flagrant contradiction to its lofty moral pretensions. Not only -does it degrade the national conscience, but it renders that conscience -an object of derision and contempt among foreign nations. To be logical -and consistent, the politician ‘who is in trouble about his soul’ must -follow one of two courses,—either he must recognise the fact that -national egotism, like individual egotism, is a vice which admits of no -compromise, and that the duty of his country is to love other countries -better than itself; that the love of money, and therefore the making -of it, is the root of all evil; that when the nation is metaphorically -asked for its cloak, it should give its coat also—and when smitten on -one cheek, should turn the other to the smiter;—when he is reluctantly -convinced that, however desirable this higher law might be, and however -indisputable its morality, it is, under the existing conditions of -humanity, impracticable, then he has no alternative but to base the -national policy upon the exactly opposite principle, which is that -which governs the policy of all other nations, and assume that his duty -consists in protecting the interests of his own country against those -of rival countries, which are all engaged in an incessant competitive -warfare against each other; and he will find, by experience, that any -attempt to compromise with the opposite or altruistic principle will -inevitably lead to disaster, for it will involve that hesitation and -weakness in the conduct of affairs which will encourage those rivals -to overt acts of offence and encroachment that must ultimately lead to -bloody wars in defence of those national interests which a policy of -vacillation and of moral inconsistency will have imperilled. Sooner or -later, it is certain that the force of events will rip off the thin -veneering of cant which had served to delude the ignorant masses, and -to conceal either the stupidity or the insincerity of its professors. I -say stupidity, for there can be little doubt that among those who guide -the destinies of the nation are many who honestly share the belief with -the public they help to mislead, that to shrink from responsibilities, -to temporise in the face of danger, to make sacrifices and concessions -in order to conciliate, will avert catastrophes instead of -precipitating them; while there are others to whose common-sense it -would be an insult to make any such assumption.” - -“But these others,”I observed, “may, without any insult to their -common-sense, be supposed to entertain the opinion that the possessions -of the British empire are sufficiently extended and difficult to -protect, to render any further annexation of territory, or acquisition -of responsibility, undesirable.” - -“Doubtless; and in this I agree with them. Indeed, the incapacity -they have shown to protect what they have got, is the best reason -they could assign for being unwilling to have more; but it does not -touch the question of the principle upon which England’s policy should -be based in her dealings with foreign nations, and with her own -colonial possessions; in other words, what are the most economical -and at the same time the most moral methods of self-preservation? I -put economy before morality, because, whatever may be the professions -of Governments in practice, as a consideration, it always precedes -it. If bloodguiltiness was not always attended with so much expense, -people’s consciences would be far less sensitive on the subject. Hence -it happens that highly moral financiers are apt to regard things as -wicked in the degree in which they are costly, while they are too -short-sighted as statesmen to perceive that a prompt expenditure is -often the best way of saving a far heavier amount, which must be -the result of the delay—or, in homely phraseology, that a stitch in -time saves nine. The most economical and the most moral method of -self-preservation, then, will be found in consolidating, protecting, -and extending the commercial position and moral influence of the great -English-speaking people in all quarters of the globe. At this moment, -though surrounded by enemies who envy and hate her, there is no country -more safe from attack than Germany, because she is governed by a -statesman who never shirks responsibility, cowers before danger, or, -in moments of difficulty, takes refuge in compromise or concession. -It is not England, with her horror of war, that has, during the last -decade, been the Power which has prevented a European war, otherwise -inevitable, from breaking forth; the statesman to whom the peace of -Europe has been due, upon whom that peace now depends, and who is -therefore doing the most for the moral progress of Europe, is exactly -that statesman who never indulges in moral platitudes, and whom his -worst enemy cannot accuse of hypocrisy. No one will pretend that peace -is not more conducive to economy and moral progress than war; but to -secure it, a great military position and a great national prestige -are alike indispensable. England has, or should have, the first naval -position in the world, and, until lately, her national prestige was -second to none. These advantages confer on her great responsibilities; -to part with them is to diminish her powers of usefulness in the -world, and her mission of civilising it. As the champion of civil and -religious liberty, she owes a duty to humanity, which it would be a -crime alike in the eyes of God and man for her to relinquish, even -though it may cost blood and treasure to maintain it,—for the amount -expended to maintain it would be as nothing compared to the sacrifices -of both life and money which the abandonment of this duty would entail -upon the world. I speak feelingly, for I cannot conceive a greater -disaster befall the human race, than to see the place of England -usurped by the nation of which I have the honor of being a humble -member,”here Ivan smiled bitterly. “So absorbed are you in your own -vestry quarrels, that you either forget or are ignorant of the place -you occupy in the regard of millions, who see in England the apostle -of free thought, free speech, free institutions. Your standard, which -we look up to as the flag of liberty, and which should be nailed to -the mast, we watch you with dismay lowering to every piratical craft, -while the crew are fighting about a distribution of provisions, and the -pilot seems to prefer running his ship on the rocks to boldly facing -the enemy’s cruisers. Nothing strikes us members of the oppressed and -suppressed races as more anomalous and incomprehensible, than the -fact that the party in England which are most ready to compromise the -honor of that flag, and to haul it down on the least provocation, are -precisely that party who are most loud-tongued in their profession -of sympathy for those races to whom it is the banner on which their -hopes are fixed—the symbol in their eyes of progress, civilisation, -and political freedom. Hence it is that all those among us who are -not absolute anarchists, find ourselves unconsciously withdrawing our -sympathies from that political party in your country, who, while they -style themselves the party of progress and of advanced thought, are in -reality compromising the cause which I feel sure they honestly cherish -and believe in, by destroying the prestige and lowering the influence -of the one European Power which is its great representative—and, to our -own great wonderment, are beginning rather to pin our hopes for the -future upon those whom we have hitherto considered reactionary, because -they called themselves Conservative and aristocratic, but who, in this -crisis of the fortunes of their country, resist a policy calculated to -impair its supremacy. Thus, on a higher principle than that appealed to -by the political moralists who direct the helm of State, may the best -interests of morality be reconciled with those of their own country; -for it is by maintaining the supremacy of England that the principle -which is identified with her institutions, her traditions, and the -aspirations of her people, can be best secured in the interests of -that universal society of which she forms part, and towards which she -undoubtedly has moral obligations and responsibilities. The party -which seeks to evade them, whether upon specious theories started by -_doctrinaires_ ignorant of international conditions, or upon penny-wise -and pound-foolish grounds of economy, are in reality the party of -reaction; for they are the best allies of reactionists, and are playing -into their hands, as no people have better reason for knowing than the -Russians, who have observed with dismay the sympathy of your Prime -Minister with ‘the divine figure of the North,’ as he has styled our -ruler, and his methods of government; while from our point of view, the -party of progress in England, let them call themselves Conservative -if they so please, are those who, true to the grand traditions of the -country, are determined to keep it in the van of freedom, not merely -because its wealth and prosperity are due to that absolute civil and -political liberty which imposed no check upon individual enterprise or -achievement, but because with the preservation of its greatness are -bound up the most cherished interests of the human race.” - -“Come, Ivan,”I said, laughing, “you have wound up with a peroration as -much too flattering to my country as you were too uncomplimentary at -the start. For an ‘old idiot,’ you have ended by giving her a pretty -good character.” - -“Not at all,”he rejoined; “I ended by describing her splendid position -and advantages. I called her an old idiot for either being unconscious -of them, or throwing them away consciously. And I ventured to add a -word of encouragement to those who are struggling to prevent these -being thrown away, and to assure them that, in their resistance to the -short-sighted and fatuous policy of their present rulers, they have -the cordial sympathy of philosophic Liberals like myself (I am not -now speaking of Socialists and Nihilists, whose lands are against all -parties) all over Europe. One of your own most eminent philosophers, -himself a Liberal, has recently written a book, in which he has shown -the danger by which the true principle of liberty is threatened from -the reactionary tendencies of the democratic autocracy. I merely wish -to assure you that we in Europe are fully alive to this danger, and -dread as much the despotism which springs from the divine right of -mobs, as from that of kings. There is to my mind as little of God in -the _vox populi_ as in an Imperial ukase; and our only safety between -these two extremes, which I should rather be disposed to call infernal -than divine, lies in the common-sense, patriotism, and virtue of those -statesmen, politicians, and lawyers who, holding a middle course -between them, as being both equally dangerous to the principles of -true liberty, endeavor not merely to preserve the institutions of -that country which is the home of liberty, but, by maintaining its -supremacy, enable it to resist attacks from whatever quarter.” - -“I have lived too much out of England for the greater part of my -life,”I remarked, “to be much of a party man; still, from early -and family association, my sympathies rather incline towards that -party which now control its policy, though I admit they have shown -but indifferent foresight, skill, or judgment in grappling with the -difficulties which they had to confront. Still it is only fair to -them to remember that these were left them as a heritage by their -predecessors; and that if they have blundered somewhat in the effort to -set matters right—conspicuously in Egypt, for example—it was not they -who set matters wrong in the first instance in that country.” - -“That I entirely deny,”responded Ivan, “as I think I can prove to -you in a very few words. But before doing so, allow me to express my -surprise at your admission that, because you were a Liberal in the -days of Lord Palmerston, who was pre-eminently the representative of -the policy which I have advocated as being that which should animate -a British statesman, your sympathies should extend to those who, -while they wear the old party livery, have entirely departed from -the old party lines. His mantle has indeed fallen upon them, but -they have so completely turned it inside out that it is no longer -recognisable. In the days when a party existed which called itself -‘Liberal-Conservative,’ there was no violent political issues at home -to check the current of a domestic legislation which was ever steadily -progressive; while in foreign affairs the Government of the day, -whether it was Conservative or Liberal, followed the well-established -traditions of British policy abroad, which, if it had incurred the -jealousy of European Powers, at all events commanded their admiration -and respect. The utterly inconsistent and perplexing attitude which -England has now assumed, so entirely at variance with the principles -by which her foreign policy was formerly governed, must of necessity -deprive her of all sympathy abroad, for she has proved herself totally -untrustworthy as an ally—while all true Liberals must deplore the -agitation which has resulted from a domestic legislation that has a -tendency unnecessarily to exacerbate party feeling, and drive people -into violently opposite extremes. Nothing is more fatal to all real -progress than a wild and unreasoning rush in the direction in which it -is supposed to lie, because the inevitable consequence is a reaction -most probably equally unreasoning. Moreover, these violent swings -of the political pendulum must always be attended with the greatest -possible danger. A Conservative triumph which is purchased at the -price of acts of folly, rashness, or weakness, perpetrated by their -opponents, is paid for by the country, and is but a sorry bargain. -It is not under such violently disturbing influences that sound and -healthy Liberal progress is made. And all history proves that the -liberty which is born in convulsions invariably degenerates into a -license which culminates in a tyranny. - -“And now one word in reply to your allusion to the present position of -matters in Egypt, and more especially with regard to that legacy of -disasters which the present Government maintain they have inherited -from the policy of Lord Beaconsfield, and which, with characteristic -weakness, they constantly invoke as an excuse for their own -shortcomings. When the Anglo-French _condominium_ was established -in Egypt—which is regarded as the _fons et origo mali_—an _entente -cordiale_, which was rapidly ripening into an alliance, had been formed -between Germany, Austria, and England, in which, to a certain extent, -Italy was included, and upon which Turkey depended for her existence; -it formed, therefore, a combination of European Powers which controlled -Europe, and was in a position to dictate, especially to Prussia and -France, both weakened as those two Powers were by recent wars, and -by internal dangers and dissensions—both being, moreover, the only -Powers in Europe whose interests clashed with those of England in the -East, and whose policy, therefore, it was the interest of England -narrowly to watch, and, if need be, to control. The faculty for doing -this had been wisely secured to her by the European combination in -which she had entered, above alluded to. Under these circumstances -she had nothing to fear in Egypt from an association with France in -the dual control. Practically it became a single control; for, with -Germany and Austria at her back, England could dictate her own policy -in Egypt, and, in the event of its not suiting her French associate, -could even dare to enforce it without the slightest fear of the peace -of Europe being endangered thereby. Her political supremacy in Egypt -was, in fact, guaranteed to her by Germany and Austria, who had no -reason to regard it with jealousy, while they obtained in return -that commanding position which England’s adhesion to their alliance -secured them in Europe. So far, then, from having succeeded to a -heritage of difficulty, the present Government succeeded to one of -absolute security. But the whole aspect of the political chessboard was -changed when the new player, who took over the game in the middle of -it, removed the piece which gave check to king and queen, and which, -if it was not moved away, rendered final victory a certainty. Lord -Beaconsfield’s policy in Egypt turned upon the Anglo-Germanic-Austrian -Alliance. When, after his fall from office, this was rudely ruptured -by insulting expressions of antipathy to Austria on the part of his -successor, the effect of which, subsequent expressions of apology were -inadequate to efface—by a strongly marked coldness towards Germany, -and a no less marked _rapprochement_ towards France—the latter -Power, relieved from the dread of the European combination, which -had up to that moment held her quiescent in Egypt, jumped up like a -jack-in-the-box, and favored us with that series of intrigues which -gave us Arabi, and the evils that followed in his train. Meantime, -utterly isolated in Europe by that rupture with the most powerful -friends in it, with which the policy of Lord Beaconsfield had provided -you, you found yourselves betrayed and deserted by the ally you had -chosen instead of them; while every concession you made to that ally, -and every attempt at conciliation, only plunged you deeper in the mire, -in which you have since been left to flounder alone, a laughing-stock -and object of derision to all Europe, and more especially to those -Powers who might have proved your salvation, but who have since entered -into other European combinations from which England is excluded, and -which may prove in the highest degree dangerous to her. No assertion, -therefore, can be more utterly false in fact than the statement that -the heritage to which this Government succeeded was one of trouble. -So far from it, the policy of their predecessors had left them in a -position of commanding strength; and to lay the misfortunes which -have since arisen at the door of those who had taken such precautions -that they could never arise, is as though a general who should take -over the command of an army placed strategically in an impregnable -position, should abandon that position altogether, and after being -defeated in the open field, find fault with the nature of the defences -he had abandoned. But,” added Ivan, with a yawn, stretching himself, -looking at his watch, and going to the open window, “you will think -that I have degenerated from the philosophical spectator into the keen -party politician. This I was compelled to be during my recent visit -to London, where you are nothing if you are not partisan. The flavor -of Piccadilly clings to me still: how much more delicious are the -odorous night airs of these southern climes! Look up at those stars, -my old friend, before you go to bed, and thank them that you have been -spared the cares and the ambitions of the Treasury bench.”—_Blackwood’s -Magazine._ - - - - -BLACKSTONE. - -BY G. P. MACDONELL. - -Blackstone has now been dead more than a century, but neither lawyers -nor laymen have yet made up their minds whether he was an intellectual -giant, or only a second-rate man of letters, with a little learning -and a pretty style, who acquired popularity because he flattered the -English constitution. His friends have pitched high their eulogy. -Sir William Jones, speaking to the freeholders of Middlesex, who had -little reason to love Blackstone, called him the pride of England, -and in a grave legal treatise referred to the _Commentaries_ as the -most correct and beautiful outline that ever was exhibited of any -human science. Hargrave, fresh from annotating Coke upon Littleton, -described him as an almost second Hale, and that as it were in the very -presence of Hale, in a volume of tracts half filled with Hale’s legal -lore. “To me,” said Mr. Justice Coleridge, the nephew of the poet, and -one of Blackstone’s many editors, “the _Commentaries_ appear in the -light of a national property, which all should be anxious to improve -to the uttermost, and which no one of proper feeling will meddle with -inconsiderately.” And a distinguished German jurist, exaggerating -only a little, has said that Englishmen regard the _Commentaries_ as -“_ein juristisches Evangelium_.” The history of the work is in itself -remarkable. If we except the Institutes of Justinian, and the _De -Jure Belli ac Pacis_ of Grotius, perhaps no law book has been oftener -printed. Not to speak of the many adaptations, more or less close, -or of the many abridgments of the _Commentaries_ (one of these was -“intended for the use of young persons, and comprised in a series of -letters from a father to his daughter,”) they have, in their original -form, gone through more than twenty complete editions in England since -the publication of the first volume in 1765. Nor has the homage of -parody—in the shape of a “Comic Blackstone”—been wanting to place them -among the classics. In America they have attained at least an equal -fame. In the speech on Conciliation, delivered in 1775, Burke said -that he had heard from an eminent bookseller that nearly as many copies -had been sold there as here. Two years later, one of the five members -appointed to frame the laws of Virginia seriously proposed that, with -suitable modifications, the _Commentaries_ should be taken as their -text. There is reason to believe that they are now held in higher -esteem in America than among ourselves. The American editions, already -nearly as numerous as the English, still continue to multiply,[9] while -forty years have passed since we have had an English Blackstone with -an unmutilated text. His own countrymen are now content to know him -through the medium of condensed and often lifeless versions, though -it is not so far back since, for those who aspired to the amount of -legal knowledge which a gentleman should possess, Blackstone was the -very voice of the law. If on many sides Blackstone received the meed -of excessive praise, his critics, it must be allowed, did not spare -him. They have not been many, but they have spoken so emphatically, -and, within certain limits, so unanswerably, that they have aroused -suspicion whether, after all, Blackstone may not have been a charlatan. -He was naturally regarded with distrust by lawyers of the rigid -school, who felt that legal learning was gone if such primers as the -_Commentaries_ were to displace the venerable Coke. The book was not -many years old before the phrase “Blackstone lawyers” came to be -used as synonymous with smatterers in law. But such criticism had a -professional ring, and perhaps in the end did the assailed author more -good than harm. - - [9] A second edition of Professor Cooley’s _Blackstone_ was published - in Chicago last year. - -If nowadays the name of Blackstone is held in diminished respect, the -fact is mainly due to the contempt poured upon him by Bentham and -Austin. They mercilessly exposed his shallow and confused philosophy. -Bentham, reviewing one by one his opinions on government, maintained -that they were not so much false as wholly meaningless; and Austin -declared that neither in the general conception, nor in the detail of -his book, is there a single particle of original and discriminating -thought. It is tainted throughout, said the one, with hostility to -reform; it was popular, said the other, because it “truckled to the -sinister interests and mischievous prejudices of power.” Austin found -nothing to praise even in its style, which, though fitted to tickle the -ear, seemed to him effeminate, rhetorical, and prattling, and not in -keeping with the dignity of the subject. - -So long as his admirers could see no defects in his work, and his -critics were blind to its merits, judgments of Blackstone kept moving -along parallel lines, and never met. Standing at this distance of time, -when the _Commentaries_ have long lost the glitter of novelty, when we -have not Bentham’s cause for anger, and when nobody retains a belief in -the infallibility of Austin, it should be possible to treat Blackstone -more fairly than either his friends or his enemies have done. There are -signs that a juster estimate is now being formed, and the clearest of -these is the testimony of one who must know by his own experience what -were the difficulties which Blackstone surmounted. Sir James Stephen -admits that he was neither a profound nor an accurate thinker, that -he is often led to speak of English law in terms of absurd praise, -and that his arrangement of the subject is imperfect. But “the fact -still remains,” he says, “that Blackstone first rescued the law of -England from chaos. He did, and did exceedingly well, for the end of -the eighteenth century, what Coke tried to do, and did exceedingly ill, -about 150 years before; that is to say, he gave an account of the law -as a whole, capable of being studied, not only without disgust, but -with interest and profit.... A better work of the kind has not yet been -written, and, with all its defects, the literary skill, with which a -problem of extraordinary difficulty has been dealt with is astonishing.” - -Few authors ever had a clearer field. Long before his day, indeed, the -immense growth of the law had been regarded as a heavy burden. Lawyers -groaned, just as they groan now, over the increasing accumulation -of statutes and reports. And yet Coke upon Littleton remained the -beginner’s chief guide. Coke called his work the _Institutes of the -Laws of England_; but, whatever its other merits, it lacks every -quality which the title would suggest. It is unsystematic, undigested; -it makes no pretence of leading its reader from principles to rules; -and it spares him the details of no curious anomaly. It is like an -overgrown treatise on the subjunctive mood. The need had long been -felt for a better work; and the broad outlines had been sketched by -Hale in his admirable _Analysis of the Civil Part of the Law_, which -Blackstone followed in every essential feature. Some treatises too had -appeared written with a purely educational purpose. Of these the most -successful, long recommended as an elementary text-book for students, -was the _Institutes_ of Wood, a Buckinghamshire clergyman. It was a -praiseworthy attempt to present the law in a methodical form, but it -lacked literary merit, and had all the dulness of an epitome. It is -memorable only as the book which the _Commentaries_ displaced. - -Blackstone saw his opportunity. Perhaps no one else in his time -combined in the same degree the qualities which the work required; -nor was there any one so capable of writing a law-book, which could -be read with interest by educated laymen, and at the same time be -accepted as almost authoritative by practising lawyers. Blackstone’s -training enabled him to gain the ear of both; for he was not only a -lawyer, but a man of letters. His love of literature developed early, -and along with it a desire to win literary fame. He does not seem to -have read widely, but the pleasure which in his school days he derived -from Shakespeare and Milton, Pope and Addison, was dulled neither by -advancing years nor by the absorbing demands of the law. “The notes -which he gave me on Shakespeare,” said Malone, who used them in his -edition, “show him to have been a man of excellent taste and accuracy, -and a good critic.” He was something of a poet himself; but the -“Lawyer’s Farewell to his Muse,” the “Lawyer’s Prayer,” and the “Elegy -on the Death of the Prince of Wales,” though they have occasionally -been unearthed as curiosities, have long been swept away with other -rubbish of the kind. The following lines, which are his best, and in -which we feel the very spirit of the _Commentaries_, will not tempt -further even the most diligent seeker after neglected poets. Their -historical audacity would amaze Professor Freeman. - - ‘Oh, let me pierce the secret shade - Where dwells the venerable maid! - There humbly mark, with rev’rent awe, - The guardian of Britannia’s Law, - Unfold with joy her sacred page - (Th’ united boast of many an age, - Where mix’d yet uniform appears - The wisdom of a thousand years)... - Observe how parts with parts unite - In one harmonious rule of right; - See countless wheels distinctly tend - By various laws to one great end; - While mighty Alfred’s piercing soul - Pervades and animates the whole.’ - -The Pope who was lost in Blackstone we can as easily spare as the -Ovid who was lost in Murray. Yet it was from that love of literature -to which his poetical compositions bear witness, perhaps in some -degree also from the enforced measure and restraint of verse, that he -acquired a style, which though it has not the freshness and variety of -Addison’s, its most direct model, has the same singular clearness and -almost the same ease and flow. By education, not by accident, did he -come to deserve Bentham’s one compliment that he it was who first, of -all institutional writers, taught jurisprudence to speak the language -of the scholar and the gentleman. - -Beyond keeping up a certain interest in architecture, on which in early -youth he is said to have composed a treatise, Blackstone seldom allowed -himself to be diverted from a persevering and varied study of law. He -divided his time between Westminster and Oxford, and long remained -undecided whether he should finally settle in the law-courts or among -his books. While, with hardly any practice of his own, he was training -himself with unusual diligence, as his reports of cases testify, in the -practical part of his profession, he had it clearly before him that -law is not to be mastered by any one who neglects its history. “In my -apprehension,” he said, when he was a student, “the learning out of -use is as necessary as that of every day’s practice;” and he carried -out this belief by making the _Commentaries_ as much a history as an -exposition. Even more plainly than in his great work we can see in his -edition of _Magna Charta and the Charter of the Forest_ how unflagging -were his zeal and patience, and how minute his investigations. His -knowledge of general history may have been superficial, as Hallam said -it was; he may have had old-fashioned notions about Alfred the Great, -even though he does warn his readers against the tendency to ascribe -all imaginable things to that king; yet the _Commentaries_ contain -what, on the whole, is still the best history written in English of -English law. - -The plan of the book had long been in his mind; he was indirectly -led to carry it out through an attempt of the Duke of Newcastle to -corrupt him. Lord Mansfield (then Mr. Murray) recommended him to the -chair of civil law at Oxford, which was vacant in 1756, but he lost -the appointment, according to report, because he was not hearty enough -in promising the duke support “whenever anything in the political -hemisphere is agitated in the university.” Murray, hearing of his -disappointment, advised him to lecture on his own account upon English -law. He took the advice; the novelty of the lectures and their ability -made them successful; and when the Vinerian chair of common law was -founded in 1758 he was appointed the first professor. Making hardly -any change in form, arrangement, or mode of treatment, as appears from -his notes which are still extant written in the neatest of hands, he -expanded the lectures into the _Commentaries_. But while he never -deviated from his original plan, his store of knowledge grew steadily -throughout the fourteen years which elapsed between his first private -lectures and the appearance of his work. When the question of _ex -officio_ informations was debated in the House of Lords in 1812, Lord -Ellenborough spoke of him as follows:—“Blackstone, when he compiled -his lectures, was comparatively an ignorant man; he was merely a -fellow of All Souls’ College, moderately skilled in the law! His true -and solid knowledge was acquired afterwards. He grew learned as he -proceeded with his work. It might be said of him, at the time he was -composing his book, that it was not so much his learning that made the -book, as it was the book that made him learned.” The _Commentaries_ -were not, however, the work of a merely book-learned man; besides -his attendance in the courts as a spectator, Blackstone had enjoyed -several years of good practice before the first volume appeared; but -Ellenborough’s opinion is substantially sound. It is indeed one of -the striking facts about Blackstone that while as years went on his -mind gained little in breadth, and his fundamental ideas underwent no -change, he was able, by simple hard work and with abilities not by any -means the highest, to make himself at length one of the really learned -lawyers of his time. Several names might be mentioned which on special -lines of law stand far above his; but there was no one who rivalled -him in that extent of general knowledge which an institutional writer -must possess. The _Commentaries_ have won the peculiar distinction -of being quoted and of carrying weight in every political discussion -which raises questions of constitutional importance, and also of being -cited in our courts (though under protest from some rigid judges) as -only a little lower than that small group among our law-books which -have an inherent, and not merely a reflected, authority. We should do -Blackstone grievous wrong if from his popularity we assumed that his -knowledge was superficial. - -Thus, both as lawyer and as man of letters, he was peculiarly fitted -for his work. Written with less literary skill, the _Commentaries_ -would long ago have been forgotten; if his learning had been more -minute he would never have written them at all. A work which, partly -through favoring circumstances, but mainly through its merits, has -effected a real revolution in legal studies, is not to be dismissed by -saying that its philosophy is weak, and that it is hostile to reform. - -There is certainly no profound nor much original thought in -Blackstone’s four volumes. Nobody was ever made better able to -comprehend a difficulty in English law by means of the notions on laws -in general to be found in that famous chapter, which, as Sir Henry -Maine puts it, may almost be said to have made Bentham and Austin into -jurists by virtue of sheer repulsion. They lead to nothing, and explain -nothing. They are rather the obeisances made by a polite professor to -his subject, or a lawyer’s invocation of his muse, than the necessary -foundations of a system. Blackstone repeats the venerable doctrine that -human laws depend on the law of nature and the law of revelation, and -that no laws are valid which conflict with these; but he never dares -to apply it to any rule of English law. And when he comes to speak -of parliament and monarchy, he has forgotten that odd proof of the -perfection of the British constitution, with its divine combination -of power, wisdom, and goodness, of which Bentham made such easy fun. -He does not so much as pretend to be original. He is so dependent on -others that he adopts not only their opinions but even their language, -and by no means always does he let us know that he is quoting. He -does not refer to Locke when he is stating, practically in Locke’s -words, the theory of the right of society to inflict punishment; -he never mentions the name of Burlamaqui, who was his guide, most -faithfully followed, in the analysis of laws in general; and he fails -to acknowledge half his obligations to Montesquieu.[10] Indeed, the -free use he makes of Montesquieu’s famous chapter on the English -constitution would be appalling, did we not remember that he was only -following a professional custom of appropriation, which legal authors -have not yet wholly abandoned. There is, in fact, scarcely a single -sentence of that chapter which has not, somewhere or other, found its -way into the _Commentaries_; and, as often as not, the Commentator -leaves us to infer that the reflections are his own. - - [10] Blackstone does not seem to have read either Burlamaqui or - Montesquieu in French. He invariably uses the words of Nugent’s - translations, which had then been recently published. - -In estimating the value of Blackstone’s work, however, we should not -make too much of the fact that his general theories are either weak or -borrowed. The truth is that when we have got rid of them we have not -touched the substance of the work itself; his exposition of English -law remains unaffected, whether they be true or false. Moreover, -these same theories of his have a considerable indirect interest; for -as they afford us an opportunity of observing how, at a turning-point -in the history of modern thought, certain important ideas acted -upon an intellect, which, from its very want of independence and -courage, all the better reflected the common opinions of the time. His -philosophy exhibits the doctrine of the social contract in a state of -decay, and enables us to watch the English mind preparing itself for -utilitarianism. - -Blackstone refuses to accept the social contract in its naked form; he -ridicules the notion of individuals meeting together on a large plain -to choose the tallest man present as their governor; and he traces the -growth of society upwards from the family living a pastoral life to the -settled agricultural community. His conception of social development -comes as near the current modern theories as that of any thinker of his -century, save Mandeville. But the social contract was too tempting to -be altogether abandoned. He speaks of it as a tacit agreement between -governor and governed, of protection on the one side and submission -on the other, and from this implied agreement he draws conclusions as -freely as if it were a historical fact. Stating Locke’s theory without -any qualification, he bases upon the contract (for he recurs to the -word) the right of society to punish crime. The laws under which -thieves suffer were made, he tells us, with their own consent. So he -says that the oath of allegiance is nothing more than a declaration -in words of what was before implied in law. And he justifies the -Revolution on the ground that King James had endeavored to subvert the -constitution by breaking the original contract. Believer as he is in -the law of nature, Blackstone is more than half a utilitarian. True, -he has based all law on both the natural and the revealed law; but by -a fortunate coincidence everything that tends to man’s happiness is -in accordance with the former. Except where the revealed law applies, -the actual rule of life is that man should pursue his own true and -substantial happiness. “This,” he says, “is the foundation of what -we call ethics or natural law.” Throughout the whole of his work -his tests are purely those of utility, and with his broad principles -of unbending orthodoxy he mingles theories, some of which the most -thoroughgoing utilitarian would think too bluntly stated. Repudiating -the notion of atonement or expiation, he maintains that punishment is -only a precaution against future offences. He treats property as an -adventitious right, unknown in the natural state; and to the amazement -of some of his editors he has the courage to face the logical result, -that theft is punished, not by any natural right, but only because it -is detrimental to society. It is a _malum prohibitum_, not a _malum -in se_. He goes so far as to say that where the law prohibits certain -acts under pecuniary penalties, the prohibition does not make the -transgression a moral offence, or sin, and that the only obligation in -conscience is to submit to the penalty. He affirms as a thing beyond -doubt that human laws have no concern with private vices. And he -professes to defend the measures which placed Catholics and Dissenters -under disabilities, not upon theological grounds, but simply because -all dissent is subversive of civil government. We may be sure that -Blackstone would not have spoken as he did if he had believed that -average men in his time would consider his doctrines offensive; and -taking him as an index of contemporary opinion, we can see that the -field was ready for Bentham. - -Blackstone’s hostility to reform has a special interest. There -is, perhaps, no better example to be found in our literature of -the typical Englishman, who loves his country, who considers its -constitution the best constitution, its laws the best laws, and the -liberty which its citizens enjoy the completest liberty which the -world has known. He was conservative by circumstances and profession, -as well as by temperament. His opinions were formed at a time when -men lived politically at a lower level than they ever did before or -have done since. No bold reforming spirit could have grown up in the -Jacobite unrest of half a century, with the Whigs, to all appearance, -permanently seated in power, and desirous of showing that the party -of the Revolution was capable of moderation. There was no party of -progress. No clear line of principle divided Whigs from Tories; so -that it became a plausible thesis that they had exchanged positions. -There were, in short, no great ideals in the air, which could stimulate -to movement such a sluggish man as Blackstone. Perhaps some of his -conservatism was due to his profession. The instances are probably -rare of an English lawyer, with either extensive practice or great -learning, who, on questions of personal liberty, whether of religion or -of speech or of trade, has stood far in advance of the average opinion -of his age. The profession tends to foster conservatism. The habit of -deciding by precedents and usage is not to be shaken off when the mind -turns from law to politics; and the men who declared that the common -law is the perfection of reason, and who thought that it savored of -profanity to speak disrespectfully of common recoveries, could not be -expected to doubt the excellence of the British constitution or the -necessity of Catholic disabilities. Something, too, must be allowed for -the influence of a training which both narrows the scope of reasoning, -and within the narrower limits makes it close and unbroken. A mind so -schooled will naturally shrink from the gaps in evidence which the -innovator must boldly face and overstep. May we not in the same way -explain the alleged conservatism of men of science? - -The main theme of Blackstone’s teaching is that of contentment with -a constitution which to him seemed as nearly perfect as any work of -man can be. “Of a constitution,” he says, “so wisely contrived, so -strongly raised, and so highly finished, it is hard to speak with -that praise which is justly and severely its due: the thorough and -attentive contemplation of it will furnish its best panegyric. It has -all the elements of stability; for by a graduated scale of dignity -from the peasant to the prince, it rises like a pyramid from a broad -foundation, diminishing to a point as it rises. It is this ascending -and contracting proportion” he says, with the law of gravitation in -his mind, “that adds stability to any government.” “All of us have it -in our choice,”these are Blackstone’s words, “to do everything that -a good man would desire to do; and are restrained from nothing, but -what would be pernicious either to ourselves or our fellow-citizens.” -He does not, however, mean us to accept this statement too literally. -He allows that the constitution has faults—“lest we should be tempted -to think it of more than human structure”—and he is careful to tell us -what he means when he says that this or that institution is perfect. -As the expounder and historian of English law, he uses words of higher -praise than he would do if he wrote as a politician. He feels that he -is dealing with the spirit of laws, and that it is not his business to -consider every change of circumstances which may have impaired their -efficiency. To point out each defect, or to suggest ways of amendment, -would, moreover, have been alien from the purpose of a work in which -he sought to interpret the laws and to teach respect for them; and -therefore he does not guard himself against exaggeration, sharing the -opinion of Burke, that we only lessen the authority of the constitution -if we circulate among the people a notion that it is not so perfect -as it might be, before we are sure of mending it. He has in his mind -the idea of a theoretical perfection not incompatible with practical -injustice. In a well-known passage he says that _by the law_ as it -stood in the time of Charles II., “the people had as large a portion -of real liberty as is consistent with a state of society,” naming the -year 1679 as the point of time at which he would fix what he calls -the _theoretical_ perfection of our public law; and yet he observes -that “the years which immediately followed it were times of great -_practical_ oppression.”[11] This is in substance the view of Burke -when he says that the machine is well enough for the purpose, provided -the materials were sound. Indeed there is scarcely one of Blackstone’s -thoughts on politics and government which may not be paralleled -in the writings and speeches of Burke. They were agreed that our -representative system was practically perfect; that religious dissent -is subversive of civil government; and that the people were bound by -their original contract to a scheme of government fundamentally and -inviolably fixed on king, lords, and commons. Burke was among the first -to read and admire the _Commentaries_; and had Blackstone lived ten -years longer he would have read the _Reflections on the Revolution in -France_, and applauded every word. We might describe him, in fact, as a -Burke with the genius left out. - - [11] This is Fox’s comment on the passage:—“How vain, then, how idle, - how presumptuous is the opinion that laws can do everything! and how - weak and pernicious the maxim founded upon it, that measures, not men, - are to be attended to!” - -Over Blackstone’s mind the antiquity of the constitution exercised a -potent spell. The retrospective imagination, as it has been called, -made him regard with reverence institutions that reach back to a time -whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. The parliament -and the monarchy, the sheriff, the corner, and trial by jury, seemed -to be less the work of man’s hands than to partake of the dignity and -immutability of the laws of nature; and the sense of trivial anomalies -was lots in the veneration which he felt for a system of laws embodying -in unbroken continuity the wisdom of a thousand years. It is not an -unworthy emotion. There are few, let us hope, who have never been -stirred by reflecting on the growth of that English liberty, which -finds splendid voice in the prose of Milton, and whose presence, with -“its gallery of portraits, its monumental inscriptions, its records, -evidences, and titles,” glows in every line of Burke. On its practical -side the emotion may be healthy or may be baneful. We call him the -crudest of politicians who never reflects that our laws have grown with -the people, that they contain the experience of a nation, and are not -the paper schemes of clever theorists, and that they are surrounded -by traditions which no convulsion ever swept away and which give them -half their strength. It is this that a greater lawyer than Blackstone -meant when he said that time is the wisest thing in the inferior world. -But to timid natures antiquity becomes the proof, and not merely the -evidences of excellence; so that the mind is led to make a severance -between the past and the present, and while respecting the constitution -as a thing of gradual growth to forget that the growth continues. -Blackstone’s whole nature was affected by this illusion of distance. It -distorted alike his historical beliefs and his practical judgments. It -made him maintain, as Bolingbroke did, that our liberties are but the -restoration of the ancient constitution of which our Saxon forefathers -were deprived by the policy and force of the Normans. To Montesquieu’s -opinion that as Rome, Sparta, and Carthage lost their liberties, so -those of England must in time perish, it made him give the naïve reply -that Rome, Sparta, and Carthage, at the time when their liberties -were lost, were strangers to trial by jury. It made him spend all his -ingenuity in defending the rule of descent which excluded kinsmen of -the half-blood. And it was the chief cause of the contempt which, -like Coke, he had for statute law. Though he never ventures to say -so in plain terms, as his predecessors did with something more than -rhetorical belief, yet at heart he is convinced that the common law is -the perfection of reason. - -Yet to represent Blackstone’s mind as absolutely stationary would -be unjust; for now and again he puts forward a gentle suggestion of -improvement. He draws attention to defects in the system of trial -by jury, and makes several excellent proposals for its amendment. -He even anticipates the legislation of our own day when he points -out that our laws are faulty in not constraining parents to bestow a -proper education on their children. He recognises the possibility of -a change in political representation, which would admit the people to -a somewhat larger share; and it is doubtless on the strength of that -mild admission that Major Cartwright included him in the list of men -conversant with public affairs who had expressed themselves in favor -either of a fair representation or of short parliaments. The criminal -law seemed to him very far from perfect. Within his own lifetime it -had been made a capital crime to break down the mound of a fish-pond -whereby any fish should escape, or to cut down a cherry-tree in an -orchard. These laws would never have been passed, he says, with a -confidence which it is not easy to share, if, as was usual with private -bills in his days, public bills had been first referred to some of -the learned judges for their consideration. It was still felony -without benefit of clergy to be seen for one month in the company of -the persons called Egyptians. He believed that this would not have -continued, if a committee were appointed at least once in a hundred -years to revise the criminal law—a proposal which his friend Daines -Barrington made about the same time and worked out in some detail. - -His conservatism, or, to give it the harsher name, his hostility to -reform, was in great part due to timidity and insufficient knowledge -of the world. He was a shy and reserved man, whose life was divided -between one kind of narrowness at Westminster, and another kind of -narrowness at Oxford. He was shut off from the real life of England. -Among his books, which taught him that the state should foster trade, -he could know only by hearsay of the new industrial movement then -beginning to transform the country, and destined soon to sweep away the -absurdities which he upheld, such as the innumerable attempts to fix -the rate of wages, the navigation laws, and the statute of Charles II., -commanding the people to bury their dead in wool. The very fact that -he does not suggest a compromise between restriction of trade and its -freedom, leads one to infer that he had never seriously thought about -the question. Only with regard to apprenticeship does he mention that -a doubt could exist, and then he refrains from giving a clear opinion. -Amid the Toryism of Oxford, where he had seen students expelled for -Methodists, Blackstone was hardly likely to understand what toleration, -much less what religious freedom, meant. He deprecated persecution, -once indeed he uses with unwonted energy the phrase “dæmon of -persecution,”[12] but it is rather under the impulse of a mild humanity -than from any trust in the people or any large love of liberty. -When a strong protest was raised by Dr. Priestley and Dr. Furneaux -against his account of the laws relating to Protestant Dissenters, -whom almost in so many words he called dangerous citizens, he seems -to have been quite surprised at the attack. He wrote a pamphlet in -reply to Priestley, explaining that his aim had been to expound the -law not justify it, which was not quite accurate, and declaring that -he was all for tolerance; and he went so far as to expunge the most -obnoxious sentence, and to give in subsequent editions a fuller and -somewhat fairer account of the law. Even in its final form the passage -is not worthy of one who was speaking from a position of really high -authority, which should have induced judicial calmness. “They have -made him sophisticate,” said Bentham, referring to Priestley’s and -Furneaux’s attack; “they have made him even expunge; but all the -doctors in the world, I doubt, would not bring him to confession.” -Yet it is not so much utter illiberality of nature that the passage -suggests as simple inexperience, and his fixed belief that truth must -always be a compromise. He was but echoing the opinion commonly held by -churchmen in his time, an opinion which he had never tested by contact -with the people. - - [12] He is referring, however, to persecution on the Continent and by - the Pope. - -He had an opportunity of gaining experience as a politician, but -in the House of Commons he learned nothing, and succeeded only in -tarnishing his legal reputation. He entered it in 1762, and sat first -for the rotten borough of Hindon, and afterwards for Westbury till -1770. For the first six years his name scarcely ever occurs in the -debates. The only fact, indeed, known of this part of his political -life, is a proposal which he made when the repeal of the Stamp Act was -carried, that “it should not be of force in any colony where any votes, -resolves, or acts had passed derogatory to the honor or authority -of Parliament, until such votes, etc., were erased or taken off the -records,” The second stage of the Wilkes case, after the elections -of 1768, raised him to an unfortunate notoriety. Every circumstance -combined to make Blackstone the most bitter of Wilkes’s opponents. He -had committed himself to strong opinions on the absolute supremacy -of Parliament; he was solicitor-general to the Queen; he was shocked -at Wilkes’s blasphemy; and Lord Mansfield had been maligned. He -had only one moment of merely formal hesitation. When De Grey, the -Attorney-General moved that the comments on Lord Weymouth’s letter were -an insolent, scandalous, and seditious libel, Blackstone argued that -the courts were open, and that the House of Commons was not the place -to try the question. The other acts of the persecution had his complete -approval. He himself took the lead in moving that the charge against -Lord Mansfield was “an audacious aspersion on the said Chief Justice;” -he advocated the expulsion of Wilkes; he supported the motion which -declared that Wilkes being expelled was incapable of sitting in the -existing Parliament; and he delivered an able speech, in which he put -forth all his strength, in favor of the validity of Colonel Luttrell’s -election. He was rash enough in that speech to give it as his firm and -unbiassed opinion that the law and custom of Parliament on a matter of -privilege is part of the common law, that the House had acted according -to that law and custom, and that Wilkes was therefore disqualified by -common law from sitting as a member of Parliament. He paid heavily for -his “firm and unbiassed opinion.” In the _Commentaries_ he had given -what was, no doubt, intended to be a complete list of the causes of -disqualification; and none of them applied to Wilkes. Twice during -the remainder of the debate, first by Mr. Seymour and afterwards by -Grenville, “the gentle shepherd,” was this passage effectively turned -against him. “It is well known,” according to Junius, “that there was -a pause of some minutes in the House, from a general expectation that -the doctor would say something in his own defence; but it seems, his -faculties were too much overpowered to think of those subtleties and -refinements which have since occurred to him.” A paper war ensued in -which Junius, Sir W. Jones, Dr. Johnson, and Blackstone himself took -part. In an anonymous pamphlet, betraying its author, as Junius said, -by “its personal interests, personal resentments, and above all that -wounded spirit, unaccustomed to reproach, and, I hope, not frequently -conscious of deserving it,” Blackstone clung tenaciously and almost -angrily to his opinion, which he stated even more emphatically than he -had done in the House of Commons. There he expressly refrained from -saying whether expulsion necessarily involves incapacity; in his reply -to “the writer in the public press, who subscribes himself Junius,” -he said as expressly that incapacity is the necessary consequence of -expulsion. He retracted nothing. Sincere, no doubt, in his belief -that it was Wilkes the blasphemer, not Wilkes the demagogue, whom he -had helped to expel and incapacitate, he still held that the House of -Commons had acted not only legally but wisely. He gave a pledge of his -conviction by repairing the omission in his book. In its subsequent -editions appears, as if it were a well settled rule, the statement that -if a person is made a peer or elected to serve in the House of Commons, -the respective Houses of Parliament may upon complaint of any crime in -such person, and proof thereof, adjudge him disabled and incapable to -sit as a member. His earlier statement of the law, however, was not -forgotten, and “the first edition of Dr. Blackstone’s _Commentaries -on the Laws of England_” is said to have become a toast at Opposition -banquets. Nobody has now any doubt that Blackstone was in the wrong, -confounding, as was pointed out at the time, the independence of the -several parts of the legislature with the authority of the whole. -His tenacity and the prestige of his name gave him the support of -his party; but before long, had he lived, he would have suffered the -mortification of seeing the House of Commons expunge from its journals -all the declarations, orders, and resolutions respecting the election -of John Wilkes, Esquire, as “subversive of the rights of the whole body -of the electors of this kingdom.” - -Having failed as a politician, he was made a judge. He sat on the bench -from 1770 till his death in 1780, and he left behind him the reputation -of having striven to administer justice with scrupulous care. He was -certainly not a great judge. He was cursed with indecision; he was -diffident of his own opinion, and never strenuous in supporting it; and -in consequence, if we can trust Malone’s account of him, “there were -more new trials granted in causes which came before him on circuit than -were granted on the decisions of any other judge who sat at Westminster -in his time.” The habit of mind which in private life produced in him -almost a mania for punctuality made him as a judge a strict observer of -forms; and he would not have consented, even if he had been able, to -make and modify law as did his contemporary, Lord Mansfield. The time -was pre-eminently favorable for earning a great judicial reputation; -the law, impeded by fictions, formalities, and obsolete statutes, -lagged behind a nation whose commerce had increased more than tenfold -within living memory; and public opinion would have dealt leniently -with a judge who shaped the old rules to satisfy the new needs. But -Blackstone had not the courage for such work; and, save for the case of -_Perrin_ v. _Blake_, one might well tell the legal history of the ten -years which he spent on the bench and never mention his name. _Perrin_ -v. _Blake_ is too technical to be here described; enough to say that it -maintained inviolate the venerable rule in Shelley’s case, with which -Lord Mansfield had been profanely tampering. The case excited great -interest in the profession, partly from its own importance and partly -from some personal controversies to which it gave rise. Lord Campbell, -indeed, writing more than seventy years after it had been decided, says -that when conversation flags amongst lawyers the mention of _Perrin_ v. -_Blake_ never fails to cause excitement and loquacity! - -The politician and the judge are forgotten now, and only the -commentator remains. But his life was consistent throughout. He had a -reverence for authority and a respect for formalities; his mind turned -more readily to apology than to criticism; and destitute of ideals -he lived in a narrow groove, contented with himself and the world. -When he and Serjeant Nares were calling for the expulsion of Wilkes -because he was a blasphemer, Burke described their arguments as “solid, -substantial, roast-beef reasoning.” The phrase paints to the life the -worshipper of the constitution, who staked the fate of England upon -trial by jury.—_Macmillan’s Magazine._ - - - - -LITERARY NOTICES. - - - JELLY-FISH, STAR-FISH AND SEA-URCHINS (International Scientific - Series). BEING A RESEARCH INTO PRIMITIVE NERVOUS SYSTEMS. By G. J. - Romanes, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S., etc. New York: _D. Appleton & Co._ - -Mr. G. J. Romanes, one of the most distinguished of living English -scientists, and a worthy follower in the track of Darwin, has given -the world in his study of the lowest forms of animal life a book of -great interest to the general reader who is interested in scientific -matter. At first glance the line of research followed might not seem -particularly engaging except to the professional student, but one -hardly dips into the book without finding his attention aroused and -stimulated. The poetic enthusiasm with which Mr. Romanes introduces the -subject quickly finds a response in the mind of the reader. He writes: - -“Among the most beautiful, as well as the most common, of the marine -animals which are to be met with upon our coasts, are the jelly-fish -and the star-fish. Scarcely anyone is so devoid of the instincts either -of the artist or of the naturalist as not to have watched these animals -with blended emotions of the æsthetic and the scientific—feeling the -beauty while wondering at the organization. How many of us who live -for most of the year in the fog and dust of large towns enjoy with the -greater zest our summer’s holiday at the seaside? And in the memories -of most of us is there not associated with the picture of breaking -waves and sea-birds floating indifferently in the blue sky, or on the -water still more blue, the thoughts of many a ramble among the weedy -rocks and living pools, where, for the time being, we all become -naturalists, and where those who least know what they are likely to -find in their search are most likely to approach the keen happiness of -childhood? If so, the image of the red sea-stars bespangling a mile -of shining sand, or decorating the darkness of a thousand grottoes, -must be joined with the image, no less vivid, of those crystal globes, -pulsating with life and gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow, -which are perhaps the most strange, and certainly in my estimation the -most delicately lovely creatures in the world. - -“It is with these two kinds of creatures that the present work is -concerned, and, if it seems almost impious to lay the ‘forced fingers -rude’ of science upon living things of such exquisite beauty, let it be -remembered that our human nature is not so much out of joint that the -rational desire to know is incompatible with the emotional impulse to -admire. Speaking for myself, I can testify that my admiration of the -extreme beauty of these animals has been greatly enhanced—or rather I -should say that this extreme beauty has been, so to speak, revealed—by -the continuous and close observation which many of my experiments -required: both with the unassisted eye and with the microscope -numberless points of detail, unnoticed before, became familiar to the -mind; the forms as a whole were impressed upon the memory; and, by -constantly watching their movements and changes of appearance, I have -grown, like an artist studying a face or a landscape, to appreciate a -fulness of beauty, the esse of which is only rendered possible by the -_percipi_ of such attention as is demanded by scientific research. -Moreover, association, if not the sole creator, is at least a most -important factor of the beautiful; and therefore the sight of one -of these animals is now much more to me, in the respects which we -are considering, than it can be to anyone in whose memory it is not -connected with many days of that purest form of enjoyment which can -only be experienced in the pursuit of science.” - -No matter how interesting investigation into any set of natural -phenomena may be, probably none is more attractive than a study of -primitive nervous systems. Alike in the survey of the whole of the -animal kingdom and in the study of the development of any individual -form there are certain broad truths evident. First among these may be -mentioned the significant fact that the nervous system of all animals -originates from some of the cells of that layer of the body which was -originally the outermost. This is the lesson taught by nature that the -prime necessity of living organisms is a knowledge of the outer world, -and that the most sensitive and important system of organs primarily -stands in a direct relation to the outer world. The investigations of -Leuckart, Haeckel, Oscar and Richard Hertwig, and Prof. Schafer fully -established the fact as to the origin of nerve fibres and sense-cells -from the outer layer of the body, and as to the primitively diffused -disposition of the central nervous system. This was first observed of -the jelly-fish, but subsequent investigation proved it also to be the -case with star-fish, sea-urchins and all the forms of echinoderms. -Haeckel, in 1860, showed that the eyes of the star-fishes are nothing -more than elongated epithelial cells provided with pigments, and -throughout life quite superficial in position. - -Though Mr. Romanes gives a succinct account of the authentic -conclusions reached by other students in this line of scientific -research, his book is mostly devoted to his own investigations. -He makes a great many curious observations as to the habits and -characteristics of the classes of animals of which he treats, beside -giving a very complete account of their physiology and morphology. The -work is fully illustrated with cuts, and though it may seem at first to -bristle with technical matter, the reader will speedily find himself -interested in the studies and conclusions of the author. - - - ORIGIN OF CULTIVATED PLANTS (International Scientific Series). - By Alphonse de Candolle, Foreign Associate Academie of Sciences, - Institute of France, Foreign Member of the Royal Societies of London, - Edinburgh and Dublin, etc., etc. New York: _D. Appleton & Co._ - -M. De Candolle’s “Origin of Cultivated Plants” (No. 48 of the -International Scientific Series) is a work calculated certainly to -arouse the attention of agriculturists, botanists, and others aside -from those interested in the dawnings of civilization from the -historical or philosophical standpoint. The labors of both father and -son in this field have made the name of De Candolle distinguished in -science as worthy successors of Linnæus, and thirty years’ labor in -the field of geographical botany have wrought results of the most -important kind. There are few plants which are not adequately discussed -in this book in spite of the fact that, owing to the great number of -varieties which long cultivation has produced, and the remoteness of -time when they were first reclaimed from nature, great difficulties -are offered to any correct history of their origin. The author combats -the erroneous opinions promulgated so widely by Linnæus, who, in spite -of his greatness, oftentimes took things too much on trust. Many of -these mistakes dated back to the times of the Greeks and Romans, -and certainly it was time that some adequate hand should attempt a -correction. The data of correction have been drawn from data of varied -character, some of which is quite recent and even unpublished, and all -of which has been sifted as men sift evidence in historical research. -The author claims that, in spite of all the difficulties in his way, -he has been able to determine the origin of almost all the species, -sometimes with absolute certainty, sometimes with a very high degree of -probability. - -Some plants cultivated for more than two thousand years are not now -known in a spontaneous state. This can be accounted for on one of -these two hypotheses; either these plants, since history has begun, -have changed so entirely in form in their wild as well as in their -cultivated condition that they are no longer recognized as belonging -to the same species, or they are extinct species. In case they are -extinct, this extinction must have taken place of course during the -short period (scientifically speaking) of a few hundred centuries, -on continents where they might have spread, and under circumstances -which are commonly considered unvarying. This shows how the history -of cultivated plants is allied to the most important problems of the -general history of organized beings. The study of plants by our author -is divided into those cultivated for their subterranean parts, such as -roots, tubercles or bulbs; those cultivated for their stems or leaves; -those cultivated for their flowers or for the organs which envelop -them; those cultivated for their fruits, and those cultivated for -their seeds. In the process of investigation we readily observe that -De Candolle, who appears a master of the tools of research in every -branch of study, has not only used botanical resources, but those of -history and of travel, of archæology, pæleontology, and of philology. -The wealth of learning lavished by the author on his work is sometimes -almost bewildering. One of the most striking results of the author’s -researches is that certain species are extinct or are fast becoming -extinct since the historical epoch, and that not on small islands, -but on vast continents without any great modifications of climate. -M. De Candolle tells us that in the history of cultivated plants he -has noticed no trace of communication between the peoples of the -old and new worlds before the discovery of America by Columbus. The -Scandinavians, who had pushed their excursions as far as the north of -the United States, and the Basques of the Middle Ages, who followed -whales perhaps as far as America, do not seem to have transported -a single species. Neither has the Gulf Stream produced any effect. -Between America and Asia, two transports of useful plants, perhaps, -took place, the one by man (the batata, or sweet potato), the other by -the agency of man or of the sea (the cocoanut palm). - - - THE ADVENTURES OF TIMIAS TERRYSTONE. A Novel. By O. B. Bunce. New - York: _D. Appleton & Co._ - -Mr. Bunce, the author of several charmingly written works of the -essay character, among which may be mentioned “Bachelor Bluff,” “My -House an Ideal,”etc., again challenges the critical attention of the -intelligent reading public, in a form this time which will command -wider interest—the novel. The “Adventures of Timias Terrystone” -is in no sense a romance; it is not a story of action, or in the -least melodramatic; it is not in any wide or deep sense a novel of -character, though the personages have well-marked individualities and -act consistently with them. So far as the actual life depicted is -concerned, the story glides pleasantly over the surface of things, not -professing or caring to deal with the more deep and startling issues -of life, but touching the facts of every-day happening with a light -and graceful hand, and showing a very keen sensibility to the fresh -and lovely aspects of youth. The hero is a young artist who, being a -waif, did not know his own parentage, and being brought up in a very -unconventional way, disdains even at the last, when he discovers his -ancestry, all pride of birth and family. The adventures of the youthful -painter, though chiefly of an amatory character, as his great personal -beauty and freshness of character appear to exercise a great charm -over the other sex, are manifold, and both interesting and amusing, -he being a more refined and purer Gil Blas. But we doubt whether the -main interest will be found in the mere story, though novel-readers -will not go amiss of genuine enjoyment in this way. In the mouth of -one of the characters, a bluff, easy-going, wandering Bohemian, our -author places a great number of keen, incisive, critical, or eloquent -observations, as the case may be. These thoughts are so full of pith -that they can hardly fail to be widely quoted, and our readers will not -have to draw on their good nature to pardon us if we give them some of -these well-spiced plums: “A man who goes through the world with his -eyes open learns something at every step; but one who immerses himself -in a library simply converts himself into a catalogue.... What are -reading and writing, anyway, but a prejudice of society? Do men get -more character, more self-reliance, greater capacity for dealing with -the problems of life, by filtering through the brain the dreams of the -poets and the philosophers? I tell you that when our boys should be -scouring through the woods, rolling down-hill, scaling the mountains, -making themselves splendid young Apollos, we shut them up in a deadly -school-room, which soon drives the color out of their cheeks, vigor -out of their limbs, pluck out of their hearts, and snap out of their -brains. Civilization is a bundle of absurdities—it is worse, it is a -upas-tree, that is fast poisoning the race.” - - * * * * * - -“‘Men fall in love, they say, with beauty, with goodness, with -gentleness, with intellectual qualities, with a sweet voice, with a -smile, with an agreeable manner, with a lovable disposition, with many -ascertainable and measurable things, and yet we find them continually -falling in love with women who are not beautiful, nor good, nor wise, -nor gentle, nor possessing any ascertainable or measurable thing. -You’ll find a hundred reasons given for falling in love, or being in -love, and rarely the right reason—which is commonly simply because -a man cannot help it.... The philosophy of the thing is just here—a -woman’s eye glances, or her lips smile, or her neck is white and well -turned, or she has a pretty hand, or she flutters a fan gracefully, -or she looks sympathetic, or she beckons, or some other trifle as -light as gossamer, as valueless as a mote in the sun, as much without -significance as the fall of a leaf, and the man is subdued, and -immediately he begins to declare that the woman is lovely, when she -is not; that she is gentle and good, when anyone can see the shrew -in her eye; that she is wise and capable, when she is as perverse as -a donkey, and as empty as an abandoned shell on the seashore; and so -goes on manufacturing qualities and attributes for her out of air. To -satisfy his judgment he creates an ideal, and tries with all his might -to persuade himself there are good reasons for his passion—and so there -are, but they are not written down in the catalogue of attractions. He -is in love because a mysterious force of nature has touched him. The -woman may be unbeautiful, heartless, selfish, cruel, untrue, coarse, -frivolous, empty, but if the magic of nature—something of the magic, I -suspect, that Puck used on the eyes of Titania—touches him, he sees not -one of these things in their true aspect. Yes, the Titanias that have -fallen in love with men crowned with donkey-heads, and the men that -have fallen in love with serpents, thinking them doves, are many—and -all because of a diabolism, or a mystic fury in nature that delights -in bringing incongruous elements together for the sake of a dance of -delirium.’” - - * * * * * - -“‘The reason why the world is as bad as it is, is because it has been -lectured so much. Denunciation has never improved the morals of the -world since the days of Jeremiah to the present hour. Many men are -better for reading Emerson—none are better for reading Carlyle; in -fact, the influence of your picturesque scold like Carlyle is to make -fault-finding look like a virtue, and make people imagine that, if they -are only vehement enough in denouncing other people’s sins, they will -thereby clear their skirts of their own. It is the vice of a certain -kind of piety that it is forever plunged into the deepest concern about -other people’s iniquities. Your devout Catholic goes to church to -confess his sins; your acrimonious Puritan goes to church to confess -other people’s sins.’” - - * * * * * - -“‘And too often their own virtues,’ said Mary. - -“‘Let us not imitate the censorious spirit in judging of him, for -there is a great deal of good in his class, but believe firmly -that denunciation cures nothing. There ought to be organized an -anti-scolding league.’ - -“‘Of women?’ asked Mary, smiling. - -“‘I am compelled to confess,’ said Philip, that the number of Jeremiahs -in the world has been—excessive! And all the time your sex is so full -of gentleness and sympathy! Perhaps the abominable doings of the -men have been too much for their patience, and that we deserve the -rating we get. But while we deserve it, that is not the way to reform -us—we will succumb to your kindly words much sooner than to your -objurgations.’... - -“‘If there were not a censorious and fault-finding Mrs. Grundy, one -very important restraint on people would be removed,’ remarked young -Studley. - -“‘See how old notions survive!’ exclaimed Philip. ‘The world must be -driven and whipped, in order that it may be tractable and proper. Hang -a thief, and you will stop stealing; drown a scold, and you will stop -scolding; storm at a child, and he will grow up virtuous! But, you -see, no body of people has ever tried my plan, and hence you know how -the old whip and penalty method has worked, but you do not know how -the moral and sympathetic dispensary plan will operate. For my part, I -believe in human nature, and I am convinced that a plan that works well -in a narrow circle would obey the same laws in a larger circle. But -shall there not be a truce to philosophy?’” - -We appeal to our readers if these quotations do not inspire an appetite -for more. For our part, we have rarely found more mellow, yet pungent -wisdom put in more agreeable form. Certainly the Bohemian, Philip, -reminds us very strongly of another personage, considerably in the -mouths of the reading public not very long since, Bachelor Bluff. - - - THE SECRET OF DEATH. FROM THE SANSCRIT. WITH SOME SELECTED POEMS. By - Edwin Arnold, M.A., author of “The Light of Asia,” “Pearls of the - Faith,”“Indian Idylls,” etc. Boston: _Roberts Brothers_. - -The leading poem, from which this collection takes its title, is an -adaptation from the first three books of a celebrated Sanscrit poem, -the “Katha Upanishad.” The scene as described at the beginning of the -poem is in a temple beside the river Moota Moola, near the city of -Poona, and here a Brahmin priest and an English Sahib read together -from the manuscript, the learned Brahmin commenting as his English -pupil recites from the poem. The thread of motive may be briefly -described: Gautama for love of heaven gave all he had to the poor. -He had given all, and at last gave his son, Nachikêtas, to Yama, the -God of Death, the last gift he had remaining. The youth, who had been -trained in the highest holiness, went humbly to the abode of Yama, the -King of Death, where he remained three days before the god came. When -at last Yama came, he found that a holy Brahmin had waited for him -three days, and to atone for this he promised him three wishes before -he should die. Nachikêtas asked for three things: that his father -should be comforted for his loss; that he should reach the abodes of -heaven without first passing through the purgation of hell. Then he -asks the third boon of Yama: - - “‘There is this doubt,’ young Nachikêtas said: - ‘Thou dost give peace—is that peace Nothingness? - Some say that after death the soul still lives, - Personal, conscious; some say, Nay, it ends! - Fain would I know which of these twain be true, - By thee enlightened. Be my third boon this.’ - Then Yama answered, ‘This was asked of old, - Even by the gods! This is a subtle thing, - Not to be told, hard to be understood! - Ask me some other boon: I may not grant! - Choose wiser, Nachikêtas; force me not - To quit this debt—release me from my bond!’ - Then, still again spake Nachikêtas: ‘Ay! - The gods have asked this question; but, O Death! - Albeit thou sayest it is a subtle thing, - Not to be told, hard to be understood, - Yet know I none can answer like to thee, - And no boon like to this abides to ask. - I crave this boon!’” - -Yama tries to evade the fulfilment of this request. He will give the -petitioner any and all things, but this he would not answer, if he -could help. - - “‘Choose,’ spake he, ‘sons and grandsons, who shall, thrive - A hundred years: choose for them countless herds— - Elephants, horses, gold! Carve out thy lands - In kingdoms for them. Nay, or be thyself - A king again on earth, reigning as long - As life shall satisfy. And, further, add - Unto these gifts whatever else thou wilt. - Health, wisdom, happiness—the rule of the world, - And I will fill the cup of thy desires! - Whatso is hard to gain and dear to keep - In the eyes of men, ask it of me, and have! - Beautiful, fond companions, fair as those - That ride the cars of Indra, singing sweet - To instruments of heavenly melody, - Lovelier than mortal eye hath gazed upon: - Have these, have heaven within their clinging arms! - I give them—I give all; save this one thing; - Ask not of Death what cometh after death!’” - -At last, in compliance with persistent solicitation, the dread god -yields, and in his answer is contained the highest and subtlest -teaching of Indian philosophy. A short passage will sufficiently -indicate its character, for it is impossible within any brief compass -to clearly elucidate the mysteries placed in Yama’s mouth: - - “‘If he that slayeth thinks “I slay;” if he - Whom he doth slay, thinks “I am slain,”—then both - Know not aright! That which was life in each - Cannot be slain, nor slay! - “‘The untouched Soul, - Greater than all the worlds [because the worlds - By it subsist]; smaller than subtleties - Of things minutest; last of ultimates, - Sits in the hollow heart of all that lives! - Whoso hath laid aside desire and fear, - His senses mastered, and his spirit still, - Sees in the quiet light of verity - Eternal, safe, majestical—HIS SOUL! - “‘Resting, it ranges everywhere! asleep, - It roams the world, unsleeping! Who, save I, - Know that divinest spirit, as it is, - Glad beyond joy, existing outside life? - “‘Beholding it in bodies bodiless, - Amid impermanency permanent, - Embracing all things, yet i’ the midst of all, - The mind, enlightened, casts its grief away! - “‘It is not to be known by knowledge! man - Wotteth it not by wisdom! learning vast - Halts short of it! Only by soul itself - Is soul perceived—when the Soul wills it so! - There shines no light save its own light to show - Itself unto itself! - “‘None compasseth - Its joy who is not wholly ceased from sin, - Who dwells not self-controlled, self-centred—calm, - Lord of himself! It is not gotten else! - Brahm hath it not to give!’” - -It need hardly be said that such a poem as this, though not of a -character to be enjoyed by those who read verse simply for its sensuous -charm or its dramatic and narrative pictures, will yield fruit for -interesting reflection to more thoughtful minds. - -The other poems in the volume are of a lighter character. Among those -specially noticeable are the three Hindu songs, the pastoral poem, -“Neucia,” translated from the Italian of the great Florentine ruler, -Lorenzo de Medici, who, if he destroyed the liberties of his city, -raised it to its highest place in literary and art glory, as also in -commercial and political power; “The Epic of the Lion;” “The Wreck of -the Northern Belle;”and “Amadis of Gaul to Don Quixote de La Mancha,” -The latter, which is from the Spanish, is a little gem: - - “Thou who did’st imitate the mournful manner - Of my most lonely and despised Life, - And—leaving joy for suffering and strife— - Upon the bare hillside did’st pitch thy banner! - Thou whose unshamed eyes with tears oft ran over— - Salt dripping tears—when giving up all proper - Vessels of use, silver and tin and copper, - Thou atest earth’s herbs on the earth, a woful dinner— - Rest thou content, Sir Knight! Ever and ever, - Or at the least whilst through the hemispheres - Golden Apollo drives his glittering mares— - Famous and praised shall be thy high endeavor! - Thy land of birth the glory of all nations, - Thy chroniclers the crown of reputation.” - -The volume, on the whole, very well sustains Edwin Arnold’s growing -reputation as one of the first half dozen of the contemporary English -poets. - - - GREATER LONDON: A NARRATIVE OF ITS HISTORY, ITS PEOPLE, AND ITS - PLACES. By Edward Walford, M.A., joint Author of “Old and New London.” - Illustrated with Numerous Engravings. Vol. II. London, Paris, and New - York: _Cassell & Co., Limited_. - -Mr. Walford’s reputation needs no exploitation in the line of work -which he has followed, just as good wine needs no bush. He has -done much to embalm the literary and historic glory of London and -its environs in the past, and the present volume, which completes -“Greater London,” is no less interesting than its predecessors. All -the celebrated and interesting spots in the vicinity of London, their -traditions, history, personal and literary associations, etc., are -described not only as a labor of love, but with a wealth of knowledge -in detail. It is not easy to characterize the mass of information -given, it covers so wide and varied a field. Certainly the reader of -English history will find that he is helped very materially to a vivid -realization of the great personages and events which have made the -record of England’s past so dramatic and fascinating. Such books as -these are not merely interesting in themselves, but throw a flood of -light on the mind of the reader. - - -FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES. - -THE Abbé Liszt is engaged on the fourth volume of his Memoirs. The -work is expected to fill six volumes. The first volume is to appear -immediately. - -THE authorities of the Imperial Library of St. Petersburg intend to -bring out a palæographical series, containing specimens of their most -important Greek, Latin, Slavonic, French, and other manuscripts. - -M. RENAN’S health has improved, but his projected tour in Palestine -is postponed on account of the disturbed condition of the East. His -lectures at the Collège de France on the Old Testament are attended by -persons of both sexes and listened to with much interest. - -A PRAISEWORTHY step has been taken by the Edinburgh Town Council in -resolving to place memorial tablets on all spots of historical interest -in the city. The first place to receive this mark of attention is the -site in Chambers Street (formerly College Wynd) of the house where Sir -Walter Scott was born; and it has also been decided to erect a memorial -stone over the grave of the novelist’s father in Greyfriars’ Churchyard. - -THE Senate of Hamburg has made a gift of 1,000 marks to Herr Karl -Theodor Gædertz, the author of _Geschichte des Niederdeutschen -Schauspiels_, in acknowledgment of the value of his work in the -illustration of the literary history of Hamburg. The present was made -through the Hanseatic Minister in Berlin, where Herr Gædertz resides. - -A BIOGRAPHY of the late Richard Lepsius is in preparation by his pupil -and friend Prof. G. Ebers. The author has had the diaries, letters, and -other papers of Lepsius placed at his disposal for this purpose. - -THE successor of the lamented Prof. Lepsius at the Royal Library at -Berlin is not yet appointed. We are glad to learn that the post will -not be filled by a great name only, but by a specialist. This is, -in fact, greatly needed, as the Berlin library is one of the least -accessible in Europe to scholars in general. Books are given out but -twice a day, and then only if they have been asked for the previous day. - -“COUNT PAUL VASALI,” whose lively sketches of Viennese society in the -_Nouvelle Revue_ have just been completed, announces that he intends -shortly to commence a similar series on society in London. - -A COLLECTION of unpublished letters of the Countess of Albany is being -prepared for the press by Prof. Camillo Antona-Traversi. It is stated -that these letters far exceed in interest all the specimens hitherto -printed of the correspondence of the Countess. - -SAYS the _Athenæum_. The Trustees of Cornell University have invited -Mr. Eugene Schuyler to give a course of lectures on the diplomatic -and consular service of the United States. The course is to be in -connection with the Department of History and Political Science. It is -hoped that these new lectures, by supplementing those already given in -the university in connexion with international law and history, will -aid in training men to compete for positions in the service when a -proper reform shall be made in the matter of appointments. - -THE study of palæography is receiving increased attention just now -in Italy. A short time since a palæographical school was founded at -Naples, under the direction of the learned archivist, Dr. A. Miola. -More recently the Pope has established at the Vatican a similar -institution, which he has placed under the management of Father Carini. - -THE _Revue Politique et Littéraire_ states that the MS. of two -unpublished tales by Perrault has just been discovered. The titles are -“La Fée des Perles” and “Le Petit Homme de Bois.” It is added that the -MS. will be offered to the Bibliothèque nationale. - -A CORRESPONDENT writes from Paris that M. Victor Hugo seemed strong and -well on his birthday, though troubled with deafness. He expressed his -gratification at the Laureate’s sonnet, which made a deep impression on -him at the time of its publication, and which he has not forgotten. - -THE correspondent of the _Academy_, M. Lambros, has found in a MS. -of the fourteenth century, belonging to the Ministry of Education at -Athens, a collection, in form of a dialogue, from the works of Menander -and Philistion. Boissonade printed a similar one from a Paris MS. to -be found in Meineke, “Fragm. Com. Græc.,” iv. 335 ff. That consists, -however, of only fifty-four verses, while the Athens one contains 350. -The MS. also contains a collection of 415 maxims from Menander, each -consisting of a single line. - -THE French edition of Mr. H. M. Stanley’s book on the Congo, which, -as recently announced, is to be published in Brussels, will, we are -informed, be translated by Mr. Gerard Harry, one of the editors of the -_Independance belge_ and of the _Mouvement géographique_. - -MR. R. L. STEVENSON’S second series of “New Arabian Nights” will be -called, not “The Man in the Sealskin Coat,” as at first announced, but -“The Dynamiter.” Its purpose is comic. It consists of a “Prologue” -and an “Epilogue,” both in the Cigar Divan (in Rupert Street) to -which, as readers of the first series may remember, the chance of -revolution relegated Prince Florizel of Bohemia; of a certain number -of “adventures;” and of a set of subsidiary stories, “The Fair Cuban,” -“The Brown Box,”“The Destroying Angel,” and “The Superfluous Mansion.” -It will be published almost at once, we believe. - -DR. LUDWIG GEIGER has begun a new journal which promises to be of great -literary importance, _Vierteljahrsschrift für Kultur und Litteratur -der Renaissance_. (Leipzig: Seeman.) In the first number the editor -contributes a very thorough study of the life and writings of Publio -Fausto Andrelini, of Forli, who taught in Paris from 1489 to 1518, -and did much to quicken the impulse of humanism in France. Herr Grimm -examines Vasari’s authority for the statement that Michelangelo -finished four statues of captives for the tomb of Julius II. He -comes to the conclusion that Vasari was mistaken, and that only two, -now in the Louvre, were really his work. Herr Zupitza criticises -“Three Middle-English versions of Boccaccio’s story of Ghismonda and -Guiscardo”—one by Banister, a second by Walter, and a third anonymous. -Besides these articles are published unprinted letters of Guarino and -Reuchlin. This new quarterly journal has every prospect of filling a -decided need in literature, and bringing to light much new material for -literary history. - -IN a recent number of _Deutsche Rundschau_ Herr Herzog gives a vivid -sketch of modern progress in an article on “Die Einwirkungen der -modernen Verkehrsmittel auf die Culturentwicklung.” His general -conclusion is that the discovery of railways and the electric telegraph -has tended to democratise society and substitute practical materialism -for any moral ideal of life. Only when commerce has become truly -world-wide, and national interests have ceased to jar and conflict, -must we look for a world-state in which ideal ends again will meet with -due recognition. Freiherr von Lilicronen, in a paper on “Die Kunst -der Conversation,” undertakes the defence of German “Ernst” against -French “esprit” as a basis for social life. An English bystander is -probably inclined to suggest a happy blending of the two. Dr. H. Hüffer -publishes some hitherto unprinted letters of Heine to his friend Johann -Hermann Detmold. They are the scanty records of a friendship of thirty -years, and are of great importance for Heine’s biography, especially as -regards his life in Paris and his relations to his wife. - -IN an exhaustive paper recently read before the Académie des -Inscriptions (_La Donation de Hugues, Marquis de Toscane, au Saint -Sépulcre, et les etablissements latins de Jérusalem au Xe siècle_), -M. Riant reminds us how little is known of the history of Palestine -previous to the time of the Crusades from the Latin side, although much -has been done of late years to elucidate its history in connection with -the Greek Church. He makes the re-examination of an important grant of -property by the Duke of Tuscany, in A.D. 993, to the Holy Sepulchre -and St. Maria Latina the occasion for a sketch of the Latin occupation -from the end of the sixth to the end of the eleventh centuries, showing -especially the nature of Charlemagne’s protectorate of the holy places. -The document itself he subjects to a searching criticism, calling up, -while so doing, a most striking figure in the Abbé Guarin, of Cuxa (one -of the grantees), an eloquent ecclesiastic of great influence in both -France and Italy, and a wide traveller. - - - - -MISCELLANY. - - -LEARNING TO RIDE.—Six half-hour rides on six successive days will -do infinitely more towards moulding the muscles to the equestrian -form than three lessons of two hours each, with an interval of a day -between. When the services of a competent teacher cannot be had, the -next best aid is that of a good model to imitate: not a soldier, -although some of the very finest horsemen are found among cavalry -officers, because a soldier has to follow rules which do not affect -a civilian; not a huntsman, because to the best huntsmen the horse -is only a machine, and one hand is always occupied with the horn or -the whip; but from watching a clever colt-breaker or accomplished -professional steeplechase rider very useful lessons may be learned. -It may safely be assumed that any man of forty, not disqualified by -physical defeats or oppressed with excessive corpulence, may, with -patience, perseverance, and pluck, without rashness, learn how to -ride and how to enjoy riding any well-broken horse, without looking -ridiculous, after from fifty to sixty well arranged rides, within -the space of three months. But it is a sort of exercise that cannot -be taken up and abandoned for a long interval with impunity. Even -practised horsemen suffer severely after a certain time of life, if, -after a long cessation from horse exercise, they attempt the feats -of their youth; feverishness, indigestion, a fluttering heart, a -disordered liver, remind them that for long days the man requires -preparation as much as the horse. A great deal of the comfort of riding -depends on proper garments for the lower limbs. Theoretically, there is -no riding-dress so comfortable as well-made breeches and boots either -of the modern cavalry or the plain “butcher pattern.” The next best -substitute is a pair of leather overalls, fastened at the sides by -buttons, not with springs. But those whose age and position would make -boots for riding in a town objectionable must pay attention to their -trousers. The material for riding-trousers should be thick woollen, and -may be dark—there are some very nice partly-elastic materials in dark -colors—they must be constructed by a real trouser-maker, who will make -you sit down when he measures you, and they must be worn with straps -whether straps are in fashion or not. Wellington boots are the best -with trousers; shoes are quite out of the question. Trousers without -straps, slipping up the leg of a timid horseman, are an acute form of -unnecessary misery, which was the fashion for many years up to 1877, -when straps again appeared on the trousers of the more correct riders -in Rotten Row.—_Illustrated Book of the Horse._ - - * * * * * - -A TRAGIC BARRING-OUT.—In the inner part of Riddell’s Close stands the -house of Bailie John Macmorran, whose tragic death made a great stir -at its time, threw the city into painful excitement, and tarnished the -reputation of the famous old High School. The conduct of the scholars -there had been bad and turbulent for some years, but it reached a -climax on September 15th, 1595. On a week’s holiday being refused, the -boys were so exasperated, being chiefly “gentilmane’s bairnes,” that -they formed a compact for vengeance in the true spirit of the age; -and, armed with swords and pistols, took possession at midnight of the -ancient school in the Blackfriars Gardens, and declining to admit the -masters or anyone else, made preparation to stand a siege, setting all -authority at defiance. The doors were not only shut but barricaded and -strongly guarded within; all attempts to storm the boy-garrison proved -impracticable, and all efforts at reconciliation were unavailing. The -Town Council lost patience, and sent Bailie John Macmorran, one of the -wealthiest merchants in the city (though he had begun life as a servant -to the Regent Morton), with a posse of city officers, to enforce the -peace. On their appearance in the school-yard the boys became simply -outrageous, and mocked them as “buttery carles,” daring anyone to -approach at his peril. “To the point likely to be first attacked,” -says Steven, in his history of the school, “they were observed to -throng in a highly excited state, and each seemed to vie with his -fellow in threatening instant death to the man who should forcibly -attempt to displace them. William Sinclair, son of the Chancellor of -Caithness, had taken a conspicuous share in this barring out, and he -now appeared foremost, encouraging his confederates,” and stood at a -window overlooking one of the entrances which the Bailie ordered the -officers to force, by using a long beam as a battering-ram, and he had -nearly accomplished his perilous purpose, when a ball in the forehead -from Sinclair’s pistol slew him on the spot, and he fell on his back. -Panic-stricken, the boys surrendered. Some effected their escape, and -others, including Sinclair and the sons of Murray of Springiedale, -and Pringle of Whitebank, were thrown into prison. Macmorran’s family -were too rich to be bribed, and clamored that they would have blood -for blood. On the other hand, “friends threatened death to all the -people of Edinburgh if they did the child any harm, saying they were -not wise who meddled with scholars, especially _gentlemen’s sons_,” -and Lord Sinclair, as chief of the family to which the young culprit -belonged, moved boldly in his behalf, and procured the intercession -of King James with the magistrates, and in the end all the accused -got free, including the slayer of the Bailie, who lived to become -Sir William Sinclair of Mey, in 1631, and the husband of Catherine -Ross, of Balnagowan, and from them the present Earls of Caithness are -descended.—_Old and New Edinburgh._ - - * * * * * - -INTELLIGENCE IN CATS.—Cats are like oysters, in that no one is neutral -about them; everyone is, explicitly or implicitly, friendly or hostile -to them. And they are like children in their power of discovering, -by a rapid and sure instinct, who likes them and who does not. It is -difficult to win their affection; and it is easy to forfeit what it is -hard to win. But when given, their love, although less demonstrative, -is more delicate and beautiful than that of a dog. Who that is on -really intimate terms with a cat has not watched its dismay at the -signs of packing up and leaving home? We ourselves have known a cat who -would recognise his master’s footstep after a three months’ absence, -and come out to meet him in the hall, with tail erect, and purring all -over as if to the very verge of bursting. And another cat we know, -who comes up every morning between six and seven o’clock to wake his -master, sits on the bed, and very gently feels first one eyelid and -then the other with his paw. When an eye opens, but not till then, -the cat sets up a loud purr, like the prayer of a fire-worshipper to -the rising sun. Those who say lightly that cats care only for places, -and not for persons, should go to the Cat Show at the Crystal Palace, -where they may see recognitions between cat and owner that will cure -them of so shallow an opinion. When we were last there, one striking -instance fell in our way. Cats greatly dislike these exhibitions; a -cat, as a rule, is like Queen Vashti, unwilling to be shown, even to -the nobles, at the pleasure of an Ahasuerus. Shy, sensitive, wayward, -and independent, a cat resents being placed upon a cushion in a wire -cage, and exposed to the unintelligent criticism, to say nothing of -the fingers of a mob of sightseers. One very eminent cat, belonging -to the Masters’ Common Room at Christ Church, Oxford, whose size and -beauty have on several occasions entailed on him the hard necessity -of attending a cat show, takes, it is said, three days to recover -from the sense of humiliation and disgust which he feels, whether -he gets a prize or not. On the occasion to which we refer, a row of -distinguished cats were sitting, each on his cushion, with their backs -turned to the sightseers, while their faces, when from time to time -visible, were expressive of the deepest gloom and disgust. Presently -two little girls pushed through the crowd to the cage of one of the -largest of these cats, crying, “There’s ‘Dick’!” Instantly the great -cat turned round, his face transfigured with joy, purred loudly, and -endeavored to scratch open the front of the cage, that he might rejoin -his little friends, who were with difficulty persuaded to leave him at -the show.—_Spectator._ - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. All other -spelling and punctuation remains unchanged. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign -Literature, Science, and Art, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - -***** This file should be named 53772-0.txt or 53772-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/7/53772/ - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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