not appreciably affect the amount of first-class traffic. The fact that the company in second-class carriages was somewhat more select than heretofore did not tempt wayfarers to leave their old clothcovered and cushioned seats. I do not wonder at this; for, looking at the comparative means of comfort provided, second-class travelling at existing rates is less worth the money charged than either first or third.

THE evolution hypothesis has begun to apply itself to the explanation of the philosophy of instinct. Everybody who has ever speculated upon the hard problems of metaphysics and psychology knows how unsatisfactory has been the result of all inquiry and all theorising on the subject of instinct. Nobody has ever determined with any precision what it is, how it arises, where it begins or where it ends. Mr. Douglas A. Spalding seeks to account for instinct on Mr. Herbert Spencer's doctrine of "Inherited Acquisition." Just as peculiarities of moral and intellectual character are handed down from generation to generation, so it is thought may come by birth the tendency to certain habits under given circumstances, and this tendency is instinct. Of course the most difficult point to determine is how the instinct originated; but that is a problem for Mr. Darwin. The question which will most interest the metaphysician is whether this doctrine of instinct is in real antagonism with Locke's philosophy of ideas, and if not, how the two systems can be reconciled. The extraordinary conduct of the cat on seeing its first mouse does not necessarily prove the existence of innate ideas; but what does it prove with respect to the origin of ideas? Mr. Spalding assumes that the animal is born with an hereditary impress on the brain, making the instinct. Can this impress be regarded as antagonistic to the doctrine of Locke that there is no "impression" upon the mind except the impression of individual experience?

MR. GLADSTONE'S Scheme omitting a Chair of Philosophy in Dublin University has set me thinking what have been the relations between philosophical speculation and Roman Catholicism, and I cannot call to memory any great name in the history of metaphysics or psychology of a distinguished thinker on these subjects who was also an ardent son of the Church. The story of Greek philosophy forms one of the grandest chapters in the history of human intelligence, and Rome added largely to the field of vigorous abstract speculation. But during the thousand years of the Church's undisputed empire over the minds of men, from the triumph of the Goths till

the dawn of the Reformation, there was no philosophical inquiry worthy of the name. On the splendid roll of modern philosophers, French, English, Scotch, and German, I do not find the name of a single master owing allegiance to the Pope; and I think a review of the present state of speculation would show that the Romanists stand almost if not entirely apart from these grand and fascinating inquiries. I know not whether this fact may be regarded as fair warrant to the British Parliament for refusing to endow a Professorship of Philosophy at Dublin.

THE "coal famine" is no mere sensational phrase of the daily papers. It is a terrible reality. The fires in the poorer districts of the country may almost be said to have been put out by the prohibitory rates to which coal has recently been advanced. The subject is surely one for Government action. We are all free-traders on principle; but I have talked to many wise men upon this question of fuel, and they all agree with me that coal should be the exception to the general rule. A high duty should be fixed upon coals exported. The misfortune with regard to English freetrade is, that the freedom is all on one side. We ought at all events to demand reciprocity in the matter of coal and iron.

A REMARKABLE article on "Nobbling the Press" has appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette, and been prominently quoted by the Times, which calls the attention of the Treasury to the subject. The article revealed an association organised and worked by the Liberal party for transmitting cheap news and leaders to the Liberal press in the country. The journalistic atmosphere is full of litigation, but I hope it is not libellous to suggest that the Times is evidently annoyed, as well it may be, at the preference shown by Her Majesty's Government for the Telegraph over the Times and other journals. It is reported on good authority that the Telegraph staff is associated with that of the new association. Thus the special Ministerial and party news filters through the Telegraph before it reaches the provincial newspaper subscribers of the Liberal Association. This, I suspect, is the secret grievance of my contemporary the Times, and it is not surprising that he should resent the partiality which Mr. Gladstone undoubtedly evinces for the Telegraph. But there is nothing new in this so-called "nobbling" of the press. Mr. Saunders, the enterprising founder of the Central Press Association for the dissemination of news, sold his organisation long since to the Conservative party, who have worked it in the interest of

themselves and the Conservative press. The Liberals, who are not half as clever as the Conservatives in organisation, have only imitated their opponents; but they have not shown a wise discretion in their arrangements. If I lived in the country I think I should decline to be guided by any local journal that was indebted to either of these party associations for its interpretation of public opinion.

EPIGRAM ON MATRIMONY.

By Francis de Maucroix, Canon of Rheims; quoted (from "Les trois Siècles") in the Cole MSS., Brit. Mus.

Ami, je vois beaucoup de bien
Dans le parti qu'on me propose;
Mais toutefois ne pressons rien :
Prendre femme est étrange chose,
Il faut y penser mûrement.
Gens sages, en qui je me fie,
M'ont dit que c'est fait prudemment
Que d'y penser toute sa vie.

TRANSLATION. BY J. G. WH.

Much good, I clearly see, my friend,
Is in the match you recommend;
Yet wedlock's a queer sort of thing,
And needs no slight considering :
To hurry it were much amiss,

And wise ones, when the question's this,
"Whether or no to take a wife?"

Tell me, "Consider—all your life!"

IGHT o'clock, Clytie, and he does not come."

As Tom spoke, the hour was struck out in measured

tones. The sun had set peacefully in a flush of glorious colour behind the Cathedral towers.

Tom Mayfield sat waiting for Ransford, and wondering what the result of their interview would be.

"What has he to say to me, my princess? What are his intentions, my sweet goddess of the wavy hair?"

The cold white figure only stood there, in the twilight, looking down at Tom with its vacant eyes.

"He loves you, that rich fellow on the hill, that noisy plebeian; that bejewelled cotton-spinner loves you, in his own vulgar fashion, and thinks he honours you, while his sisters sweep by you in a smug crowd of ignorance and silk."

Tom walked to the window and looked across the Green. Returning to the fire-place, he moved the statuette from his table back to the mantel-shelf, and listened.

"No! I thought he was coming, my love; but the footsteps have gone by; and there go the quarters. No matter, you shall stay there, as though I did not love you, in case he should come hurrying in, my Clytie. You do not care for this hulking young Croesus? You have

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no empty ambition, which money alone can satisfy? No, your heart is too pure for that. If you cannot love me, at least Ransford is not your Apollo. He could make no sacrifices for you. Self-denial forms no part of his nature."

The time went hurrying on; but Phil Ransford did not come to keep his appointment. He had learnt, quite by accident, that Luke Waller had received one of his periodical invitations to dine with the Dean, an honour which was conferred upon the organist at long intervals, in recognition of the introduction which Luke had brought to Dunelm, and out of respect for the noble lord, who was an old friend of the Dean.

Phil was quick, and bold in action. What coward might not have been, when the conquest was a pretty girl? He came down from the cotton mansion on the hill, and loitered in the shadow of the trees by the bridge, near the Hermitage. As the clock struck seven, he saw the door of the little house open, and Mr. Waller come forth. Clytie stood upon the step and kissed her grandfather, and while the old man patted her head, and spoke some words of affection or caution to the young girl, Phil saw that she glanced up and down the street, as if to see whether her appearance had attracted the attention of any casual lounger in the dull old city. She could not help these little acts of vanity. She knew how beautiful she was. It was part of her existence to fling the radiance of her loveliness upon all men alike, regardless of the shadow that might remain behind.

When the last sounds of Luke Waller's footsteps had died away, Phil took a turn in the Banks to think out his audacious plan of spending the evening at the Hermitage. While Tom Mayfield was talking to the Parian prototype of Clytie, Phil was contemplating the lady's boudoir. He had gone round to the back of the Bailey, and there, looking over the river, he could just see the summer-house through the trees, with a peep of Clytie's window beyond. It might have been owing to some galvanic influence that the lady was halfconscious of the hovering presence of her daring admirer; for Clytie was in a flutter of excitement. Perhaps the responsibility of freedom from the immediate influence of her grandfather set her thinking of contingencies. Before the old man had taken his seat at the Dean's table, Clytie had been up and down stairs half a dozen times, trying to induce the servant to go out and leave her in the house alone.

"But master, you know, miss, told me on no account to leave the i house," the servant had replied.

It had occurred to Clytie that she would like to have the