according to analogy, that each germ
should have its specific character, and that
so man should have been man in intention
and preparation from the very beginning
of things. It may have been-in fact,
according to the supposition of evolution
it must have been that in the early con-
dition of life upon the globe there was no
man (in the full and proper sense of the
word) in existence, but his progenitors
would be there; and what is submitted is
this, that those progenitors were undevel-
oped men, and not "lower animals." What
they visibly were scientific discovery has
not yet put in evidence; it is admitted
that there is a
missing link between
Some scientific

66

Those who admit my interpretation of the evidence now adduced-strictly scientific evidence in its appeal to facts which are clearly what ought not to be on the materialistic theof man, as not in any way inconsistent with ory will be able to accept the spiritual nature the theory of evolution, but as dependent upon those fundamental laws and causes which furnish the very materials for evolution to work with.*

Declarations such as these, coming from such an authority, must doubtless be very comforting to those minds which feel themselves compelled to receive the evidence for evolution, but shrink from materialism, which feel convinced that materialism cannot be true and yet have the present and the past. men hope that the link may be found, to it as a logical conclusion. But if we an uneasy suspicion that evolution points some think that it is hidden under the admit with Mr. Wallace that variation and sea; but, whatever the truth may be with natural selection are not adequate to exregard to this point, what is maintained is plain the evolution of man's higher qualithis, that, on the hypothesis of a multi-ties and faculties, we are not merely plicity of original germs of life, it is more delivered from the acceptance of materialprobable than otherwise that certain germs contained the promise of men, others of "lower animals; " and that, if so, it is incorrect to speak of the lower animals as the progenitors of men.

This view of the case, though founded upon a criticism of Mr. Wallace's language, would seem nevertheless to be consistent with his real views concerning the origin of man. In the last chapter of his work, entitled "Darwinism Applied to Man," to which reference has been already made, it is contended, as we have seen, that the principle of natural selection will not account for the development of the human faculties. I recur to that chapter chiefly for the purpose of making two extracts, which will, I think, tend to strengthen the arguments which have been already advanced. After rehearsing three stages of progress in creation- the change from the inorganic to the organic; the introduction of sensation or consciousness, constituting the fundamental distinction between the animal and vegetable kingdoms; and the existence in man of a

number of his most characteristic and

noblest faculties, those which raise him above the brutes and open up possibilities of almost indefinite advancement - Mr. Wallace writes thus:

These three distinct stages of progress from the inorganic world of matter and motion up to man, point clearly to an unseen universeto a world of spirit, to which the world of matter is altogether subordinate.*

And again :

• Page 476.

ism, we are invited and even compelled (as has been urged in a former part of this paper) to review the whole question of the extent of the application of Mr. Darwin's who, in the face of Mr. Darwin, Mr. Walgreat principle. He would be a rash man lace, and the whole generation of naturalists who have followed in their steps, should deny that natural selection was a no rashness or audacity in maintaining vera causa in creative work; but there is what Mr. Darwin did not deny, and what Mr. Wallace emphatically affirms, namely, that there is needed for the explanation of phenomena something beyond, and essentially different from, the process of natural selection. All seems to point beyond matter into the region of mind, beyond mechanical sequence to purpose, beyond all vera causa to the causa causarum, beyond nature to God.

I will close this paper by recording an incident which was communicated to me some years ago in the course of conversation by Dr. Thompson, the late master of Trinity College, Cambridge.

Dr. Thompson was walking, in his college days, with two companions, one of whom was Alfred Tennyson; of the name of the other I am not sure. The path by which they went was one which all Cambridge men know, namely, that which leads from the backs of the colleges through the fields towards Coton. After passing the brook, which used to be crossed (and perhaps is now) by a rude wooden bridge, it was perceived that Ten

• Ibid.

nyson had lagged behind. He had paused | by the side of the brook, brought his eyes as near as he could to the surface of the water, and was examining with intense in terest the subaqueous life which the little stream contained. After a time he rejoined his companions, and this was his utterance when he joined them: "What an imagination God has!" The words must have made a deep impression upon my informant's mind; otherwise he would not have retained them in memory, and would not have thought it worth while to repeat them to me. They made a similar impression upon myself when so repeated; and I cannot but regard them as containing a true philosophy of nature. Whatever may be the power of natural selection, and whatever causes may be at work to produce the varied scene of life which the world contains, you need some underlying cause, both of life itself and of reproduction and variation, and of all natural phe nomena; and if causally the existence of the universe may be attributed to God's will and purpose, so the endless variety of vital manifestations may be attributed to that which in the case of man we should call imagination.

universe, above all, the mind of man, which is capable of understanding, appreciating, and discussing the problems to which natural things give rise-is to be sought in no region lower than that which may, with all reverence, be described as the mind, or as the imagination of God.

From Blackwood's Magazine. SONS AND DAUGHTERS.

CHAPTER I.

"THEN you will not take the share in the business which I have offered you?" "No, I think not, sir. I don't like it. I don't like the way in which it is worked. It would be entirely out of accordance with all my training."

"So much the worse for your training -and for you," said Mr. Burton hastily.

Well, sir, perhaps so. I feel it's un. generous to say that the training was your own choice, not mine. I think it, of course, the best training in the world." "So it is - so it was when I selected it for you. There's no harm in the training. Few boys come out of it with your ridiculous prejudices against their bread and butter. It's not the training, it's you— that are a fool, Gervase."

"Perhaps so, sir," said the young man with great gravity. "I can offer no opinion on that subject."

In reality, whatever may be the actual historical genesis of nature, we seem to need a quasi-Platonic doctrine of antecedent ideas in the divine mind as the basis, the underlying condition, of the existence of things as we see them. It is matter for fair discussion amongst naturalists how The father and son were seated together much may be attributed to natural selec-in a well-furnished library in a large house tion, how much to sexual, how much to in Harley Street - not fashionable, but physiological, and so forth. But such extremely comfortable, spacious, expendiscussions cannot go to the root of things; sive, and dignified. It was a library in the they do not reach the original thought out truest sense of the word, and not merely of which the works of nature, as we call the "gentleman's room "" in which the them, originally spring. Michael Angelo, | male portion of a family takes refuge. as we are told, used to sit with his ham- There was an excellent collection of books mer and chisel before his marble block, on the shelves that lined the walls, a few and shape it without any previous model-good pictures, a bust or two placed high ling process into the figure which he in- on the tops of the bookcases. It bore tended to produce; other sculptors, I believe, with only this one grand exception, make their model in clay, and thence proceed by semi-mechanical steps to the finished work; but Michael Angelo and all other sculptors have alike the seminal idea in their minds, and the manner of its evolution is comparatively a matter of detail. Something of the same kind may be said of the production of natural things. It may be possible for naturalists to discover some of the steps by which the finished work comes to be what it is; but the actual origin of natural things-the wonders of life, the varied beauties of the

signs, besides, of constant occupation, and of being, in short, the room in which its present occupants lived which was the fact. They were all their family. Mrs. Burton had died years before, and her husband had after her death lived only for his boy and - his business. The latter devotion kept everything that was sentimental out of the former. He was very kind and indulgent to Gervase, and gave him the ideal English education the education of an English gentleman; five or six years at Eton, three or four at Oxford. He intended to do, and did, his son "every justice." Expense had never

To

when he has been warned that he stands
on the brink of another world. One would
wish generally to postpone that highest of
consummations; but to refuse to go into
the business was a thing incredible.
Mr. Burton had raged and stormed, but
afterwards he had been brought into par-
tial calm through the evident impossibility
of treating his son in any other way.
scold Gervase was practically impossible.
To treat him like a child or a fool was a
thing that could not be done. His own
composure naturally affected all who had
to do with him, and his father among the
rest. That passionate speaking or abuse,
or violence of any kind, should fall dumb
before his easy and immovable quiet, was
inevitable. He had waited till the out-
burst was over, and then he had gone
on.

"And what else then, if not in my office, do you mean to do?" Mr. Burton now said.

"I suppose, sir," said Gervase, "I am right in believing, as everybody does, that you are a rich man?"

"Well; and what then?" said the merchant, with a wave of his hand.

"And I am your only child." "Of that, at least, there can be no doubt. But I repeat, what then?"

been spared in any way. Though he did
not himself care for shooting, he had
taken a moor in the Highlands for several
successive seasons, in order that his boy
should be familiar with that habit of the
higher classes. Though he hated travel-
ling, he had gone abroad for the same
purpose. Gervase had never been stinted
in anything; he had a good allowance,
rooms handsomely furnished, horses at
his disposal, everything that heart could
desire. And he on his part had done all
that could be desired or expected from a
If he had not electrified his
tutors and masters, he had not disap-
pointed them. He had done very well all
round. His father had no reason to be
otherwise than proud of his son. Both at
school and college he had done well; he
had got into no scrapes. He had even
acquired a little distinction; not much,
not enough to spoil him either for busi-
ness or society yet something, enough
to enable people to say, "He did very well
at Oxford.' And he had made some good
friends, which perhaps was what his father
prized most. One or two scions of noble
houses came to Harley Street to see him;
he had invitations from a few fine people
for their country houses, and ladies of
note who had a number of daughters were
disposed to smile upon the merchant's
son. All these things pleased Mr. Burton
much, and he had been quite willing to
assent to his son's wish that he should end
and complete his experiences by a visit to
America, before beginning the work which
had always been his final destination. He
had now just returned from that expedi-
tion, and it had been intended that he
should step at once into his place in the
business that business which was as
good as, nay, much better than, an estate.
Up to this time the young man had made
no objection to the plan, which he was
perfectly acquainted with. So far as his
father knew, he was as well disposed
towards that plan as Mr. Burton himself,
and looked forward to it with as much sat-
isfaction. It may therefore be supposed
that it was with no small consternation,
with displeasure, disappointment, and in-
dignation, one greater than the other, that
the father had sat and listened to the sud-lated calm,
den and astounding protest of the son.
Not go into the business! It was to Mr.
Burton as if a man had refused to go to
heaven; indeed it was less reasonable by
far; for though going to heaven is sup
posed to be the height of everybody's
desire, even the most pious of clergymen
has been known to say "God forbid!"

"I may be wrong," said Gervase in genuously, "but at least everybody says

- that every means of making an income is pursued by crowds of people, more than can ever hope to make an income by it. I may not state the facts so clearly as I wish."

"There are more men wanting work than there is work to give them. I suppose that's what you mean."

66

Far better said than I could say it. In that case, my dear father," said Gervase, with a look of imperturbable reason and candor, "why should I, who have no need to work and no desire for it, help to crowd the already overcrowded field?"

Mr. Burton gave a start like an excited horse, and evidently had to make an effort to restrain the corresponding burst of utterance. But the conviction that these impatient outbursts did more harm than good restrained him. He said with simu

"I am not aware that there is any crowd -at my gates, to force an entrance into my business- to the place which I have naturally reserved for my son."

66

My dear father," Gervase repeated, with an almost caressing frankness and appeal to his superior judgment, "there are hundreds who could do it much bet

"Try not to drive me beyond the bounds of patience," cried the merchant, with suppressed excitement. "Wickham's son my old clerk

a girl accustomed to every luxury your boy's allowance. Five hundred a year is not much; it might do for her pin-money, with a little perhaps to the good for your button-holes. But what you would live upon, in the more serious sense of the words, I don't know."

"Who has served you most faithfully for years. And Charlie Wickham is worth twenty of me- in all that concerns busi-pletely disappeared during this speech.

ness

Wickhams

The young man's composure had com

Astonishment, irritation, and dismay came into his face. He did not seem able, however, to believe what was said to him. "I thought- that you were in every way pleased with the connection," he said.

"Certainly I am a better business connection could not be for a young man seriously entering into commercial life. A dilettante is a different pair of shoes

"In setting her father at defiance, and marrying upon nothing

"Look here, Gervase," cried his father, "let's understand each other. You are free to come in and prepare yourself to A dilettante - I don't object to the take my place, which would be the course name," said Gervase, with a faint smile. of nature; but if you don't think fit to do" Madeline is a dilettante too. She has this, I have no desire for your advice. I some money of her own. And I feel sure don't believe in your advice. Keep your she would agree with me." suggestions to yourself. As for your If I bring in anybody in your place I'll bring in new blood. I'll bring in more money. I'll- He felt himself getting hot and excited, and the calm and slightly wondering countenance of his son, although seen through a mist of irritation, and apt to send any man dancing with fury, yet held him in as with a bridle, so strong was the superiority of the calm to the excitement. "Try not to drive me beyond the bounds of patience," he said.

"Father," said Gervase, distressed, "I had no intention of setting you at defiance. I have certain opinions of my own - which are new. Business is not congenial to me. Some of its methods seem But I need not explain. I

never meant, however, to set you at defiance. I thought that in myself I had some claims upon you apart from the business

"What claims? I am the author of "Well, sir?" replied Gervase, spread- your being, as the old books say, and I've ing out his hands and slightly elevating responded to that claim by giving you his shoulders. The gesture was French, everything that a king's son could have which irritated Mr. Burton more and had. You have been just as well off as more; but he said nothing further; and it the Prince of Wales. What more do you was not till he had taken up the St. James's want? I think my claims are better found. Gazette which lay on the table, and readed than yours. It is I who have a right to through two of those soothing articles on something in return, not you.' nothing particular with which that journal abounds, and which the merchant in his anger read from beginning to end without the slightest idea what they were about, that he allowed himself to speak again. He was then preternaturally tranquil, with a quietude like that of an anchorite in his

3