a home for itself is utterly broken up and ceases to be organic. Something plainly is gone which was the life, and that is the thinking soul. This theory, I say, leaves intact all those facts which establish the substantial independence of thought, while it also accounts for the other set of facts which show that thought, for its reflective exercise, is conditioned on the organism. It leaves unhurt the immateriality of the soul, for life is just such a function which spirit can exercise in connection with matter, for it implies the presence of the indivisible whole in each several part. Spirit can possess matter for good and for bad, pervade it and use it for its own purposes. I hold it unthinkable to say that thought is a function of brain, but I believe brain to be the organ, that is, the instrument, by which spirit externates to itself the dim thoughts formed in its depths. Brain furnishes symbols to the grand inner dialogue of thought, analogous to the words which we want to make known our conceptions. Here, again, the notion of Life helps us to understand how the intellect is dependent on our corporeal frame, for while its vital union with the body does not destroy the original substantial freedom of spirit, yet when our spirit has submitted to be a soul, and to animate a body, it must take the consequences. Matter becomes necessary to it, as the channel to the river which has worn it for itself. Spirit depends on matter, not for its existence, but for the normal exercise of its operations.

I must here close a paper which has been already too long. To prevent misconception, I only add one thing. Much of what has been said applies to the lower animals as well as to man; however, in the view of the schoolmen, the soul of man stands on a different footing from that of inferior creatures, if the force within them can be called a soul. Above all, the special creation of the immaterial part of animals is an open question, while no Catholic can hold the pre-existence of souls. Into the arguments for this it is impossible to enter. Suffice it to say, that we look upon each soul as a special substance created by God, and in the moment of creation connected with its body. As it returns to the bosom of God, there also it has its source. Granting the independence of the substance of the soul, I know no proof in the whole range of thought which calls so loudly for God as this continual act of individual creation, involving the otherwise inexplicable fusing together of two such substances as spirit and matter. On the other hand, when once the possibility of the survival of the soul after the breaking up of the body has been proved by the vigorous self-assertion of the acts of its intelligence, then, when we take in the existence of God, the question of its immortality is solved. JOHN BERNARD DALGAIRNS.

[SUBS

IV.*

UBSEQUENTLY to the conversation in the first chapter, grave events had occurred. The battle of Sedan had been fought; the French army had capitulated; Louis Napoleon had surrendered himself; and the Republic had been proclaimed at Paris.

It was when talking of the foregoing remarkable incidents that the following conversation arose.]

Milverton. There are two things in the world that infuriate me. One is, cruelty to animals; or, to extend the idea, cruelty to the unresisting, the other is, the invasion of a legislative assembly by a mob. I have no patience with either of these enormities, and would do anything in the world to prevent them.

Sir Arthur. At Paris it is the old, old story over again. A mob being where it should not be, has been the cause of most of the political misfortunes of France.

Ellesmere. Yes, I hate a mob. It is a creature that has no respect for lawyers.

Sir Arthur. Consider what a legislative assembly is. The very

* It will be obvious to the reader that this conversation succeeded the one given in the first chapter; but I published the third chapter out of its order, thinking that Machiavelli's wise sayings might possibly be of some use at the present moment.

essence of its being-the reason of its existence-is, that there should be deliberation and resolve, freed from all influence of force. It is a supreme effort of mankind to deal with things reasonably.

Ellesmere. The rooks and crows understand this, and conduct their solemn assemblages without employing beak or claw.

Milverton. Sir Arthur has told us to consider what a legislative assembly is. I ask you to consider what a mob is; and, to tell the truth, I doubt whether any of you have thoroughly considered what a mob is. The main horror of it to me consists in its being a chance assemblage of persons who will never meet together again. I wish I could explain to you all that I see in this important fact. If the mob consisted of the same persons who should meet on various occasions, it might be trained and educated;—might appreciate the consequences of its deeds;-might have remorse ;-might undo what it has done. But, no: collected together in the most haphazard fashion, it enters sacred places where it should never be seen; changes, in a few moments of fury, the fate of nations; and then vanishes, as it were, into space, having generally accomplished an amount of evil which it takes a generation or two to reverse.

Ellesmere. Upon my word, that does put a new idea before one, though all that Milverton has said is as obvious as the light of day. But I do perceive that I have always viewed the mob as if there were unity in the creature; as if it were the same mob, here and there, yesterday and to-day, instead of its being a "fortuitous con- a currence of accidental atoms" which are never again reunited, any more than are the constituent atoms of a cloud that has descended in rain. Now if the real mob were like the stage mob, which is what Milverton would desire, that is, a number of persons who are sometimes a mob of fishermen, sometimes a mob of peasants, sometimes a mob of outlaws, sometimes a mob of ladies and gentlemen, but always one and the same mob,-they might be drilled and instructed, might have a soul and a conscience, and might be a creature amenable to reason.

Sir Arthur. Familiarity renders us dull and unappreciative of the wonderful thing that the structure of civil society is; tens of thousands of people, as in our greatest towns, moving about in an orderly fashion, almost as orderly as bees; and certainly not more than one man in each ten thousand, throughout the day, endeavouring to carry his object, whatever it may be, by pure force.

Milverton. It is an immense result-the result of profound thought and continued labour of untold generations.

Sir Arthur. Yes; and when you have mob rule, you resolve, for the moment, all this splendid fabric of civilization into its original elements.

Ellesmere. King Mob is the most detestable power that has existed in the world, always excepting the Inquisition of former days. And, strange to say, there has been a singular similarity in the proceedings of both of these iniquitous powers, although they seem outwardly so much to differ.

Cranmer. Well, hitherto, I have agreed with every word that has been said about mobs; but this last saying of Ellesmere's does astonish me. For the life of me, I cannot see what likeness there can be between a mob and the Inquisition.

Ellesmere. But there is a likeness. No great thinker, Master Cranmer, is understood at once. Kant is not; Hegel is not; and many a writer of the present day is somewhat obscure on the first reading. But I will expound. Did not the Inquisition act suddenly? Does not the mob act suddenly? When you were seized by the Inquisition, did you know who was your accuser, or of what you were accused? And when you are confronted by a mob, does not some obscure person, name unknown, and who probably knows nothing of you, shout out "à la lanterne!" and you are strung up immediately? There are certainly trifling differences, chiefly of mere forms and ceremonies, between the action of the mob and that of the Inquisition; but substantially their proceedings are of a very similar character. In both cases the charge against you is almost incomprehensible. I am sure you will see I have proved my point.

If it had not been for this fellow, Cranmer, who is so unlike me, always dissenting from what everybody says, our conversation would have been a wonderful and beautiful instance of uniformity of thinking.

Milverton. I know that Ellesmere is secretly very tired of this uniformity; and, therefore, if you please, we will change the subject; and you will, perhaps, allow me to say something which I had intended to say about culture.

Sir Arthur. No, Milverton, our minds are, for the moment, wholly given to war. Say now anything that you have to say about

that.

Milverton. There is no subject to which I have given so much thought in the course of my life as that of war, or rather the prevention of war. I have turned it over in my mind in every imaginable way; and, sometimes, the result of long thought about it has been only increased perplexity. It is not of much use talking about the horrors of war-at any rate, not at the time it breaks out, or after it has broken out. One goes on, though, talking about these horrors, just as one fires from a fort upon the outposts, not from any hope of seriously checking the enemy, but merely to show that one is on the alert, and thoroughly alive to the situation.

But what one wants to get at are the principles, the ideas, the animus, and the peculiar conditions of circumstances, which one foresees must lead to war. Of course, if one could by any talking or writing affect the primary questions, such as those which relate to the principles upon which men act, one would do the greatest good. But this is an effort which requires long periods of time.

Ellesmere. Please give us an instance, Milverton. You know my horror of the abstract.

Milverton. The putting down of false ideas of glory would illustrate what I mean. This is clerical business; but, somehow or other, the clergy do not seem to do it.

Cranmer. I should like to have an account of the secondary causes, those which relate to what Milverton somewhat vaguely calls the conditions of circumstances which cause war.

Milverton. If you will all be very good and attentive, and if Ellesmere will promise not to interrupt me for an interval of six consecutive minutes, I will endeavour to show you what I mean in this respect.

Ellesmere. Done! I believe Milverton would like to have me held with a cord round my tongue, as if I were a refractory horse about to be shod.

Milverton. I will divide the subject carefully. But first I must notice that all endeavours to prevent war, whether relating to primary or secondary causes, depend upon increased culture of the minds of men.

1. This great argument must be insisted upon, namely, that the results of war are never, or at least hardly ever, what the promoters of war intend or hope for.

It assumes as a fact that which is well known to historians: I doubt, however, whether any historian has adequately exemplified it by the innumerable examples that might be given. And, comparatively speaking, it is of little use that historians alone should be cognizant of this fact. It should be well known to the million; and, among the million, to the many statesmen who often act as if they were entirely ignorant of the fact.

2. It should be one of the great efforts of the world to settle, in times of peace, those unsettled questions of diplomacy which are nearly sure, at some time or other, to lead to war.

I should not wonder if some future historian were to prove that the Schleswig-Holstein question was the cause of the whole of the present turmoil and misery.

It is a witty saying, attributed to Lord Palmerston, that there was only one man in Europe who understood the Schleswig-Holstein question; and that he did not understand it. Now, what is the use of diplomacy, if it cannot settle these questions?