thine evil deeds or the cost of them? Why wert thou not left to perish when, fleeing from the avenging noose, thou ascendedst the highest tree on the ground, and, in thy terror, stretching out upon a branch so feeble that it bent beneath thy weight, thou durst not return, but clungst there, oscillating, between earth and heaven? The third day it was after thy disappearance when a miserable squall advertised us of thy flight. Why, I say, was the stable-boy allowed to ascend the tree after thee, and attempt to shake thee down like ripe fruit? and why, when he had failed by that means to loosen the desperate grip of thy claws, was he instructed to break off with a crook the slight twig from which thou didst depend? I saw thee received on a strained sheet coated with down, from the which thou didst rebound as if thy mischievous carcase had been made of Indian gum. The household had come abroad to witness thy rescue, and, instead of the .expiation which should have been uppermost in their thoughts, all were intent on thy shrunken frame and thy quailing eye, and thou receivedst the meed of patient well-doing, not the punishment due to flagrant crime.

In the matter of the piping bullfinch, when thy doom was pronounced irrevocable as the decrees of fate, what happy instinct guided thee to the sole device that could have compassed thy deliverance? Many days and nights it was that thou slunkst on tiles, and in gutters, and in foul hiding-places. The history of thy sufferings during those wanderings might reveal some satisfaction for thy crying offence, could one but know it; but all that is locked in thy cruel breast, and none shall ever be the wiser for thine adventures. It was thought that thou hadst departed for ever, or that the bloody measure which thou

hadst shown to others had been meted to thee again by some stranger hand. Then thou reappearedst, strong in the confidence of triumphant guilt. Our infant lay in his cradle just awake from sleep. On the pillow rested his head, with a smile mantling on the face, and his little arms, never yet extended but in love, softly seeking an object near him. And there, murderer, satst thou, thy pupils contracted to the thinnest ovals; and, dozing securely on that pillow, thou didst blink at justice, for the walls of thy refuge were as triple brass, and thy warder stronger than a giant!

Well, thou art at any rate a hereditary retainer, a thing which soon it will be difficult to find in the land. When I myself was in the nurse's arms, some ancestress of thine came from the country as a working cat to rid us of verminnot as a pampered menial; and, ever since, thy race has had its representatives within these walls. Whatever be thy bad qualities at home

and assuredly they are many-I believe that no bribe would tempt thee from our service-not the very hardest living would scare thee from our hearth. Here both thou and I were born; and here it is like, if my children should be spared, that they may entertain thy descendants. Not by natural, but by very arbitrary selection, we have chosen the finest and handsomest of thy kindred to survive kittenhood and to carry on the line. And this process, and the being dragged about by children, seem to have had a wonderful effect in producing admirable beings of thy species, insomuch that few kittens are now devoted to destruction here, for we earn the gratitude of our neighbours by supplying them from our litters. But why do I waste my time in apostrophising thee, minion? Thou hast interrupted the train of my

proof that they possessed this gift, have protested against it being thought a mechanical skill which can be acquired by study. It is even doubtful whether the chief intention of the most potent wielders of language be to operate on others. Like the highest artists in all departments, they practise their vocation for its own sake. They speak as they are impelled by a power within them. They would speak if there were none to hear. This being so, it must be a hard task for the materialist to satisfy himself that this influence, emanating from words, requires nothing more than matter to explain it. The words need not even be spoken; they may be taken in by the eye, and do not necessarily involve the disturbance of the air. It is a hard thing to understand how mere matter can be so constituted as that it shall respond not only to certain ideas or certain words even, but that it shall keenly and involuntarily sympathise with certain ar rangements of ideas and of words. If, however, it be contended-as I believe it is in some quarters-that the material and construction of the brain are sufficient to explain this, how shall we explain the mystery that other brains which certainly know little or nothing of physiology, have been able without fail to work upon this material? When we have discovered what goes on in the brain and nerves at times when certain emotions are felt, we have only ascertained the manner in which those emotions are produced; we are not a bit nearer to understanding why certain words should produce them, nor how other persons should know how to choose such words as would produce them. Mankind had always, of course, perception of their own emotions; they have now or may have (so philosophers tell us), knowledge of certain pheno

mena of the brain, &c., which are concurrent with these emotions. Do the concurrent phenomena make the emotions at all more easy of comprehension ? Does not the knowledge that every emotion has its corresponding movement of brain and nerves, make the emotions only the more wonderful? Some things, undoubtedly, become simplified to us as we acquire more knowledge concerning them. But this is far from being the case with all things. Additional knowledge oftentimes entails increased mystery and wonder. When Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood, although he revealed to the world a most interesting truth, and opened an entirely new view to physicians, he surely did not simplify or bring down to a lower level the systemsof human beings and of other bloodsustained animals. He proclaimed a new wonder. The circulation itself is a marvel and a mystery; and the knowledge that it exists does not bring us one step nearer to knowing how it begun, how it is is sustained, or how it can be restored if it should chance to stop. It is a matter entirely beyond our control or comprehension; and so, I presume to think, is the operation of words upon our emotions, notwithstanding that we may have discovered the wonderful and intricate offices which brain and nerves perform between cause and effect.

It is a sort of tacit and involuntary deference to the power of words that we are disposed to give a patient hearing to those who can utter them musically, strongly, or fluently, and that the vulgar and unthinking often accept a sweet, powerful, or ready delivery as eloquence. Many a preacher that I have heard praised has been, I am sure, very barren of ideas, and has been indebted to a deep chest or a bird-like throat for what good impression he made.

Let any one consider the rascals who pace the streets bawling out an account of their family troubles, or of their misdeeds before they became regenerate-he will find that in every case there is more or less gift of voice, generally a sepulchral baritone. The committees who tell off rogues and vagrants to their proper departments know full well how to utilize a voice. The parish clerk in Mr. Dickens's 'Great Expectations,' feeling that he had a pretty powerful throat, cherished the idea that he only wanted opportunity to become celebrated as a preacher, and used to talk oracularly of "the thing being thrown open," by which he appeared to mean the pulpit of the Established Church being made accessible to anybody who might choose to invade it. Finally, he turns up as a star at a penny theatre in London, evidently still under the impression which misleads many of his class-namely, that a good voice is a sufficient stock-in-trade to set up with in any oratorical line of business. Such men, whether they may have brains or not, possess, at any rate, an organ fitted to give cut ideas and words audibly, smoothly, and impressively. They give earnest that, if they have ideas worth listening to, they can communicate them with effect. And such is the And such is the mysterious attraction exercised by words upon our race, that we are much more likely to tolerate a stout speaker with an empty head, than to silence a barren talker if he happen to have a good voice.

And with this, I think, I will bring my contemplation to a close. I was out in the covers this morning (I mention this lest I should appear to hold my active friends' enjoyments too cheaply), but I must say that I enjoy a quiet fireside trance too. I hear music and laughter coming from not many rooms off, and propose to join the merry party

speedily. But these Christmas evenings are long enough for fun and for contemplation as well. I don't think I could laugh heartily in company if I did not, in private, give proper regard to my own thoughts. It is not everybody that can think originally or profoundly -all the better for those who can

but everybody can, at least, take account of what may be in his own mind, and turn it over and try what it is good for. If he has only perceived the perplexities that beset us purblind mortals, there is some pleasure, and eke some profit, in only recognising and putting into shape one's doubts and enigmas. We may rest pretty sure that all that has exercised our minds has exercised other minds somewhere; and if we can contribute but little to the solution of obscure or difficult questions, we can give to the stronger and more penetrating minds the encouragement of knowing that they are not alone in their labyrinths; and so they may think it worth their while to address themselves to the discovery of solutions for which many are waiting. There is a great pleasure in reviewing old thoughts, old opinions, and ascertaining how they have stood the test of the time that has rolled away since last the long evenings and the loungingchair by the fireside tempted you to survey them. And surely every man has got, stored away in some recess or other, memories of old adventures, old jests, or haply some softer memories, which it is a joy to call up in solitude and in the quiet fire-light. Before a man has seen very many Christmases, he will perceive that the actors in some of his little-remembered dramas have begun to leave the stage, and a regretful note or two will begin to mix themselves with the refrain. Thus the incidents become consecrated to the memory of the departed. It is

proof that they possessed this gift, have protested against it being thought a mechanical skill which can be acquired by study. It is even doubtful whether the chief intention of the most potent wielders of language be to operate on others. Like the highest artists in all departments, they practise their vocation for its own sake. They speak as they are impelled by a power within them. They would speak if there were none to hear. This being so, it must be a hard task for the materialist to satisfy himself that this influence, emanating from words, requires nothing more than matter to explain it. The words need not even be spoken; they may be taken in by the eye, and do not necessarily involve the disturbance of the air. It is a hard thing to understand how mere matter can be so constituted as that it shall respond not only to certain ideas or certain words even, but that it shall keenly and involuntarily sympathise with certain arrangements of ideas and of words. If, however, it be contended-as I believe it is in some quarters-that the material and construction of the brain are sufficient to explain this, how shall we explain the mystery that other brains which certainly know little or nothing of physiology, have been able without fail to work upon this material? When we have discovered what goes on in the brain and nerves at times when certain emotions are felt, we have only ascertained the manner in which those emotions are produced; we are not a bit nearer to understanding why certain words should produce them, nor how other persons should know how to choose such words as would produce them. Mankind had always, of course, perception of their own emotions; they have now or may have (so philosophers tell us), knowledge of certain pheno

mena of the brain, &c., which are concurrent with these emotions. Do the concurrent phenomena make the emotions at all more easy of comprehension? Does not the knowledge that every emotion has its corresponding movement of brain and nerves, make the emotions only the more wonderful? Some things, undoubtedly, become simplified to us as we acquire more knowledge concerning them. But this is far from being the case with all things. Additional knowledge oftentimes entails increased mystery and wonder. When Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood, although he revealed to the world a most interesting truth, and opened an entirely new view to physicians, he surely did not simplify or bring down to a lower level the systems of human beings and of other bloodsustained animals. He proclaimed a new wonder. The circulation itself is a marvel and a mystery; and the knowledge that it exists does not bring us one step nearer to knowing how it begun, how it is is sustained, or how it can be restored if it should chance to stop. It is a matter entirely beyond our control or comprehension; and so, I presume to think, is the operation of words upon our emotions, notwithstanding that we may have discovered the wonderful and intricate offices which brain and nerves perform between cause and effect.

It is a sort of tacit and involuntary deference to the power of words that we are disposed to give a patient hearing to those who can utter them musically, strongly, or fluently, and that the vulgar and unthinking often accept a sweet, powerful, or ready delivery as eloquence. Many a preacher that I have heard praised has been, I am sure, very barren of ideas, and has been indebted to a deep chest or a bird-like throat for what good impression he made.

AT last the intelligence has arrived that Turkey unconditionally accepts the English proposal for a conference, and that Midhat Pasha and Safolt Pasha, two of the most distinguished names in recent Turkish history, have been appointed Plenipotentiaries Extraordinary on behalf of the Ottoman Government. All the Powers therefore enter the Conference, three of these with special delegates of the highest rank, armed with full authority. It is the final effort to maintain the peace of two continents, to avert a war which strikes every friend of humanity with dismay, but which recent events have done much to invite and encourage. The whole civilised world will concentrate its attention on the proceedings at Constantinople during the month of December, in the earnest hope that this supreme effort will succeed. The triumph of the Turkish arms— the utter collapse of Servian insurrection-the necessity cast upon Russia of either accepting a final pacification, or herself openly standing forward as an aggressive belligerent, bound to define her aims and policy, and justify them in the eyes of Europe-has rendered it necessary for Great Britain to take the matter into her own hands, and either accept the alternative of a more extended strife, or summon Europe into council to adjust a durable pacification. Diplomacy, insurrection, and ostensibly civil war, have done their best or worst; and the Powers at length agree to sit at the council board at the most critical moment of a turbulent and anxious year, to confer upon the Eastern Question, and give a final shape either to terms of compromise or

VOL. CXX.-NO. DCCXXXIV.

to the issues which will be finally committed to the arbitrament of the sword.

The English people have, as far as we can judge, unanimously recognised this Conference as a wise, judicious, and opportune expedient. They have observed with universal satisfaction that the task of watching and upholding the interests of England has been confided to Lord Salisbury, one of the most powerful Ministers of the day, known to be resolute and independent in his character and judgment, intimately acquainted with the policy of the Cabinet, and, as the ruler of India, long accustomed to regard this subject from the point of view of England's most vital iterests. No better selection could possibly have been made. It is a pledge to Europe that the British representative will be or has been vested with the widest discretion that can possibly be trusted even to a special delegate. From the Cabinet downwards, men have "confidence in his abilities, in his grasp of the subject, and in the tact and firmness of his character." At Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, he will ascertain the views of the three leading Governments in Europe; at Constantinople he will confront the representatives of the two principals in the impending struggle. It is impossible to doubt but that through his means the European public will at length arrive at a clear perception of the real merits of this controversy; and that each Power in its turn must define more clearly than hitherto the posi tion which it means to assume. clearing away of diplomatic vagueness and uncertainty may at least be looked for; terms of peace, or issues

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