God has never commanded men to marry more than one wife; He merely allows it in case of necessity. But even a Divine command we are not forced to like. Death comes by Divine command; yet no one likes death to come."

M. "That is true. But I supposed that, according to Mohammedan doctrine, God has commanded men to take four wives."

F. "What you call a command is a permission given by God in cases where there is a need for it. Under the Divine law of the older dispensations there was permission, but no limit, for polygamy. Under the Holy Law of Islam men are forbidden to take more than four wives, and the privilege is so limited as to make any lawful use of it very difficult. The man who wishes more than one wife must give each a separate house, treating all exactly alike in the matter of furniture and ornaments of the rooms, and the same in the matter of clothing. I agree with you that the abuse of the privilege of polygamy wrongs women. But women have an appointed means of escape if unable to bear the wrong. The prohibition of polygamy has been proved to bring great evils in its train. For instance in the Europe of to-day great numbers of men and women remain unmarried and form temporary and culpable connections. While you plan to escape the evils of making two or three women co-partners in one husband, you are opening the way for greater evils. Look at the multitude of illegitimate children born under your system; the boys never able to throw off the stigma, and the girls subjected to experiences which I have no need to detail. The law of Islam, in order to prevent the existence of illegitimate children, forbids adultery absolutely and entirely prevents illicit connections. For men who are not satisfied with one wife are allowed plural marriages. And the Mohammedan woman who chooses to do so, lives with her co-partners, but if she does not choose to do this she may legally get a divorce and find herself a husband who can put up with one wife."

F. "If any women have reason to boast of the love of their husbands the Mohammedan women have. While the husband has the right to marry other wives, he does not use the right. That is to say he loves his wife. Could there be a stronger proof of the husband's love. Moreover husbands with us do not receive money for marrying a woman as with you, and this obligation does not check them from doing as they please. On the contrary, the husband besides paying for his wife's trousseau, contracts to pay her a certain sum of money. Then if a divorce occurs, the wife takes this money and also receives her maintenance from her husband during three months and ten days. She is thus certain not to be in want before she has found herself another husband."

M. "Although we may pay money for our husbands, we win their respect."

F. "Respect? The respect shown to women among us falls not a whit below that found among you. In fact it is greater. We are not to be deceived by any forced and superficial applause, we look at the real thing. Among Mohammedans as much respect is shown to women as to the Koran, for there are rules forbidding the entrusting of women and Korans to the care of bands of travelers too feeble to protect them against all attack."

Madame now turned to the other ladies present and I translated for her her questions and their answers:

M. "Are none of you ladies ever in fear of having your husbands marry other wives? I wish to know your true feelings." Ist Lady. "Pshaw! My husband loves me. Could he marry another wife?"

2d Lady. "Let my husband just try the experiment! I would not accept a co-partnership arrangement for a day!"

3d Lady. "If my husband does not love me and marries some one else, do you suppose that there is a dearth of men who would be glad to have me?”

4th Lady. "If my husband wants to marry another woman, he has the perfect right to do so. He is eight or nine years younger than I am. He is in full prime of his forty-five years, while I am fifty-four and am ashamed to look in the glass when he is with me!"

Several other old ladies agreed with this statement, and Madame remained in deep thought.

EDUCATION, LITERATURE, ART.

THE INFLUENCE OF THE APOCALYPSE ON CHRISTIAN ART.

F

THE REVEREND GEORGE L. BATES.
Bibliotheca Sacra, Oberlin, October.

OLLOWING close upon the complete permeation of the Roman world by Christianity came the ages of ignorance. The sack of Rome by Alerac came in the lifetime of Augustine. In the winter of barbarism by which all culture was blasted, Christianity survived. The only living plant from the ancient world, it soon spread and filled all the fields of human thought and imagination. Thus the Church came to

furnish not only the religion, but the law and science, the art and poetry of the new Europe. The love of the celestial hierarchy, the virgin mother, and the multitude of saints furnished at once objects of worship and a field for the imagination.

Thus arose the sacred art of the Middle Ages. Primarily it was the expression of pious feeling. Its symbolic pictures were intended purely as means of edification. But the creative faculty and the sense of the beautiful grew and demanded expression, and that demand was satisfied in the field of religious art. There was no objection to making angels and Marys beautiful. The love of beauty gradually grew beyond. religious feeling; while at the same time men began to be educated beyond the simplicity of a faith which built upon imagination. The study of pre-Christian antiquity and a general intellectual awakening brought in a flood of ideas from outside the Church, and the æsthetic sense broke away entirely from religion. This was the Renaissance. A Christian art, in the full sense, was after that impossible.

In an age when the Bible and the legends of the saints constituted the only source of material and inspiration, it is natural that the Book of Revelation would have great influence. It is a book of pictures throughout. Makers of illuminated manuscripts of the Bible found in that book rich abundance of material for embellishing their pages. The imagery of the Apocalypse possesses a quality which made it especially valuable to the artists, whose work had to be self-interpreting. Dante, himself an artist, recommended it to his friend, Giotto as furnishing subjects for artistic representation. This book expresses ideas as the artist must express them, by symbols. It showed the early Christian artist how to express reward, retribution, consolation, and warning, without the use of words.

Taking its origin, doubtless, in the pictures of the catacombs, the symbolism of art grew in the Middle Ages to be a complete system of hieroglyphics-almost a language. Few could read, but all understood the language of symbolism. Each principal character represented, whether taken from the Bible or from one of the later saints or martyrs, had its own symbol, or "attribute," by which it was distinguished, as were the ancient gods in classic art. Many of these symbols are plainly traceable to the Apocalypse.

The group of attributes most frequently met with in art are those which marked the four evangelists, due to the influence of the "four living creatures "of Revelation with their prototype in Ezekiel-the man's face symbolizing Matthew, the lion's Mark, the ox's Luke, and the eagle's John. Sometimes they

were represented having the heads of the animals; and sometimes merely accompanied by the animals by which they were symbolized. We find them thus in the mosaics of old Italian churches, in the sculpture and stained glass of Gothic cathedrals, and everywhere throughout Christian art.

Another symbol drawn from the Apocalypse is the representation of the Virgin Mary which was called the "Queen of Heaven," where she figures as the "woman arrayed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars." The "Queen of Heaven" was either given all these attributes or some one or two of them, a crescent moon under the feet being the most common.

The symbolism of the Apocalypse may also be fairly supposed to have led to the use of dragons and monsters to suggest the powers of evil.

The angels of the Apoalypse have a character of their own, a peculiar grandeur and might. As represented in art they often have distinct marks showing that John's angels were intended. But the great archangel, Michael, of celestial armies prince," seems to have most strongly moved the imagination. Men's warlike instincts demanded among the multitude of peaceful and submissive saints, a Mars or a Thor. This conception resulted in some of the noblest works of art. Such works are several pictures of Michael conquering the Dragon, a noble example of which is that by Raphael in the Louvre, painted for Francis 1.

In Germany, just before the Reformation, the Book of Revelation left a deeper impress than elsewhere on art; and we here find a great artist in whom the influence of the Apocalypse is localized. That artist was Albert Dürer. His sixteen. wood engravings illustrating the Apocalypse were issued in 1493. No lines of human drawing ever expressed the idea of the judgment of God in furious destruction, with such vigor as do the most celebrated of these engravings, the Four Horsemen, and the Unloosing of the Angels of the Euphrates.

ONE

UNIVERSITY EXTENSION.

PROFESSOR C. HANFORD HENDERSON.

Popular Science Monthly, New York, November.

NE can scarcely fail to notice in the intellectual life of America, how very rapidly a new thought sweeps across the continent. It travels with almost the speed of the whirlwind. The storm-center is commonly New York, or Boston, or Philadelphia, and progress is toward the westward. At once the impulse is found in Chicago, and Denver, and San Francisco.

The educational movement known as university extension is an admirable illustration of this national alertness and versatility. Certain phases of the movement, as, for example, the Townbee Hall experiment of planting a colony of culture-loving men in the arid district of London, have for some time attracted attention on both sides of the water. But as a distinct object of public interest and discussion in America, it is scarcely two years old.

University extension has been well defined as a university education for the whole nation by an itinerant system connected with established institutions.

I confess that this sounds ideal-the proposition to educate the whole nation on higher lines-but that is precisely what the movement means. It means that any one, in any place, and at any time, may take up advanced work in any department of human knowledge, and that qualified men stand ready and willing to help him.

Our people, as a whole, are not culture-loving, and are not intellectual; but the success of the movement is already wellenough assured to demonstrate that, in any community, there are unsuspected numbers with a turn for higher education, and such an attitude of mind is apt to spread. The movement will not attempt the regeneration of the nation in the lump,

nor to force its wares where they are not wanted. What it is doing, and is going to do, is simply this: to put the higher education within reach of those who really care for it, and through these to stimulate others also to want the same thing. It might be well described as a missionary movement for scientific culture.

The work in England is divided among four organizations: the London Society for the Extension of University Teaching, the University of Cambridge, the University of Oxford, and Victoria University. The chief business of these central offices is to provide lecturers and to arrange courses. It must be constantly borne in mind that they are essentially teaching organizations and by no means mere lecture bureaus. The unit consists of twelve weekly lectures on one approved subject. Such a course, therefore, covers three months, and constitutes one term in the extension work.

The central offices do not, however, assume the initiative. They are the agents and inspirers of the local centres. The movement generally starts in any given neighborhood by the interest and effort of one individual, or perhaps by the con certed action of several. The known friends of education in the neighborhood are called upon, and the question of forming a centre discussed. If the scheme seems feasible, a public meeting is called, great care being taken that it shall have no religious, political, or class coloring. A speaker goes to them from one of the universities, and explains the extension plan. If the impression produced be favorable, and the question of ways and means do not hinder, the meeting results in the formation of a local centre, and a permanent secretary and board of managers are appointed. A subject is then chosen, and application is made to the board of managers for a lecturer, perhaps for a particular lecturer. The question of finance now comes in. The universities supply qualified lecturers, arrange courses, and hold examinations, but the local centres must guarantee the expenses. The work does not pay for itself. No scheme of higher education ever does. The receipts from the sale of lecture tickets may generally be counted on to meet half the expenses of the course. The rest must be provided for in some other way, commonly by subscriptions, or by some larger benefaction. The university fee for the twelve lectures is about £45, and the local expenses will generally amount to about £20 more. When more than one course is taken, the proportionate expense is somewhat less.

The lecture lasts for about an hour, the lecturer endeavoring not so much to present the whole of the subject matter of the evening, as to give a distinct and helpful point of view, from which his hearers may look at it for themselves. An essential part of the lecture scheme is the printed syllabus which is supplied at merely nominal price. This gives the systematic outline so needful to the student, and yet so uninspiring in the lecture itself. In addition the syllabus suggests a careful line of home reading in connection with each lecture.

When the lecture is over, a class is formed of all those who care to enroll themselves as students, the others withdrawing. The class also lasts about an hour, and is above the lecture in educational importance. It is very much like the college class-room, and is as educational in its tone as the bashfulness of the students will permit.

When the course ends there is a formal examination, and certificates are awarded to the successful candidates.

There are many other features of the English work, such as students' associations, home reading circles, traveling libraries, and the like; one of which, the scheme of affiliating students to the universities, deserves special mention. The students who take eight unit courses in related subjects approved by the management, and who do the home work, and pass the examinations satisfactorily, have the privilege at any subsequent time, of remitting one year's residence at Cambridge, and so of completing the course in two years.

In this country the development of the university extension idea is even more surprising than in England. It is already an almost realized dream, that anyone in any place may have the advantage of university education.

SINCE

BROWNING'S TEACHING.

London Quarterly Review, London, October. INCE the death of Robert Browning, eighteen months ago, quite enough discussion has been had concerning his style and rank as a poet. The present, however, appears an appropriate time to sum up the main factors of his thought and teaching. For Browning is essentially a teacher. His poetry, if not what Matthew Arnold said poetry should be, a 'criticism of life," is essentially, what is better than criticism, an interpretation and illumination of life; and such Browning undoubtedly intended it to be. He, more than most poets, would have echoed Wordsworth's splendid eulogium on his art, "Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge: it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all science. In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs; in spite of things silently gone out of mind and things violently destroyed; the poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth and over all time. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge-it is immortal as the heart of man."

What, on the whole, did Browning-masculine and versatile writer that he was-hold concerning the significance of the human life he has so vigoronsly and so variously depicted, and what did he wish to teach the generation in the midst of which as vates sacer he prophesied and sang. True, there are many difficulties in the way of answering such a question, the chief of which arises from the dramatic, or what has been called the "psychological" nature of Browning's work. His personality, like Shakespeare's, though for different reasons, eludes us in his writings. Nevertheless, as in the dialogues of Plato, it is possible, and not on the whole very hard, to find in Browning's poems certain large and informing spiritual principles, which formed the mainspring of the poet's thought, and inspired and determined his message to his time." If only we do not expect from the poet the definitions of a philosopher or the dogmas of a theologian, we shall find in Browning a clear and compact body of thought, sometimes carefully reasoned out, more frequently exhibited by the lightning flash of intuitive discernment, which will form no unimportant help amidst the confusions and perplexities of this time. If, indeed, we live "'twixt two worlds, one dead, the other powerless to be born," it will be found that in the struggle towards a new birth of thought and interpretation of life, Browning's wrestlings with the chaos and endeavors to gain and give a firm footing for faith and action, are of the highest value and importance.

Very false conclusions, it seems to us, have been drawn from some expressions in Browning. His most recent biographer, Mrs. Sutherland Orr, says of him "No one knew better that every act and sentiment which we attribute to a Supreme Being is a virtual negation of His existence." These words, we think, simply caricature Browning's belief as represented in his writings. Mrs. Orr has read not a little of her own Agnosticism into the poet's utterances. When speaking of human knowledge, so far as the processes of the understanding are concerned, Browning proclaimed strongly his distrust of its operations, its limitations and inherent weaknesses, the danger of trusting to its representations as to a defective, dimmed, and even distorting mirror; and what Christian would not do the same? In his vehement assertion, however, of certain fundamental verities of morals and religion, no prophet could be clearer or more emphatic. How far the intuition of the poet is to be trusted, his postulates accepted, his demonstrations admitted to be cogent, is another matter.

Mrs. Orr is far nearer the mark in describing Browning, when, speaking of his friends amongst clergymen and religious teachers, she says: "They knew the value of the great free lance, who fought like the gods of old with the regular army." Browning fought; he knew the need of fighting and had some

thing to fight for. Whatever he held or did not hold, he was not an Agnostic, worshiping the great Unknowable of Mr. Herbert Spencer, with a mind into which all kinds of heterogeneous religious beliefs might be cast promiscuously, lost in a Serbonian bog of skepticism concerning that allencompassing Infinite, of which Renan has been telling us once more, that one can never know anything certainly about it. Was Browning a Christian? The answer to this question depends entirely on what is meant by the word Christian. If it be taken to mean an orthodox, evangelical believer, then, of course, Browning was nothing of the kind. If it be understood in a large and elastic sense, to imply acceptance of certain main Christian truths, such as the Fatherhood of God, the Incarnation of God in Christ, and others, understood as doctrines based upon the facts of history, we should still hesitate to apply to him the name. If it be meant, however, that he possessed a keen insight into the spiritual ideas which lie at the basis of the Christian religion, appreciated their importance for humanity, and accepted them as fundamentally true and all-powerful for good in the history of the world, then we should be disposed to say that few poets have been more deeply and sincerely Christian than Robert Browning. It is not merely that he accepts the Christian ideal of Love and Sacrifice as a human ideal, pointing towards the solution of the world's problems, the healing of the world's wounds. He goes much further than this. Having imbibed the fundamental thought of the unity of God and man in Christ, he apparently accepts it as the crowning and consummating truth in man's conception of the Divine nature.

God, the Soul, and Immortality-these are the three articles of Browning's creed; the first conceived in a Christian sense, though by no means in orthodox form; the second, viewed in its militant progress upwards, through temptations and moral conflicts, to triumph and the development of higher capacities; the last, the essential requisite for a valid and effective belief in the other two.

It is interesting to observe that nearly always the poet's reasoning is essentially moral in its character. He is, of all others, the poet of moral energy. His verse throbs with the pulses of noble purpose. The virility which is so characteristic of Browning is due essentially and ultimately to this. He is the poet of moral conflict, of indefatigable effort, of indomitable hope. The soul must fight, he says, to live, to grow, to be a human soul at all. It ought to rejoice in such a struggle. The issue may be long and apparently dubious, but it is certain; the right must triumph gloriously and endlessly.

Surely here is one who casts out deviis in the Master's name, though he follows not with the Master's disciples; and of him the Master Himself would say, “He is for us."

TWELVE Versus TEN.

WILLIAM B. SMITH, UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI.
Educational Review, New York, November.

N any developed system of numeration there must be a

at the notation is folded back upo

itself, and from which point on, the higher numbers are to be expressed by additive and multiplicative processes through the lower. The number that forms thus at once a point of rest and a point of departure may be called the base or radix of the system. The rising powers of this base are set in order leftward, and the falling powers rightward, of the initial or unit's position. Any natural number, other than unity, may be taken as this radix, and, in fact, various integers, as two, five, ten, twelve, twenty, sixty, have been taken. Among all of these, however, ten has attained by far the widest and most complete recognition, and within the present century the metric decimal system has established itself firmly in western and central Continental Europe, as well as among men of science everywhere.

This preference for ten as radix does not, however, rest upon

any natural or spiritual basis, upon any inherent fitness of ten itself to discharge this supreme function in arithmetic, but solely upon a physical peculiarity of the counting animal, man. He is a pentadactyl, he has ten fingers. Inasmuch as elementary reckoning is almost always done on the fingers in its first stages and by the young, whether in individual or educational or national life, it was almost inevitable that ten should be taken as the point of reflection. If one hand only be used, then five presents itself as radix, or if both hands and feet, then twenty, and both of these numbers have indeed served as radices.

Not one of these related integers, however, has any intrinsic fitness for the office in question. There are very serious defects in ten as a radix. Ten is not divisible by either three or four and stands in no simple relation to either six or eight, two other important numbers. The constantly recurrent fraction is expressible through one interminate decimal only, 4 requires two figures, % is interminate as a decimal, % requires three figures for its expression. These are very weighty burdens, from which there is an altogether simple and easy deliverance lying ready at hand. It is the rejection of the unsuitable radix ten and the adoption of twelve, which is fitted perfectly and in every particular. A change from the denary to the duodenary notation would be a great and much-needed simplification, above

further divided, though there would be little use for lower denominations.

4. The fundamental measure is of length, and the most important of all units is the linear. The hunt for a natural unit of length is interesting, but there is no such thing. The metre professes to be the ten-millionth of a quadrant through Paris, but that it is not. The British yard, familiar to all of us, is as good a standard as any. It is already divided into twelfths, each of three inches. Call this twelfth a trinch The twelfth of this last would be our well-known quarter-inch, a very convenient unit of small lengths, and, of course, capable of any degree of subdivision.

Adopt the duodenary system in toto, and you despoil at one stroke the great giant Arithmos of his most formidable terrors. Nay, more, you will add a full year, now so greatly desired, to the life of every youth that attains majority.

The complete triumph, either of ten or of twelve, is assured. The duodenary system is the best conceivable, the best that the nature of number admits.

CARLYLE AND RUSKIN.
(TWO LETTERS.)

English Illustrated Magazine, London, November.

feasible.

Of course, the adoption of twelve as basis would make necessary the introduction of two new symbols for ten and eleven, since ten would then no longer signify ten, but twelve; and also a simple and constant nomenclature. These two steps, however, could easily be taken.

The superiority of twelve over ten as a radix will be revealed in the multiplication table; in the evident facts, that the common useful fractions are easily and simply expressed in duodecimals; that the expression of large numbers will become measurably conciser; that in the expression of irrational numerics through duodecimals a much higher degree of accuracy is obtained than by the use of the same number of digits in decimals.

There are other advantages of equal importance, though of another nature, in duodecimal notation:

1. There are twelve months in the year and twelve hours in the half-day. Each hour of the circle of the clock-face, however, is divided into sixty minutes, each of these into sixty seconds. This mixture of decimals and duodecimals is very unreasonable, unnatural, and bewildering. Let the division into twelve hours stand; but let it be the half circle of the clock-face, so that the whole circle shall be divided into twentyfour hours. Divide each of these into twelve grades, each of these into twelve primes, each of these into twelve seconds, and so on. Surely this would be a great simplification, shunting off an enormous amount of labor and confusion.

2. Our present division of the year into twelve months of unequal length is puzzling, irrational, and inconvenient. Let there be twelve months of thirty days each, and let the year begin at the vernal equinox, the natural starting-point. There remain five days to be disposed of. Let these be legal holidays with special names, extra-mensual, belonging to no month. Let them mark the stations of the sun's progress through the sky and be: New Year's day, first quarter-day, mid-year's day, second-quarter day, Old-Year's day. They might otherwise be named-Vernequid, upper Solstid, Autumnequid, lower Solstid, Vernequin. Leap Year would require the intercalation of a day at mid-year, which might be called Autumnequin. The names of the months need not be changed; it would suffice to push their beginnings ten days backward. 3. Our coinage could be made duodecimal with very little trouble. We need only reduce our quarter to twenty-four cents, or count it as twenty-four cents, and adopt it as a unit. The twelfth would be a penny, which might of course be still

ciples relates to one of the sections of Unto this Last, of which four appeared in the Cornhill Magazine soon after it came into existence under Thackeray's editorship. Other parts were to have followed, but the outcry against them was so great that the circulation of the magazine began to suffer, and Mr. Ruskin was compelled to bring the series to an abrupt conclusion in November, 1860. Eighteen months later he republished the essays in book form, asserting in the preface that they were "the best; that is to say, the truest. rightest-worded, and most serviceable things" he had ever written. This opinion he still holds, and he declared to a friend three years ago that if all his works were to be burnt save one, he would choose Unto this Last for preservation. CHELSEA, 29th Oct., 1860.

DEAR RUSKIN-You go down through those unfortunate dismal-science people like a treble-X of Senna, Glauber, and Aloes; like a fit of British cholera, threatening to be fatal! I have read your paper with exhilaration, exultation, often with laughter, with bravissimo! Such a thing flung suddenly into half a million dull British heads on the same day, will do a great deal of good, I marvel in parts at the lynx-eyed sharpness of your logic, at the pincer-grip (red-hot pincers) you take of certain bloated cheeks and blown-up bellies. More power to your elbow (though it is cruel in the extreme). If you dispose, stand to that kind of work for the next seven years, and work out there a result like what you have done in painting. Yes, there were "a something to do"-not easily measurable in importance to these sunk ages.. Meantime my joy is great to find myself henceforth in a minority of two, at any rate. The Dismal-Science people will object that their science expressly abstracts itself from moralities, from etc., etc.; but what you say and show is incontrovertibly true; that no "science" worthy of men (and not worthier of dogs or of devils), has a right to call itself "political economy," or can exist at all, except mainly as a fetid nuisance and a public poison, on other terms than those you shadow out to it for the first time. On third last page and never till then, I pause slightly, not too sorrowfully, and appeal to the times coming (Noble is the spirit there, too, my friend; but, alas, it is not Philanthropismus that will do these; it is Rhadamanthismus I sorrowfully see), which are yet at a very great distance! Go on and prosper. I am yours always (sleeping a little better and hoping an evening soon), T. CARLYLE.

"Mrs. Carlyle said, 'No one managed Carlyle so well as Ruskin; it was quite beautiful to see him. Carlyle would say

outragous things, running counter to all Ruskin valued or cared for. Ruskin would treat Mr. Carlyle like a naughty child, lay his arms around him and say, "Now this is too bad!"'" So wrote Mrs. Gilchrist in her diary, after a visit to the Carlyles. on June 17, 1860. It is to be hoped that Ruskin's letters to Carlyle may some day be published, among them perhaps the answer to the above. As it is not now available, a letter from Mr. Ruskin to a young student is here given. It was written in 1871, when the author was re-casting Munera Pulveris with its dedication "to the friend and guide who has urged me to all chief work, Thomas Carlyle."

ARBROATH.

MY DEAR GERARD—The thing that I had chiefly to say to you in reply to your interesting and for the most part right letter, was that you must be on your guard against trying to cultivate yourself too consciously. The intellectual and religious element in which you have been brought up makes you thoughtful, but will be dangerous to you if it make you thoughtful beyond the need of your day. So far as there are necessary duties to be done which are painful to us—we must be very grave about them; but I should like you, for the most part, to do what you enjoy most in a resolute manner, and to be sure that what you most enjoy doing or learning Heaven means you to do and learn. Do not try to be great or wise. We none of us can be either-in any degree worth calling so. But try to be happy first, and useful afterwards-(no man can be useful who is not first, happy)—we can be both of those all our lives, if we will.

For the visit to Denmark Hill. Count the available hours in the year, then reckon over the various work I have at present on hand. You know-or ought to know-some measure of it; remember that I am fifty-two, and that I am not well, and judge for yourself if in saying that I am forced to receive no visits, I wholly deprive myself of the claim to say that I am still affectionately your sister's and yours,

J. RUSKIN.

(All that you say of modern and ancient art is in great measure true—but you are scarcely yet at an age when it should be interesting to you. I would rather have you interested in living lions than in Greek ones-always providing you didn't want to hunt them.)

Mr. Ruskin has stated more than once that any letter of his may be read by all the world, and surely no apology is needed in printing this gentle admonition-intended originally for one person, but applicable to so many.

SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY.

THE BASIS OF THE PHENOMENA OF THE DOUBLE EGO.

DOCTOR EUGEN DREHER.

Die Natur, Halle, October.

N his admirable work Lehrbuch der speziellen Pathologie und

by telling him, immediately on his restoration to consciousness, all that he said or did during the attack. But what is still more remarkable is, that on the recurrence of the attack, the experiences during the former attack are often clearly remembered. Such cases really seem to justify one in speaking of a double consciousness."

That similar phenomena are frequently witnessed by hypnotized persons is well known, and also that many physicians accept it as evidence of a double ego, regarded as an enlightened and an unenlightened sphere of consciousness; arguing, from the difference of degree of intensity of self-consciousness, the existence of two distinct spiritual individualities. Similarly there are phases of lunacy in which the patient believes himself at times to be other than he is, or to have passed through experiences which are wholly imaginary, while at other times he knows himself for what he is, and recalls his own actual experiences. These phenomena were familiar, and had led to the hypothesis of a double ego, before the phenomena of hypnotism had been scientifically investigated, and had thus thrown some light on the compound character of our mental constitution.

My writings have rendered it clearly evident that I accept the view of the compound character of the psyche, but I do not believe in the existence of a double ego (in the soul); on the contrary, I regard it as a mere mental phenomenon.

An analysis of our mental activity shows that it is of two distinct kinds, namely: of processes which originate in .he ego, and which pursue their course with the consciousness of the ego; and also of processes which do not originate in the ego, and which, in so far as this factor is concerned, may be regarded as unconscious. This dualism of the soul in respect of a conscious and a (relatively) unconscious principle, does not really prove the duality of the ego, but only lends support to the hypothesis of a compound nature, of which the ego, as our actual self, is obtruded on by thoughts which do not appear to be a part of itself. Thus, dream phenomena originate unconsciously and obtrude themselves upon the ego, which then consciously accepts them as sense-perceptions.

But since unconscious thinking is opposed to our conception of the ego, one must conclude that those mental activities which do not originate in the ego, and of which the ego is consequently unconscious, flow on in self-consciousness.

"

In an article recently published by me in the Reichs Medizinal Anzeiger, on Sense Perceptions and Dream Images," I have argued that unconscious thought is, for the most part, the automatic psychic function of certain distinct regions of the central nervous system. That these functions are exercised self-conciously, I have demonstrated by decisive experiments.

As nearly all sense perceptions take place independently of any active agency of the individual ego, as the creations of phantasy obtrude themselves upon the conscious ego as inspiration-the offspring of a spirit other than our own, so, too, the greater portion of our thought-images-memories-are not produced or reproduced by the (individual) ego, but by the unconscious," as I will here call it, which, in some, to us inex

Suggestion is most successful during the hysterical attack itself, and especially in that form of it in which the patient speaks, hears, and answers. It is only necessary to give his imagination a prescribed direction, and to tell him in convincing tones that he is in the woods, in a garden, is picking flowers or fruit, is attacked, bound; that he is lying on the brink of a precipice, a river, or such like, to render it evident from his bearing and language, that in his hallucination he is living through all these experiences. The evidences of fear, horror, joy, loathing, are often vividly exemplified. The most interesting fact in this connection is, that on the patient being roused from the attack, he has not the faintest recollection of his imaginary experiences, nor can the memory of them be revived

The various phenomena of Aphasia, of mental blindness, mental deafness, etc., afford decisive evidence that different thought-images originate in different main nerve-centres; and what, from the psychological point of view is the most important, these several nerve-centres are not always under the dominion of the ego, so that even the most familiar memories may fail us at times in spite of the most strenuous effort of the ego to recall them. It is highly probable that the seat of ataxic aphasia, Locomotor Ataxia, by which the innervation of the contemplated word-symbol-for the sound-is lost to the psyche, is situated in the so-called Pars percularis, while, according to all modern investigation, amnestic aphasia, involving loss of language, is due to derangement of the left first (upper) temple convolution. In this district of the brain