As to the phrase Natural Selection, we are not surprised that it has called forth some objection. It seems to imply that the struggle for existence really selects which kind of animal is to continue and which is to disappear. Whereas the struggle for existence only carries into execution a Selection that was made when the stronger, or the more favourably endowed anima', was called into existence. Setting aside the claims of theology for a moment, and overlooking the inappropriateness of applying the term Selection to the operations of nature, it is the progressive law of development that has really decided which kind of animal shall survive. For it cannot surely be the method of nature to give out blindly, as it were, from time to time, all possible varieties, without any law of successive or progressive development (a law in harmony with the rest of creation), and leave it simply to the actual state of things to decide which of her new forms shall hold its ground. The expression Natural Selection becomes still more irrelevant when we refer this law of progressive development to the Creative Intelligence, which alone can really have selected. But the expression as used by Mr. Darwin does not necessarily imply any more than this, that the struggle for existence carries out a selection already made: the stronger, or the more ingenious, or the better adapted animal, came prepared to win. part explain that want of complete consistency, or of perfect decision, which we have alluded to, and which slightly, and only slightly, detracts from the merits of the performance. From the Spectator. EDGAR QUINET'S REVOLUTION.* THIS is the noblest work yet published on its great subject. It is not, nor pretends to be, a history. It is but a study upon a history, needing, to be fully appreciated, some familiarity with the history itself. But beside it Carlyle's French Revolution is but as a magic lantern to a great thoughtful picture. It would be vain to seek even in Carlyle's pages for anything more vivid than M. Quinet's sketch of a day's work of the Convention (Book xv., ch. iii.), but it is only the highest prose poetry, without a particle of There is not a catch-word stage effect. through the whole two volumes. Whilst the English force-worshipper can dismiss September massacres with a warning to "blockheads" not to "shrick," and the fallen Girondins with the stigma of "pedants," M. Quinet stops over those to show that they were only possible through the servility of mind engendered by previous despotism, and over the others to point out that the Girondins were a necessary organ of the Republic." failing which it must fail. And throughout the whole work breathes the feeling which Mr. Carlyle, in his restless hunt after heroes, each succeeding one less worthy than the last, becomes more and more incapable of comprehending, that (to use M. Quinet's own words) " Democracy has need of justice." There is a race of Red Indians living upon game. On the same soil is introduced a race of men, more prospective in their thoughts, more observant and ingenious, who cultivate the earth. These cut down the forests and grow wheat. The Red man disappears. Is it the struggle for existence that has selected which of these two shall possess the soil? The selection was made It is difficult to give a satisfactory idea to when the more intelligent race was intro- the reader of a work so truly individual duced. Yet, in common parlance, and that it stands really by itself. If we looked without any disparagement to this the real to its intellectual character only, Montesselection, we may still speak of the struggle quieu's Grandeur et Décadence des Romains for subsistence between them deciding would be the nearest parallel. But there which shall remain and which shall depart. is a solemn height of purpose, a depth of perThere are other interesting topics can-sonal feeling about M. Quinet, which render vassed in the Duke of Argyll's book; but we will not break new ground. We have adhered to the leading idea of the work, and by so doing secured some kind of unity to our own notice of it. We ought, perhaps, to add that the essay appeared originally in that very spirited periodical Good Words.' It is highly creditable to that magazine that it should give its readers a composition of this sterling character. This mode of publication may also probably in such a parallel wholly superficial. On the whole, and great as are the contrasts between the style and manner of the Frenchman and those of the Roman on the one hand, or the modern Italian on the other, it is difficult not to feel that the former's two next of kin on either side are rather Tacitus and Dante. There is in all three the *La Revolution. Par Edgar Quinet. Paris: Librairie Internationale. 1865. 2 vols. same proud looking down of a great spirit | Crawl before that beast crawling on its myriad over the miseries and the degeneracy of his feet? That is not my faith. What should I people; stung often to bitterness, seldom if do with such a god? Take me back to the ever stooping to grief. The Frenchman ibises and necklaced serpents of the Nile." has the high poetical feeling of the Italian, but not his fiery hates, his faith, or his love; he has much of the Roman's stoical endurance, he is self-wrapped equally, almost equally forlorn of hope; he has of his own what the Roman would have disdained, what the Italian could only cling to when raised into doctrines, theories, or to use his own term, des idées. Put Tacitus into nineteenth-century France, give him, instead of his old hereditary feelings of Roman justice, des idées, would he have written much otherwise than this, which concludes the work? "But, you will say, your ideas have not had force on their side. They have not triumphed. You are one of the vanquished. I deny it. I remain alone, it is true, but I have had this good luck, that losing all, I have seen all my presentiments realized, all my warnings confirmed, all my principles consecrated and crowned by my voluntary ruin. That is not being vanquished." In using the word "theories," it is by no means intended that M. Quinet is one of those, far too frequent amongst his countrymen, who set theories in the place of facts, or square facts to them. On the contrary, he stands pre-eminent among writers on tne French Revolution for candour and impartiality, for reverence for historic truth. What is meant is, that whilst he rises to the truest espía or contemplation, he cannot, by looking upwards, reach to a living faith. Of no contemporary Frenchman, perhaps, could it be more truly said, "Thou art not far from the kingdom of God." The keynote to the whole work is the declaration that the French Revolution failed because it was not religious as well as political. Nothing can be finer than his dissection of Rousseau's famous "Profession de Foi du And yet neither God nor Christ is in this The weakest faith could not indeed be shaken by M. Quinet's book, so genuine and impartial are his sympathies with all that is insists on the fault committed by the Revoearnest and true. Although he repeatedly lution in not actively suppressing the Roman Catholic religion, it is doubtful whether even a Roman Catholic would not be strengthened in his faith by M. Quinet's profoundly true remarks on the results of victors were really the vanquished, and not the Vendéan war, in which the apparent only left their opponents in possession of those religious rites for defence of which they had taken up arms, but in a few years came themselves to bow once more to the Roman Catholic faith. But the most devout Christian learn from M. Quinet's pages; Vicaire Savoyard," that root of modern indeed, it is scarcely too much to say that French religious falsehood, of which M. Re-in future no man can expect, without readnan's Jesuitical boudoir-atheism is but one of the latest fruits. He bitterly laments the nullity of the Protestant element in France in the hour of political trial. He declares that science cannot replace religion. He uncloaks the spiritual tyranny of St. Simonism and Comtism. He bursts out as follows against the last new goddess: "Well, they say to me, then worship Humanity. A curious fetish, truly! I have seen it too close. What! kneel before that which is on its knees before any triumphant force? may ing them, thoroughly to understand the period of which he speaks. Yet only those who are familiar with the twofold aspect of the French mind at the present day, - fettered at home, and too often shrivelling within its fetters, free only in exile, but through exile too often embittered almost to madness, can appreciate the manly courage which has enabled M. Quinet to write a work so thoroughly independent of party prejudices and traditions, so inexorably true against friends as well as foes. No man before him has been able to unite such a pas the same time, not the slightest slur is hereby sought to be cast on M. Quinet's accuracy, on which those who are acquainted with his historical works know that they have reason to rely. sionate admiration of the great deeds of the | those who are not would often like to know Revolutionists, of the Convention espe- the sources from which he has drawn. At cially, with such an unflinching condemnation of their crimes and evil tendencies, with such a searching exhibition of the evil results to which these led. No words can exaggerate the service which he has rendered to his countrymen, in showing that the work of the Terrorists was simply a renewal of that of the Ancien Régime itself, the adoption of "its weapons, its means, its method of government; or in his dissection of the 66 sea-green incorruptible." Possibly there is even a trace of prejudice in his judgments on Robespierre and St. Just, and he, perhaps, makes the most of a detail impugning the sexual morality of the latter, which he borrows from the unpublished memoirs of an old medical member of the Convention, Baudot, bequeathed to M. Quinet, and in his hands. The work is indeed essentially the bitter fruit of exile. It is impossible to mistake the fact that the long arm of French despotism is stretched over the head of the writer, even though dwelling in a Swiss city. It cannot fetter his thoughts, but it cramps his pen. He speaks for his countrymen, but in order to reach their ears he knows that he dare not say all. So in reference to the present he is compelled to wrap his thoughts in generalities. The application of his words can only thrill beneath them, as the life-pulse of a veiled human form beneath its robes. Who can mistake it, nevertheless, in passages such as this? "To what kind of society are we advancing? There are various issues. But were one to hold as null the protest of certain isolated spirits, one might represent to oneself as follows the principal outlines of those social forms into which we are entering in Europe:- Uncultivated manners without public life, the rudeness of the popular state without a people, democracy without a demos, silence without repose, coarseness without freedom, Boeotia in Byzantium." book. It would be time lost to point out one or two contradictions which occur in this noble One slight blunder may be noticed, the treating the "Digest" and the "Pandects"-two names for the same work-as distinct. Perhaps also M. Quinet is a little too chary of quoting authorities. He does not, indeed, strictly confine himself, as a note to the preface announces, to the quotation of unpublished works (of which, moreover, almost the only one quoted is the Mémoires de Baudot). But all are not so well read as himself in the history of his subject, and From The London Review, June 1. to THE DECLINE OF BRITISH SKILL. WHEN in 1851 we set the example of those international competitions for the palm of excellence in works of art and industry, of which we have now an example in Paris, the last thing we could have feared was that the day would come when England would be beaten in a department which she had deemed especially her own. Other nations might display æsthetic qualities superior to ours, but none could turn out manufactures superior. On that ground England was facile princeps, and had no occasion to dread the appearance of a rival, at least in the old world. The position of feeling oneself far removed above the fear of rivalry may be pleasant, but it is dangerous. We are apt to go sleep on our laurels, and to find them stolen from us when we wake. That is said to be our position now. For some months we have been told that owing to the numerous strikes large branches of industry have been leaving the country, and that we have been importing manufactures where we once exported them. It is quite true that this turning of the tables has been going on to some extent, and it was natural that the trades' unions should be blamed for it-possibly not without some justification; but they are responsible only in a minor degree. Another cause has been at work. France, Prussia, Austria, Belgium, and Switzerland have been pressing onwards in the race with an energy we have not shown. We have played the part of the hare, and we are beaten by the tortoise. After the last distribution of prizes at the London University, Earl Granville spoke of the lessons which the war in Bohemia and the Paris Exhibition have taught us, and of the obligation under which we lie to make better use of our talent, unless we would let other nations outstrip us in the lessons of peace and war. He quoted the President of the Civil Engineers in proof of the superior progress in machinery which has been made by foreigners. He declared on good authority that greater improvements had been made in the manufacture of iron in France, Belgium, Germany, and Austria, than in England; and he assumed upon general report the fact that, except in the manufacture of furniture, glass, and china, we have made little advance in most departments of industry. It is not pleasant to hear this. But pleasant or not, we must face it; and we must understand that its main cause is the want in England of generally diffused scientific instruction, a fact to which the Prince Consort was alive, and to which we owe it that we cut so poor a figure in the Paris Exhibition in those very departments in which we once thought ourselves without a rival. France." In this very Exhibition whenever anything excellent in French manufacture struck his attention, M. Dumas found upon inquiry that in the great majori ty of cases the manager of the establishment producing it, had been a pupil of the École Centrale des Arts et Manufactures. While we repeat all this, it is but right to remind our readers that it is what Dr. Playfair, in his book on "Industrial Education on the Continent," published in 1853, promised as an inevitable result of the attention given to it abroad, and its neglect in England. He then said that other nations must advance in industry at a much greater rate than England. Unconsciously the inclination of a prophet to find his prophecy fulfilled may somewhat influence his own opinion upon the rank our industries take in the Paris Exhibition. But Dr. Playfair cannot have misrepresented the opinions of others, and what he says is confirmed from so many independent quarters that we fear it is only too true. On the other hand, British inventiveness does not lack champions, who declare that Dr. Playfair and Lord Granville's informants do their countrymen injustice. Who invented puddling? they ask. Who invented grooved rolls? Who first succeeded in substituting coal for charcoal? Who suggested the not blast? Who introduced the process of casting steel? Have you forgotten Mr. Bessemer, whose invention dates from 1856, and is only now acquiring Have not mills Earl Granville has unhappily found his statements confirmed by Dr. Lyon Playfair, who some fortnight ago came from Paris, where he had been acting as juror in one of the classes of the Exhibition. There he met many eminent men of different nationalities, whose acquaintance he made when he had the charge of the working of the juries in the Exhibitions of 1852 and 1862, and who, like himself, were acting on the juries of the present Exhibition. "I endeavoured," he writes, to gather their opinions as to the position which England occupied in this great industrial competition, [and] I am sorry to say that, with very few exceptions, a singular accordance of opinion prevailed that our country had shown little inventiveness, and made but little progress in the peaceful arts of industry since 1862. De- its full development ? ficient representation in some of the indus- been constructed in England which turn tries might have accounted for this judg-out sound armour-plates of such enormous ment against us; but when we find that dimensions as even in 1860 would have out of ninety classes there are scarcely a been considered impossible? Then it is dozen in which pre-eminence is unhesitat- argued that our great practical metalluringly awarded to us, this plea must be aban- gists have become wise by experience, and doned." Mechanical and civil engi- will not send specimens of their industry to neers, pointing to the wonderful advances the Great Exhibition because it does not which other nations are making, lamented the want of progress in their own industries. Chemical and even textile manufacturers uttered the same complaint. And, says Dr. Playfair, so far as I could gather [their views] by conversation, the one cause upon which there was most unanimity of conviction is that France, Prussia, Austria, Belgium, and Switzerland possess good systems of industrial education for the masters and managers of factories and workshops, and that England possesses none. This is not a mere theoretical view. M. Dumas, the Senator and President of the Municipal Council, well known also as a savant, told Dr. Playfair that technical education had given a great impulse to the industry of . pay." If we are interior to our neighbours in the Paris Exhibition, this is the cause. "In 1862," writes Mr. David S. Price, "Mr. Bessemer made a magnificent exhibition of what his process could effect. At Paris in 1867 he is content to let other men and many nations show how and with what success they have adopted his process.' This fact is of great importance, and, as far as it goes, it shows that the Pars Exhibition turnishes an inadequa e test of international excellence. The same remark applies, if Mr. Price's statement is correct, to aniline dyes. But the possible pre-eminence of British manufactures which have not been exhibited does not cancel the ascertained inferiority of those which have. Dr. Playfair is alive to the fact house of Thackeray. A low, long brick that in some respects British industry is de- house, covered with ivy to the chimney fectively represented. But out of ninety top; a sunny bit of lawn in front, trees and classes where it is represented, our superi- flowers all about, and, though no longer ority is admitted scarcely in a dozen. Nay, haunted by the genial presence of its former even with regard to the manufacture of master, this unpretending place is to many iron, a correspondent of the Times, who eyes more attractive than any palace in the writes under the signature "Y.," admits land. I looked long and lovingly at it, feelthat "in particular and subordinate depart- ing a strong desire to enter its hospitably ments.... we are, doubtless, excelled, and open door, recalling with ever fresh delight that, too, where dexterity of manipulation the evening spent in listening to the lecture is largely concerned, as in the rolling of on Swift, long ago in America, and experigirders. But," he continues, "let the de- encing again the heavy sense of loss which mand for such girders be increased, and came to me with the tidings that the novelwe shall produce them, you may be assured." ist whom I most loved and admired would Is it not, however, improbable that the de- never write again. Leaving my tribute of mand for these articles will be increased so affection and respect in a look, a smile, and long as our manufacturers allow foreign a sigh, I gathered a leaf of ivy as a relic, workshops to produce a better description and went on my way. Coming at last to a of them? Everything must have a begin- quiet street, where all the houses were gay ning. If foreigners beat us already in with window boxes full of flowers, we reachsubordinate departments of the manufac- ed Miss Ingelow's. In the drawing-room ture of iron, it may come to pass that they we found the mother of the poetess, a truly will beat us also in the higher departments. beautiful old lady, in widow's cap and There can be no doubt that we should, at gown, with the sweetest, serenest face I ever least, be on our guard against such a result. saw. Two daughters sat with her, both It becomes us therefore to make immediate older than I had fancied them to be, but inquiry into this subject, and to take steps both very attractive women. Eliza looked to supply a deficiency which not only as if she wrote the poetry, Jean the prose threatens our honour, but, what in such matters is of more importance, our purse. We have regarded England as the world's workshop. There lay the power which gave her pre-eminence in so many other respects. But what if the progress of other nations in manufactures beats us out of the market? This is a matter for most serious consideration and for prompt action. Many of the boasted qualities of our people are as much the result of prosperity as of breed; and if the Paris Exhibition gives proof that we are likely to be outstripped in the race of industry, the sooner we set about getting to the front again the bet ter. JEAN INGELOW, THE POETESS. "WILL you come and call on Jean Ingelow?" said my hostess, one fine day. Of course I would. So away we went along a shady lane, with the old oaks of Holland Park on the one side and the ivy-crowned walls of Aubury House on the other; for, though a part of London, Notting Hill is rich in gardens, lawns, and parks, such as one sees only in England. Our way led us by Kensington Palace, the residences of Addison, the Duke of Argyle, Macaulay, and, be ter than all the rest to me, the the former wore curls, had a delicate face, fine eyes, and that indescribable something which suggests genius; the latter was plain, rather stout, hair touched with gray, shy, yet cordial manners, and a clear, straigutforward glance, which I liked so much that I forgave her on the spot for writing these dull stories. Gerald Massey was with them, a dapper little man, with a large, tall head, and very un-English manner. Being oppressed with "the mountainous me," he rather bored the company with "my poems, my plans, and my publishers," till Miss Eliza politely devoted herself to him, leaving my friend to chat with the lovely old lady, and myself with Jean. Both being bashful, and both labouring under the delusion that it was proper to allude to each other's works, we tried to exchange a few compliments, blushed, hesitated, laughed, and wisely took refuge in a safer subject. Jean had been abroad, so we pleasantly compared notes, and I enjoyed the sound of a peculiarly musical voice, in which I seemed to hear the breezy rhythm of some of her charming songs. The ice which surrounds every Englishman and woman was beginning to melt, when Massey disturbed me to ask what was thought of his books in America. As I really had not the remotest idea, I said so; whereat he looked blank, and fell upon Longfellow, who seems to be the only |