was a state rather of ignorance, according to Mr. Hope; and if they had not fallen into sin, death, nevertheless, must have been their portion, inasmuch as the development which had already taken place of the globe itself, and of the organic and inorganic entities, vegetable and animal formed upon it, must have necessarily produced the appearance of evil, decombination, and death, whether Adam and Eve had or had not sinned. And as to the sin of Eve, she could not have avoided it. It was the natural consequence of her ignorance, as she knew not, and could not have suspected, the consequences of what she did. In short, Mr. Hope finds no difficulty in limiting his belief in the Scriptures to those precepts only which have an influence upon human conduct. The other portions of the Sacred Writings he understands in a literal or an allegorical sense, according as they are in harmony with, or at variance from, the ordinary course of nature. Thus, in the same way as light was not created, but produced by gravitation and electricity, neither was man nor were animals created, in the sense of Scripture, but produced by the meeting and combination of substances, before inorganic and lifeless, in peculiar and relative proportions.' But before we go into this part of the subject, we shall extract some observations of the author, upon the period in which God is stated in the Bible to have made the world. Although they are framed in that spirit of disbelief which pervades this work throughout, they are worthy of attentive consideration.

Among the beliefs only founded on certain expressions in Genesis, misconstrued or misunderstood, and, as applied in their literal sense, contrary to the course of nature, seems to me to be that of the whole work of the creation having been achieved in six days, like those days of which, in the more central regions of the globe, seven complete what we call a week; and of the seventh day having by the Author of that creation himself been devoted to a period of rest from his labours, like that repose which man seeks in order to recruit himself after his toil.

In the first place, the Hebrew word, translated in modern language by that of day, only means an indefinite period; and therefore cannot be accurately rendered by that of day, which signifies a definite period; and should in this instance be the less understood as having a meaning synonymous with that of day, since, firstly, the earlier works of the creation, achieved in certain of those periods, were said to be achieved prior to the period when time could, by the creation of the sun, be divided in what we call days and nights; secondly, in different parts of the globe the sun itself causes the length of single days to vary from a few hours to half a year; and, thirdly, the things said to have taken place during the period designed by the term day, are described as having occurred during the interval between the evening and the morning, which we call not day but night: not to add that the work of the creation, so far from having, after going on uninterruptedly for six days, been suspended on the seventh, that work has not yet, as far as we know, from its first commencement to this day been suspended for a single instant; that the very act of adding to former periods of time, to former days, a new period of time, a new day,

whether of labour or rest, implies a new act of the creation, and a new act of the creation teeming with as many other new acts of that creation, included in it, as there are new objects of nature produced in that single one; that that day which to man may be a day of comparative rest from the voluntary labours of the mind and of the body, must remain to God, who still continues to support that mind and body, as well as all else, a day of labour; that to God-if to him the creation, the upholding, the ruling of the things perceptible to man, be a labour-while nature goes on, while things perceptible have their course, while day continues, while the formation of entities proceeds, while the emanation of fresh time ceases not, there can be no rest from his labours, in the human sense of the word; that only when the advancement of the universe is entirely stopped, when nature herself stands still, and when time ceases to flow, God can be said to rest, in the sense in which the word rest is understood by man; and finally, that the very want-the very need-of such rest from his voluntary labours of body and mind as man can enjoy is a proof in that man of a weakness, unknown even to the more primary productions of God, and wholly inadmissible in God himself.'-vol. ii. pp. 3-5.

After stating and doubting in this manner several other beliefs derived from the Scriptures, the author proceeds to give his account of the origin of all organic bodies. Without telling us how the liquid itself was produced, he supposes what he calls the aggregates of substances to have been originally in a liquid form; certain molecules in those substances then cohere, and become a mineral, a vegetable, or an animal, through the instrumentality of Electricity! The formation of the mineral, or the vegetable, or the animal, depends on the proportion of the particular elements which enter into their combination-a particular quantity of nitrogen being always necessary for animal production. Mr. Hope denies the doctrine of the circulation of the blood; that is to say, he denies that there is a return of the same elements, unchanged in quantity and quality, to the identical place from which they started. He believes that there is a certain movement of the blood, but that it is constantly depositing on its way some portion of its own substance, the loss of which is as constantly supplied, and thus the same elements never return to the same place. He enters at considerable length into the subjects of anatomy, sensation, and mind. Mind, he describes as the faculty, where we have felt from without certain feels, or seen from without certain sights, of again, without their cause again coming directly from without, experiencing repetitions of such feels or of such sights.' This faculty, or this power of calling up ideas, exists, he thinks, in matter, and thus far he is a materialist; but then he is of opinion that matter is not perishable. His theory, therefore, militates in no degree against the immortality of the soul, which he describes in forcible language in a very eloquent sketch of the progress of death.

'Some entities of a sentient sort, such as zoophytes, have no internal alimentary canal whatever. In them, as in vegetables, of external elements, the influx, circulation, and efflux is entirely through the pores at

the external surface. In them also the whole of the obstructions which impede indefinite extension and duration must begin solely at that external surface. In those higher brutes, and in human beings in which somewhat later, by the partial pressure of outward air on the external surface, part of that surface is doubled inward and indented into an alimentary canal-into a stomach and lungs-the coats of these internal parts are, like those of the external surface, throughout lined with pores, at which later and more circuitously, of a branch of the external elements begins a regular secondary influx, circulation, and efflux.

Of external elements, the continued efflux begins first in the external integuments and pores in the muscle of the body and limbs-to produce a density which by degrees impedes their power of suction and of taking in fresh fluids. These fluids then begin to be absorbed more feebly, in less quantities, and in smaller proportions, relative to the organs whose elements are within decombined, and thence again driven out. Less lymph, less chyle, less blood veinous and arterial are formed, and made to replace the fluids already evaporated before, and to afford matter for farther evaporation. In the external parts a general lessening of swell, of elasticity, of vigour, a general wasting, debilitation and torpor become visible. Less filled, they lose their tone, their power of resisting pressure; and while the body of the limbs becomes flabby and yielding, the joints, less lubricated, become stiff and rigid. The external skin, less alive, and therefore more tardy in shrinking than the parts within, begins to hang about these latter loosely and in wrinkles; and that skin, no longer moistened by an insensible perspiration, becomes dry and parched.

For a time the internal pores of the alimentary canal still continue to perform their office. The breathing continues unimpaired, the appetite good. As external absorptions lessen and become weak, those within seem alone to fulfil the whole task of supplying their place: but the time comes when these also begin to fail; the breath becomes short, the appetite enfeebles, the digestion becomes weak.

'We have thus far only described the decline of the fundamental vital parts external and internal.

'At the external surface, less blood from within drawn out, and less elements from without pumped in, combine in less of that nervous fluid, which feeds and causes sensations in the organs of sense. These organs

receive of external modifications, impressions less vivid and less frequent. They lose their acuteness. That pleasure which before they afforded, unsought and without effort on our part, they now only reluctantly, and when studiously their impressions are sought and are dwelt upon, continue to afford. Sensations of touch, which before would set the frame on fire, and produce a thrill of pleasure, now glide over the body unheeded; delicate wines and rich viands sooner pall upon the taste, and more want the stimulus of spice and relishes; the perfume of the rose and jasmine no longer fill the sense with gladness-the balmy breath of spring no longer produces ecstacy in the spirits. The most heavenly music, though still approved and relished by the scientific ear, would no longer vibrate in the mind, nor, after ceasing to strike the sense, continue to haunt the memory. A fine view would only be beheld with calm content a handsome female, like a beautiful vision. We would seek the charms of internal objects from recollection of the feelings they once had inspired, more than from the idea of their occasioning fresh raptures.

As the internal vital parts would retain their moisture and tone longer than the external surface, so would the internal organs of the mind retain their succulence longer than the external organs of the sense. As we received fewer present sensations from external objects, we would from a greater distance in the memory recall past sensations, and in the imagination anticipate future sensations. Those of infancy, during the period of youth and manhood laid by, or eclipsed by other more vivid perceptions of passing objects, would, when that present began to lose its charms again, with more minuteness be summoned up; those of old age would inspire greater solicitude; all the mental lumber of past times, long laid by and forgotten in the furthest recesses of the memory, in order to give way for the enjoyment of more recent events, for the forming of more proximate projects, would again be revived, be dragged forth into sight; we would be more sluggish in action, but more intent on contemplation. The travelled man, who at different periods of his life had visited the same scenes, performed the same actions, would be astonished to find that on reverting to his recollections of past times, the first and most distant in date were those that presented the impression most minute and most vivid. Even he who had never stirred from home would not be capable of travelling far back in space, at least travel back in time, further than he had done during his middle age; and, in proportion as in reality he proceeded further forward, would in imagination retrograde further. The first dawn of life, dimmed during its mid-day glare, would in its evening again acquire a dusky clearness, and from afar spread forth a new twilight. We are struck late in life again to behold in our mind the events of our childhood, long consigned, as we thought, to irrecoverable oblivion, re-appear like flitting phantoms. Of friends long gone by the spirits again start up, again hover before our eyes, again converse round our couch.

'If we still, from old habit, busy ourselves with the living, it is only as they are going to replace us. We toil for their benefit, their pleasure, their recollection of us-the name we shall bear on their lips, the feeling we shall leave imprinted in their hearts. If we still give our attention to trifles, it is to trifles which to them will seem of importance. It is about the permanence of our fame, the interests of our posterity, the completion by others of the works by us begun, that we feel solicitous. But while in infancy each day, filled with a thousand minute objects, seems to us a year, every year as we advance, on retrospection, seems a shorter hour. It follows its predecessors with more rapid strides. Yet the long and frequent sleep which shortens the real sentient existence in infancy, in age is become a light, uncertain, oft-interrupted dose.

'After the body had begun to weaken and the sense to blunt, the mind would still for a time preserve its brightness, like a flame that burns clearer as the fuel that supports it is consuming. Concrete ideas would more run into abstract thoughts, mere facts more into inductions: thoughts would only be prized as they led to inferences; and as fewer new ideas would occupy the mind, the old ones would become more methodised, and be arranged in more lucid order.

'Presently, however, our cerebral apparatus would begin to partake of the general debility of the body. The cerebral fluid, becoming torpid, would cause the imagination to stagnate; the very memory, the storehouse of the mind, would fail. We would forget, first names, next facts; at last we would perhaps fall into complete dotage. We would, in very midst

of our friends, cease to recognise their voice. Of the brain, fast sinking, the ducts, no longer moistened, would dry up, and, like the wasted kernel of a nut, begin to rattle in their case. But it is lamentable to think, that often the cessation of drain by the mind may for a time again, by leaving the body better supplied, prolong and restore to their functions the organs of mere vitality.

'The organs of sense, long dimmed, would at last, one by one, entirely lose their faculties; they would depart in the inverse order of their arrival. Loss of sight and of hearing would loosen and remove the ties that attach us to external objects; palsy would cut off our communication with them. The organs of reaction outward, first in the ovum only by pressure of its integuments from without huddled together, would now, by failure of support from within, again collapse; the hand would no longer afford a firm grasp, or the feet give a firm support. The one would tremble, the other totter under their load. The very stays of the body, the bones, would waste away, would become spongy and brittle. The teeth, no longer pressed in their sockets, would drop out of their sheaths; the hair assume the hue of winter.

Brutes, when the torpor of sleep, of hibernation steals upon them, fly the light, hide themselves from the aspect of their comrades in dark places. Such they retire to at the approach of death. Hence, while such numbers die every hour, so few with their corpses strew the ground.

'Man is suffered to make his exit less quietly: friends surround him; watch his last breath; seem anxious to know when it takes its flight, whither it shapes its course.

Finally, all other suction of external elements by the body ceases: all circulation stops. The extremities become cold and stiff, while in the vitals alone the blood still for a few moments retains its fluidity. The very exsudations, unable for want of vital warmth to evaporate, fall back in clammy sweat on the skin. From the lungs, exhalations no longer perceptibly pass the lips. The icy hand of death grasps the very heart. The last spark of life becomes extinct: the last drop of blood congeals: the last movement stops: the machine, so curiously formed, once so sensitive, is become a mass of mere lifeless clay.

Seventy years or thereabouts is the period usually allotted to man for the performance of this awful round, from birth to extinction, from life to death; when regularly performed, when not hastened by accident or by disease. In that short period he takes leave of all his vast views, his wide prospects on this earth.

But death is not always followed immediately by the entire dissolution of the elements so combined as to produce life. Where heat and humidity are wanting to bring about their total separation, their internal forms still long endure after the spirit is fled. At last, however, all must decombine, and what first came from higher globes in the shape of radiance, in shape of radiance reverts to higher globes. There, probably, the elements of this existence recombine in a form more extended, more durable, more perfect : capable of enjoying greater bliss, and liable to suffer less pain.'—vol. iii. pp. 52-60.

Having traced the animal history of man from his origin to his dissolution, we may be permitted to ask, if the first specimens of our race upon this globe were, as Mr. Hope maintains, formed by