somewhat high-flown observations on this event, mind rises above the limitations of the actual, and begins to shape for itself an ideal world of possibilities.'

The above may perhaps serve as a sample of the observations made on the intellectual development of this privileged child. I will now pass on to quote a remark or two on his emotional development. I may add that the record of this phase of Clifford's early mental life is certainly the most curious part of the document, containing many odd speculations on the course of primitive human history.

The father remarks very early in the diary that the expression of pain or distress in general appears plainly to precede that of pleasure. Crying, of the conscious or really miserable sort, takes place long before smiling or even cooing. This, remarks our observer, probably points to the fact that in the history of the race the need of making known pains and wants was the more urgent, and so was the one to be first satisfied. Coming now to the particular feelings which have to do with others, it is noteworthy that the earliest feeling to manifest itself is that of antagonism or anger. At least, remarks the father, this was true in the case of Clifford's sister, who, when bidden at the outset of life to do her duty in accepting the nutriment provided by nature, showed all the signs of passionate wrath. The first traceable germ of sympathy-the fellow-feeling which binds men together-appeared in Clifford's case in the eighth week in the shape of responsive cooing sounds when coaxed and comforted by the usual vocal appliances. The chronicler remarks on the fact of the much later appearance of scolding noises, and from this passes to speculations as to the period in human history when men began to exercise power and coercion over one another. There is, I may add, a touch of Rousseau-like sentiment in these remarks.

As to the emotions excited by physical objects, it is an exceedingly difficult thing, in the case referred to, to determine their precise nature. The feeling of wonder at what was new in the environment was a matter of common everyday observation. Among the ob

jects which first excited a special interest and a prolonged effort of attention were pictures of very unequal degrees of artistic value. Clifford got into the way of taking special note of one or two bits of gaudy coloring when only six weeks. old. In these it seemed to be partly the brightness of coloring in the painting or frame, partly the reflections of objects in the glass covering which attracted him. Other things which appeared to give him repeated and endless enjoyment of a quiet sort were the play of sunlight on the wall of his room, the reflection of the shooting fire-flame sent back by the glass covering the pictures, the swaying of trees, and so on. He soon got to know the locality of some of his favorite works of art, and to look out expectantly, when taken into the right room, for his daily show.

Much of this attention was evidently pleasurable: the bright light and the movement stimulated the growing sense, and gave the first crude enjoyment of beauty. The effect of the piano, which, though it made him cry the first time he heard it, afterward quieted and delighted him, goes to prove the existence of such a rudimentary æsthetic sense. Yet this feeling of wonder was not always pleasurable. Novelty has its limit of agreeableness for the baby as for the adult mind, and too sudden a change in familiar surroundings is apt to be disconcerting and even distressing. Thus, when just twelve weeks old, Clifford was quite upset by his mother donning a red jacket in place of the usual flowerspotted dress. He was just proceeding to take his breakfast when he noticed the change, at the discovery of which all thoughts of feasting deserted him, his lips quivered, and he only became reassured of his whereabouts after taking a good look at his mother's face.

Even when the new object is not thus a rupture of the familiar, its strangeness may affect the infantile mind sadly. Clifford was often remarked by his father. drawing a deep sigh after a prolonged inspection of something particularly mysterious, as the face of a clock, or the play of the reflection of the fireflame. Wonder has its two bifurcating lines of development; it may pass into glad excitement, into an impulse of joy: ous worship, showing itself in smiles and.

cooings, or into oppressive awe or fear. In Clifford's case it was noticeable that the same object would produce now the one, now the other effect, according to his condition.

Not only so-and here, says our chronicler, we come to the interesting point-a very few weeks would make all the difference in the effect of the same objects. For example, a not very alarming doll belonging to Clifford's sister, after having been a pleasant object of regard suddenly acquired for him, when he was nearly five months old, a repulsive aspect. Instead of talking to it and making a sort of amiable deity of it as heretofore, he now shrieked when it was brought near. And there seems to have been nothing in his individual experience which could account for this sudden accession of fear. And, similarly, strangers who, as I have observed, once were impartially greeted with a hospitable smile, began about the same time (in his sixth month) to appear in a very disagreeable light.

These observations led Clifford's father to long speculations as to the inheritance of certain feelings. Thus he hints that the special interest taken by his child in reflections may be a survival of the primitive feeling respecting the second selves or ghosts of things which anthropologists, as Mr. E. B. Tylor and Mr. Herbert Spencer, tell us was first developed in connection with the phenomena of reflected images, shadows, etc. Yet he evidently feels a difficulty here, since Clifford somewhat provokingly remains supremely indifferent to his own reflection in the glass. He goes on to ask whether the fear called forth by the doll and the face of strangers at a certain stage of the child's development, is not clearly due to an instinct now fixed in the race by the countless experiences of peril in its early, pre-social Ishmaelitic condition.

Among other feelings displayed by the young Clifford was that of amusement at what is grotesque and comical. When only four or five months old 'he was accustomed to watch the antics of his sister, an elfish being given to flying about the room, screaming, and other disorderly proceedings, with all the signs of a sense of the comicality of the spectacle. So far as the father could judge,

this sister served as a kind of jester to the baby monarch. He would take just that distant, good-natured interest in her foolings that Shakespeare's sovereigns took in the eccentric unpredictable ways of their jesters.

I will not run the risk of wearying the reader by following the diary into the record of the early stages of the development of will. This is less rich and full than the other parts. After all, the will" in this early stage of existence seems to be nothing but a sort of occult metaphysical" will to live" about which we have recently heard so much. What we mean by an orderly will is developed out of a number of instinctive impulses aided by recollection and intelligence. These instinctive impulses come into play in the first months of babyhood, and the chronicle of Clifford's achievements contains some curious facts on this head. To select but one, the observant father calls attention to the fact that, while the impulse to seize objects manifested itself, as we have seen, when he was eleven weeks old, the impulse to relinquish showed itself considerably later. Thus, after he had first succeeded in carrying the nipple of his bottle to his mouth, his action failed of its object through the want of an impulse on the part of the hand to relax the grasp. And the first deliberate act of throwing away an object of which he had become tired did not occur till some months later. This fact leads the chronicler to go off into a somewhat cynical vein of reflection on the grasping propensities of the race.

I will conclude this fragmentary sketch of Clifford's early mental development by remarking that when twenty-seven weeks old he began to articulate sounds quite spontaneously. Up to this time he had had some understanding of sounds, for he would turn to the wellknown lithograph recently given us by the enterprising publishers of the Graphic, when the words cherry ripe" were spoken. But his own powers of vocal execution were of the scantiest. His vocabulary may be said to have been confined to vowel sounds ranging from the broad ã to a cockney ow, that is to say a-ōō. But now he suddenly bethought himself to extend his range of articulation, and within twenty-four.

hours lit on the important additions "'da! da!" and "ba! ba!" Here, then, we may take our leave of him, fairly on his way to become a rational animal, distinguished from all inferior creatures by the possession of a system of signs or a language.

I leave this transcript from the diary of a psychological observer to produce its own proper effect on the minds of my readers. They may not, perhaps, altogether share in the worthy parent's estimate of the importance of these researches. Some of them, particularly among the mothers, who have had their own field of inspection, may be disposed to regard certain of his observations as trite and commonplace. Others, again, of the cynical bachelor class, may think that they discover now and again

traces of weak paternal sentiment, mingling with and adulterating the pure ore of scientific curiosity. And, finally, sober people may find some of the social speculations put forward in the record far-fetched if not absurd. However this may be, I feel I have done my task in letting them know something of the nature of the new fashion in the domain of psychological inquiry. Whatever the scientific worth of the results so far obtained, nobody but a cynical contemner of all human tenderness will doubt the ethical importance of an occupation which is so well fitted to soften the sex which nature has not taken the same pains to mollify that we have seen her take in the case of the other half of our race.-Cornhill Magazine.

MY DEAR - After I had taken my degree, and before I re-entered upon residence as fellow, my confidence in my Oxford teachers underwent a further trial. I spent some months in Ireland in the family of an Evangelical clergyman. I need not mention names which have no historical notability. My new friends were favorable specimens of a type which was then common in Ireland. The Church of England was becoming semi-Catholic. The Church of Ireland left Catholicism to those to whom it properly belonged. It represented the principles of the Reformation. It was a branch of what Mr. Gladstone has called the Upastree of Protestant ascendancy. Mr.

and the circle into which I was thrown were, to begin with, high-bred and cultivated gentlemen. They had seen the world. Some of them had been connected with the public movements of the time. O'Connell was then in his glory. I heard Irish affairs talked of by those who lived in the midst of them. A sharp line of division among the people distinguished the Protestants from the Catholics. The Protestants were industrious and thriving. Mendicancy, squalor, and misery went along

with the flocks of the priest, whether as cause or effect of their belief, or in accidental connection with it, I could not tell. The country was outwardly quiet, but there were ominous undertones of disaffection. There were murders now and then in the mountains, and I was startled at the calmness with which they were spoken of. We were in the midst of the traditions of 1798. My friend's father had been attacked in his palace, and the folios in the library bore marks of having been used to barricade the windows. He himself spoke as if he was living on a volcano; but he was as unconcerned as a soldier at his post, and so far as outward affairs went he was as kind to Catholics as to Protestants. His outdoor servants were Catholics, and they seemed attached to him, but he knew that they belonged to secret societies, and that if they were ordered to kill him they would do it. The presence of exceptional danger elevates characters which it does not demoralize. There was a quiet good sense, an intellectual breadth of feeling in this household, which to me who had been bred up to despise Evangelicals as unreal and affected was a startling surprise. I had looked down on Dissent

ers especially, as being vulgar among their other enormities; here were persons whose creed differed little from that of the Calvinistic Methodists, yet they were easy, natural, and dignified. In Ireland they were part of a missionary garrison, and in their daily lives they carried the colors of their faith. In Oxford, reserve was considered a becoming feature in the religious character. The doctrines of Christianity were mysteries, and mysteries were not to be lightly spoken of. Christianity at was part of the atmosphere which we breathed; it was the great fact of our existence, to which everything else was subordinated. Mystery it might be, but not more of a mystery than our own bodily lives and the system of which we were a part. The problem was to arrange all our thoughts and acquirements in harmony with the Christian revelation, and to act it out consistently in all that we said and did. The family devotions were long, but there was no formalism, and everybody took a part in them. A chapter was read and talked over, and practical lessons were drawn out of it; otherwise there were no long faces or solemn affectations; the conversations were never foolish or trivial; serious subjects were lighted up as if by an everpresent spiritual sunshine.

Such was the new element into which I was introduced under the shadow of the Irish Upas-tree; the same uniform tone being visible in parents, in children, in the indoor servants and in the surrounding society. And this was Protestantism. This was the fruit of the Reformation which we had been learning at Oxford to hate as rebellion and to despise as a system without foundation. The foundation of it was faith, the authority the Holy Scripture, which was supposed to be verbally inspired; and as a living witness, the presence of Christ in the heart. Here, too, the letter of the word was allowed to require a living authentication. The Anglo-Catholics at Oxford maintained that Christ was present in the Church ; the Evangelicals said that he was present in the individual believing soul, and why might they not be right? So far as Scripture went they had promises to allege for themselves more definite than

the Catholics. If the test was personal holiness, I for my own part had never yet fallen in with any human beings in whose actions and conversations the spirit of Christ was more visibly present.

My feelings of reverence for the Reformers revived. Fact itself was speaking for them. Beautiful pictures had been put before us of the medieval Church which a sacrilegious hand had ruthlessly violated. Here on one side we saw the medieval creed in full vitality with its fruits upon it which our senses could test; on the other, equally active, the fruits of the teaching of Luther and Calvin. I felt that I had been taken in, and I resented it. Modern history resumed its traditionary English aspect. I went again over the ground of the sixteenth century. Unless the intelligent part of Europe had combined to misrepresent the entire period, the corruption of Roman Catholicism had become intolerable. Put the matter as the Roman Catholics would, it was a fact impossible to deny, that they had alienated half Europe, that the Teutonic nations had risen against them in indignation and had substituted for the Christianity of Rome the Christianity of the Bible. They had tried, and tried in vain, to extinguish the revolt in blood, and the national life of modern England had grown up out of their overthrow. With the Anglo-Catholics the phenomena were the same in a lighter form. The AngloCatholics too had persecuted so far as they dared; they too had been narrow, cruel, and exclusive. gress had only been made possible when their teeth were drawn and their claws pared, and they were tied fast under the control of Parliament. History, like present reality, was all in favor of the views of my Evangelical friends.

Peace and pro

And if history was in their favor so were analogy and general probability. Medieval theology had been formed at a time when the relations of matter and spirit had been guessed at by imagination, rather than studied with care and observation. It was now well known that mind acted on mind and body upon body. If ideas reached the mind through the senses, it was 'by method and sequence which, if it could not be fully understood, yet so far as experi

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ence went was never departed from. The Middle Ages, on the other hand, believed in witchcraft and magic. Incantation could call up evil angels and control the elements. The Catholic theory of the sacraments was the counterpart of enchantment. Outward mechanical acts, which except as symbols had no meaning, were supposed to produce spiritual changes; and spoken words to produce, like spells, changes in material substance. The imposition of a bishop's hands conferred supernatural powers. An ordained priest altered the nature of the elements in the Eucharist by consecrating them. Water and a prescribed formula regenerated an infant in baptism. The whole Church, it was true, had held these opinions down to the sixteenth century. But so it had believed that medicine was only efficacious if it was blessed; so it had believed that saints' relics worked miracles. Larger knowledge had taught us that magic was an illusion, that spells and charms were frauds or folly. The reformers in the same way had thrown off the notion that there was anything mysterious or supernatural in the clergy or the sacraments. The clergy in their opinion were like other men, and were simply set apart for the office of teaching the truths of religion. The sacraments were symbols, which affected the moral nature of those who could understand them, as words, or pictures, or music, or anything else which had an intelligible spiritual meaning. They brought before the mind in a lively manner the facts and principles of Christianity. To regard them as more was superstition and materialism. Evangelicalism had been represented to me as weak and illiterate. I found it so far in harmony with reason and experience, and recommended as it was by personal holiness in its professors, and general beauty of mind and character, I concluded that Protestantism had more to say for itself than my Oxford teachers had allowed.

For the first time, too, among these good people I was introduced to evangelical literature. Newton and Faber had given me good reasons when I was a boy for believing the Pope to be the man of sin; but I had read nothing of evangelical positive theology-and books

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like the Pilgrim's Progress" were nothing less than a revelation to me. I do not mean that I could adopt the doctrine in the precise shape in which it was presented to me, that I was converted, or anything of that kind; but I perceived that persons who rejected altogether the theory of Christianity which I had been taught to regard as the only tenable one, were as full of the spirit of Christ, and had gone through as many, as various, and as subtle Christian experiences as the most devel. oped saint in the Catholic calendar. I saw it in their sermons, in their hymns, in their conversation. A clergyman, who was afterward a bishop in the Irish Church, declared to me that the theory of a Christian priesthood was a fiction; that the notion of the Sacraments as having a mechanical efficacy irrespective of their conscious effect upon the mind of the receiver was an idolatrous superstition; that the Church was a human institution, which had varied in form in different ages, and might vary again; that it was always fallible; that it might have bishops in England and dispense with bishops in Scotland and Germany; that a bishop was merely an officer; that the apostolical succession was probably false as a fact and, if a fact, implied nothing but historical continuity. Yet the man who said these things had devoted his whole life to his Master's service, thought of nothing else, and cared for nothing else.

The opinions were of no importance in themselves; I was, of course, aware, that many people held them; but I realized now for the first time that clergymen of weight and learning in the Church of England, ordained and included in its formularies, could think in this way and openly say so, and that the Church to which Newman and Keble had taught us to look as our guide did. not condemn them. Clearly, therefore, if the Church equally admitted persons who held the sacramental theory, she regarded the questions between them as things indifferent. She, the sovereign authority, if the Oxford view of the Church's functions was correct, declared that on such points we might follow our own judgment. This conclusion was forced home upon me, and shook the confidence which I had hitherto contin