of fact, it is not till courtship is over, the nest built, and domestic cares begun, that the bird utters its full heart. "Courtship has the effect," as Mr. Hudson puts it, "of increasing the beauty of the performance, giving added sweetness, verve, and brilliance to the song," not of originating it. And the perfect melody is not that of one who woos, but of one who has won. Perched in the vicinity of the nest, it pours out a continuous strain of song.

Serious doubts must be thrown on the theory that the passion of love is the only or the main incentive to sing, or is constantly associated with the utterance of song; and that females choose the male because of superior vocal gifts, as well as for their more showy color. Indeed, the doctrine of sexual selection is far from established. "It is true that the females of some species do exercise a preference, but, in the vast majority of species, the male takes the female it finds, or it is able to win from other competitors." It is a question of capture or conquest on the part of the male, not of selection by the female.

Song, which in its highest display belongs to the spring of the year, is uttered in the main by the adult male. It is probably a manifestation of vigor and exuberant vitality. It is the overflow of the new life and contagious gladness which the springtide, with its abundance of food and its bright sunshine, bring to the healthy bird. The struggle for life is now reduced to a minimum, and the songster expends its strength and joyance, now at their maximum, in unwearying melody. This is practically Dr. Wallace's theory:

The act of singing is evidently a pleasurable one, and it probably serves as an outlet for superabundant nervous energy and excitement. It is suggestive of this view that the exercise

of the vocal power seems to be complementary to the development of accessory plumes and ornaments; all our finest singers being plainly colored, while the gorgeously ornamented birds of the tropics have no song; and those which expend much energy in the display of plumage have comparatively an insignificant development of voice.

This theory, so far as it affects color,. and only so far, Dr. Wallace in view of further facts has seen fit to modify. It is now indisputable that, especially in South America, some of the most beautiful birds are great singers, while whole families of birds of plain plumage are without the gift of song.

Song, as is patent to everyone, is not confined to the spring of the year. During fine autumns and mild winters, when food is plentiful, birds sing much. Sunshine in any season kindles in them glad emotion, and inspires song. There is a direct relation between pleasurable sensations and the expression of joy in animated creatures. Youth, vigor, plenty, as in civilized man so in inferior animals manifest themselves in

fits of gladness, affecting them powerfully, and standing out in vivid contrast to their ordinary temper. And birds are more subject to this universal joyous instinct than mammals, more buoyant and graceful in action, more loquacious, and have voices so much finer, and the gladness shows itself in a greater variety of ways, and more regular and beautiful motion, and with melody.1

We conclude, then, that while the evolution of bird-song owes something to sexual selection, it owes more to the glad emotions which accompany fulness of vitality and favorable conditions of existence. It is the perfect music of bounding life, as color is its perfect flower.

We commend Mr. Witchell's careful

1 W. H. Hudson, "The Naturalist in La Plata," p. 281.

study of this subject to all lovers of nature. His volumes are crammed with interesting facts, and his theory of the evolution of song appears to hold the field. At any rate, it is worth the The London Quarterly Review

serious attention of "the authorities" on the subject of avian life, who, by the way, since the days of Darwin have done little to investigate the genesis of bird-song.

Robert McLeod.

A portrait of Anatole France represents him in his study, surrounded with richly bound books, holding in his hand and fondly looking at a little statuette, a frail masterpiece of Greek workmanship. There is no better definition of his mind and work, so redolent they are of scholarly culture and artistic refinement. Is it not paradoxical that a writer who seems to stand so far from unadorned nature should have written charming pages on childhood? The psychology of children is not something you learn in college. It is the most unclassical, unliterary thing in the world. But Anatole France, for all his amusing pedantry, is no common bookworm. Were it merely as a lover of books, he knows what a wonderful, invaluable manuscript the soul of a child is. Is not the history of our own origin written there?

"My Friend's Book" ("Le Livre de mon Ami") is supposed to be the work of the author's imaginary friend, Pierre Nozière. Pierre Nozière is very much like Anatole France, and the recollections of his boyish days will explain to us much of France's own mind. He was born "in a fine, somewhat decayed old house facing the Louvre and Tuilleries, close to the PalaisMazarin, on the embankment of that glorious river, which runs between the towers, turrets and spires of old Paris." Is it possible, he asks, that one should be quite dull and vulgar-minded after

being brought up there? His father, who was an anthropologist, had his house crammed with a lot of strange things, "racks of savages' arms, pirogues with their paddles, hanging side by side with stuffed alligators . . . and any number of little skeletons which, I thought, had a most spiteful and malicious look." When he went out for a walk he saw bookstalls and curiosity shops "filled with the most beautiful shapes of art and the most interesting relics of the past." He stared at old prints, or admired a rusty helmet, and the world, past and present, made its first appearance to him through an antiquarian's window. Such surroundings were bound to work upon the boy's imagination. He dreamt at night of the goblins he had seen in Callot's quaint etchings. He longed after distant lands. After gazing at two chinaware magots, which were perpetually shaking their heads and lolling their tongues, he resolved on going to China. "The difficult point was how to be taken there by my nurse. I was positive that China was lying somewhere beyond the Arc de Triomphe. But I never contrived to push on so far."

The swarming of fanciful notions in a child's head, his life in a world of his own, are made the subject of delightful chapters: still more delightful perhaps are those which describe the exquisite delicacy of his feelings. There are a few pages on Pierre Nozière's

mother, which are equal to anything. She was a sweet, charming soul, with "the heavenly patience and joyful simplicity which belong to those who have no business in the world but love." What she taught her little boy, it is easier to feel than to explain. She taught him what makes life truly worth living: she gave him immaterial treasures, more valuable than silver and gold. "One day, in the small parlor, she laid aside her embroidery work, and lifted me up in her arms; then, showing me one of the flowers on the wall, she said to me: I give you this rose. And, to make it easily known, she stamped a cross on it with her bodkin. Never did any present make me so happy."

When a boy is six or seven, the interesting chapter of vocations begins. Most boys want to become soldiers or omnibus drivers. But Pierre Nozière was no ordinary boy. As his mother often read to him legends out of the "Lives of the Saints," he thought of gratifying his inordinate yearning for glory by becoming a saint. The tale of his endeavors after holy life is a most entertaining one. He began by refusing to take his breakfast. Then he thought of rivalling St. Simeon Stylites. "I climbed up the small cistern in the kitchen, but I couldn't settle there, for I was quickly ousted by Julie, the cook." His next model was St. Nicholas of Patras, who distributed his wealth among the poor: he threw out of the window some new pennies, his marbles and his top; but his father simply shut the window and called him a stupid boy. Other misadventures followed: he was flogged for tearing open an old armchair in order to make himself a hair-shirt. His conclusion was that "it is very hard to practise holiness when living with one's family," and that the great hermit saints were right when they went to the desert. He thought of building a hut

in the Zoo, which, in his opinion, was no less than the Earthly Paradise, where all creatures lived together in peace.

The story of his schooldays has not much in common with that of the average Eton boy. There is little opportunity for games and rompings in it. His most wicked pastimes were the rearing of caterpillars in his desk, or the tricks he played with his chum Fontanet's cap. He formed, with the said Fontanet, all sorts of schemes: they tried to manufacture swords and shields "with pasteboard, and pieces of the silver paper in which chocolate is wrapped." They intended to write a History of France "with all the details," in fifty volumes. They swore a feud against some tedious school books, and agreed, in case they should be used in the next form, "to enlist as cabin-boys on board a large ship." Pupils and teachers have given Anatole France fine opportunities of displaying his particular kind of humor, which cannot be compared save with that of Heinrich Heine. It is something very enjoyable, but it cannot be easily defined: just a touch of mockery, without any bitterness in it, something very light and exquisite, which will not make you roar, but just smile.

To his own recollections Pierre Nozière adds a few stories of his baby-girl Suzanne and her little friends. Shall I call them stories? They åre rather philosophical essays-the most humorous philosophy you ever heard of. For instance, Guignol, the French Punch, is to Pierre Nozière the subject of deep reflections, which are amusingly contrasted with the little girl's more ingenuous views. A dreadful battle takes place between Guignol and Old Nick: Old Nick is killed. Nozière thinks it is rather a pity.

The Evil One being dead, good-bye to sin! Perhaps Beauty, Sin's ally, will

Then

have to go. Perhaps we shall see no more the flowers that intoxicate and the eyes that bewitch and kill. what shall become of us in this world? Will it be even possible for us to be virtuous? It is very doubtful. Guignol did not sufficiently bear in mind that Evil is the necessary counterpart of Good, as the shade is that of the light; that virtue does wholly consist of effort and struggle, and that, if there is no more Devil to fight against, the Elect will remain as idle as the sinners themselves. Life will be mortally dull. I tell you that when he killed Old Nick, Guignol was very unwise indeed.

He is thus musing: but little Suzanne thinks he is sad. She has a notion that people who are thinking must be in trouble.

With gentle pity she takes hold of my hand, and asks me why I am unhappy. I own that I am sorry Guignol has killed Old Nick. Then she puts her little arms round my neck, and, The Academy.

bringing her mouth close to my ear: "I'll tell you somefin: Guignol, he has killed the nigger, but he has not killed him for good."

Some strict Puritans may think that Anatole France's views on the Evil One are most dangerous. I do not pretend to say that "Le Livre de mon Ami" can be a substitute for the "Pilgrim's Progress." But the Attic style, the delicate feeling, and the light humor make it delicious reading. Perhaps the ordinary English reader would not care so much for "M. Bergeret" or "La Rôtisserie de la Reine Pédauque" which are very unconventional and French in the extreme. But "My Friend's Book" would certainly rank among masterpieces in any countryas some of the small statuettes, of which Anatole France is fond, can, by their perfect shape, rival the great works which made the Hellenic chisel famous.

Paul Mantoux.

The most prominent Spanish politician, the last of the Revolutionaries of 1868 who rose to eminence, passed away on the 5th of January, in the person of Práxedes Mateo Sagasta. His parents, who belonged to the middleclass, resided in Logroño, in Old Castile; but his father, for years in active conspiracy with the Progressists against the absolutism of Ferdinand

VI., was in exile when Práxedes Sagasta was born on the 21st July, 1827, in the little town of Torrecilla de Cómeros, a few miles from Logroño, where his mother had temporarily gone into retirement.

Starting life as a Government Civil Engineer, he was appointed to the Province of Zamora, where, on account of his energetic efficiency, he became very popular in the days when good

roads and bridges were so sorely needed in Spain. At the age of. twenty-seven, being already closely identified with the revolutionary political faction whose object was to depose Queen Isabella, he took his seat in the Córtes as deputy for Zamora, and vigorously defended the Progressive policy. The corruption of the Court and the officials, the conduct of the Sovereign herself, and the constant intrigues of that clique of Absolutists under whose influence she had fallen, were openly denounced by Sagasta and his colleagues. When the coup d'état of O'Donnell took place in 1856 and search was made for the opponents to the dynasty, Sagasta fled the country, returning to Zamora when the storm had subsided. His re-election for that district was thwarted by Government

menaces and he was defeated. He now resolved to establish himself in Madrid, where he threw all his energy into political agitation and edited a newspaper called La Iberia. During the O'Donnell administration he sat as deputy for Logroño and strenuously opposed the so-called "Liberal Union" ministry, against which and the several succeeding ministries until 1866 he inveighed through the columns of his newspaper.

In 1866, having been involved in the abortive insurrection against the Queen, Sagasta deemed it prudent to withdraw to France. He was accordingly arraigned for high treason, found guilty in his absence, and condemned to death. During his two years' exile he unceasingly conspired against Queen Isabella, both for the welfare of his country and as the only means by which he could hope to return to it. To attain the desired end he was ready to join hands with any party, and, anti-Absolutist as he was, he would not, apparently, have scrupled at an understanding with the Carlist faction, for he crossed over from France to England for the express purpose of finding the exiled chief of the first Carlist war-Don Ramon Cabrera. No public event, however, resulted from this meeting. Shortly afterwards he was joined by General Juan Prim, Marquis de Castillejos, who lived in Maida Vale, London, during the latter part of his exile.

Meanwhile in Madrid the profligacy of the Court, the unconstitutional procedure of the Queen's advisers and the increasing severity with which every one who raised his voice in protest was treated, produced an effervescence in the people which culminated in the deposition of Queen Isabella, in September, 1868. Francisco Serrano, Duque de la Torre, who in 1866 had suppressed the rising, now took the lead in the inevitable popular move

ment. At Carthagena, Amiral Topete "pronounced" against the dynasty and carried the revolutionary fleet to the Canaries. These two leaders, together with Olozaga, formed a governing triumvirate until the arrival of Prim and Sagasta, who landed at Cádiz. Supreme rule was at once vested in General Prim, who became Dictator, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Minister for Foreign Affairs, with Sagasta as one of his ministers.

Ministerial responsibility soon convinced Sagasta-hitherto an ardent demagogue of the impracticability of his early theories, and with his modified views his administration differed widely from the iconoclastic principles enounced through the medium of La Iberia. Indeed, it is interesting to compare the bold censure and the virtuous indignation expressed by the young deputy Sagasta in his vehement speeches prior to 1866 against ministerial interference in elections with the practice, in later years, of Prime Minister Sagasta, who over and over again resorted to the very expedient he had denounced. He possessed no private fortune: political office was his livelihood, and he was blessed with a conscience elastic enough to fit him for any form of Government. When the Dictator Prim invited Amadeo, Duke of Aosta, to accept the throne, Sagasta's democratic opinions had so signally changed that he was willing to hold office during the two years of the Italian Prince's kingship. Nor was he discouraged by the ghastly sight of his Chief Prim, who, on the 30th December, 1870, before Amadeo arrived in the capital, paid the penalty of death for his temerity in re-establishing the monarchy. Sagasta was a minister throughout this brief reign. beset with numerous enemies who not only taunted him for the facility with which he could mould his politics to suit the circumstances, but openly ac