show hereafter, means appreciating beauty, not collecting beautiful properties-means a development of the qualities of patience, attention, reverence, and of that vigor of soul which is not called forth, but rather impaired, by the coarser enjoyments of the senses and of vanity. So far, therefore, we have seen that the capacity for æsthetic pleasure presupposes a certain nobility in the individual. I think I can show that the preference for æsthetic pleasure implies also a happier relation between the individual and his fellows.

But the cultivation of our æsthetic pleasures does not merely necessitate our improvement in certain very essential moral qualities. It tends, as much, in a way, as the cultivation of the intellect and the sympathies, to make us live chiefly in the spirit; in which alone, as philosophers and mystics have rightly understood, there is safety from the worst miseries and room for the most complete happiness. Only, we shall learn from the study of our æsthetic pleasures that while the stoics and mystics have been right in affirming that the spirit only can give the highest good, they have been fatally wrong in the reason for their prefer ence. And we may learn from our æsthetic experiences that the spirit is useful, not in detaching us from the enjoyable things of life, but, on the contrary, in giving us their consummate possession. The spirit-one of whose most precious capacities is that it enables us to print off all outside things on to ourselves, to store moods and emotions, to recombine and reinforce past impressions into present ones -the spirit puts pleasure more into our own keeping, making it more independent of time and place, of circumstances, and, what is equally important, independent of other people's strivings after pleasure, by which our own, while they clash and hamper, are so often fatally impeded.

For our intimate commerce with beautiful things and beautiful thoughts does not exist only, or even chiefly, at the moment of seeing, or hearing, or reading; nay, if the beautiful touched us only at such separate and special moments, the beautiful would play but an insignificant part in our existence.

As a fact, those moments represent very often only the act of storage, or not much more. Our real æsthetic life is in ourselves, often isolated from the beautiful words, objects, or sounds; sometimes almost unconscious; permeating the whole of the rest of life in certain highly æsthetic individuals, and, however mixed with other activities, as constant as the life of the intellect and sympathies; nay, as constant as the life of assimilation and motion. We can live off a beautiful object, we can live by its means, even when its visible or audible image is partially, nay, sometimes wholly, obliterated; for the emotional condition can survive the image and be awakened at the mere name, awakened sufficiently to heighten the emotion caused by other images of beauty. We can sometimes feel, so to speak, the spiritual companionship and comfort of a work of art, or of a scene in Nature, nay, almost its particular caress to our whole being, when the work of art or the scene has grown faint in our memory, but the emotion it awakened has kept warm.

Now this possibility of storing for later use, of increasing by combination, the impressions of beautiful things, makes art-and by art I mean all aesthetic activity, whether in the professed artist who creates or the unconscious artist who assimilates-the type of such pleasures as are within our own keeping, and makes the aesthetic life typical also of that life of the spirit in which alone we can realize any kind of human freedom. We shall all of us meet with examples thereof if we seek through our consciousness. That such things existed was made clear to me during a weary period of illness, for which I shall always be grateful, since it taught me, in those months of incapacity for enjoyment, that there is a safe kind of pleasure, a pleasure we can defer. I spent part of that time at Tangier, surrounded by all things which could delight me, but in none of which I took any real delight. I did not enjoy Tangier at the time, but I have enjoyed Tangier ever since, on the principle of the bee eating its honey months after making it. reality of Tangier, I mean the reality of my presence there, and the state of

have either in our power. For, even if the desired object, person, or circumstance comes, how often does it not come at the wrong hour! In this world, which mankind still fits so badly, the wish and the realization are rarely in unison, rarely in harmony, but follow each other, most often, like vibrations of different instruments, at intervals which can only jar. The n'est-ce que cela, the inability to enjoy. of successful ambition and favored passionate love is famous; and short of love even and ambition, we all know the flatness of much-desired pleasures. King Solomon, who had not been enough of an ascetic, as we all know, and therefore ended off in cynicism, had learned that there is not only satiety as a result of enjoyment, but a sort of satiety also, an absence of keenness, an incapacity for caring, due to the deferring of enjoyment. He doubtless knew, among other items of vanity, that our wishes are often fulfilled without our even knowing it, so indifferent have we become through long waiting, or so changed in our wants.

In a similar way, the modest certainty of all pleasure derived from the Beautiful will accustom the perfect æsthete to seek for the like in other branches of activity. Accustomed to the happiness which is in his own keeping, he will view with suspicion all craving for satisfactions which are beyond his control; he will not ask to be given the moon, and he will not even wish to be given it, lest the wish should grow into a want; he will make the best of candles and glowworms and of distant heavenly luminaries: more over, being accustomed to enjoy the mere sight of things as much as other folk do their possession, he will probably actually prefer that the moon

should be hanging in the heavens, and not on his staircase.

Again, having experience of the æsthetic pleasures which involve, in their sober waking bliss, no wear and tear, no reaction of satiety, he will not care much for the more rapturous pleasures of passion and success, which always cost as much as they are worth. He will be unwilling to run into such debt with his own feelings, having learned from æsthetic pleasure that there are modes of soul which, instead of impoverishing, enrich it.

Thus does the commerce with beautiful things and beautiful thoughts tend to develop in us that healthy amount of asceticism which is necessary for every workable scheme tending to the benefit of the individual and the plurality: self-restraint, choice of aims, consistent and thorough-paced subordination of the lesser interest to the greater; above all, what sums up asceticism as an efficacious means toward happiness, preference of the spiritual, the unconditional, the durable, to the temporal, the uncertain, and the fleeting. The intimate and continuous intercourse with the Beautiful teaches us, therefore, the renunciation of the unnecessary for the sake of the possible; it teaches asceticism leading not to indifference and Nirvana, but to higher complexities of vitalization, to a more complete and harmonious rhythm of individual existence.

In such manner, to resume our symbol of the bay laurel which the roadmender stuck on to the front of that tramcar, can our love for the Beautiful avert, like the plant of Apollo, many of the storms and cure many of the fevers of life.- Contemporary Review.

IF, as Professor Max Müller holds, it is impossible to think without words, thought and language must be so related as to be practically simultaneous in

order of conscious evolution and coeval in natural origin. If we try by reflecting upon our consciousness and analyzing our expressions to determine which

is primary in point of sequence, thought, or speech, we fail to reach any definite result; first, because all thought is it self an ideal form of expression or lauguage, of which gesture, pantomime, and phonetic utterance are but continuous aspects evolved through voluminous apparatuses of ultimate physical or gans; and secondly, because the whole personality moves together, and its every expression, whether psychic or articulate, involves a co-ordination of the whole self-conscious organism. I have said every expression, whether psychic or articulate, but really there is no psychic expression which is not articulate, or articulate expression which is not psychic, for the unuttered thought is articulate to itself i.e., ideally-and the uttered thought is articulate to itself and to objective selves through the medium of the exterual senses.

The fact that the language of a nation always corresponds with and is in proportion to its mental development, shows that there has never been a time when man was man and incapable of intelligible expression or articulate lan guage; the human consciousness-the power to think, feel, and perceive evolves pari passu with the power, the instinctive capacity for creating intellectual symbols and giving them pantomimic or phonetic shape. The confusion in which philosophers become involved in trying to discover the true position of words in the circle of conscious evolution, arises largely from the limited conception of the meaning of language, which restricts it to pantomime, hieroglyphic, and phonetic symbols, expressing states of consciousness existing in the minds of those who employ them, and regarded as the evolution of a specific faculty whose function is to give external expression to such states; whereas, the power to express -and all expression is a species of language or speech-is not confined to any part of the organism, for it is common (and in sense) to speak of a speaking eye, an expressive face, voice, or deportment. What distinguished the different organic functions as the oral, the visual, and locomotive is, that each has the power to express any or all the conscious capacities through itself in a

specific manner or specialized form. Thus, the mental state known as fear is expressed through the entire organism, and through each organ assumes a different aspect, which is the natural language of the emotion, recognizable at a glance, and understood in all countries, even by the veriest savages. It dilates the eyes, blanches the skin, contracts the organism generally, produces through the voice a distinctive soundin fact, in each organic function assumes a specific expression. All these expressions are the language of fear, the word fear is only the intellectualized symbol, or nomen, created by the English intellect for handling the state of consciousness in the abstract, without having recourse to its instinctive expressions; yet, while the instinctive expressions of this emotion are understood by all human beings, and even by the brutes-as they are possessors with us of this capacity-the intellectual symbol of four hieroglyphics with specific phonetic significance, has to be learned and its meaning acquired before individuals can connect it with the emotional state of consciousness for which it stands. But when a knowledge of its meaning is once acquired, the mind can use it without experiencing, or inducing in the minds of others, the instinctive emotional state of which it is the intellectualized representative, because the word is an intellectual transmutation of that state, and its relation to it is consequently indirect. How readily does a child or a dog distinguish the expression of real fear from that which is feigned.

The language of pantomime is generally an instinctive species of expression; but intellectual pantomime is also possible, as shown in the deaf and dumb alphabet expressed with the hands. Further, it is impossible to form a conception of any abstract state such as fright, except as expressed in a human or other living organism when under its influence. Thus no one has ever seen a living embodiment of fear alone. Who, therefore, can conceive of it as having separate existence in itself? We know what a timid person under the influence of fear looks like; and such a person is our highest idea of the impersonation of fear. The

recognition of this truth conducts to that of another very important one viz., that the mind has no such thing as a faculty per se; and that what psychologists call such, are but capacities or potentialities of the living organ ism to assimilate itself to certain actual states or forms of expression; consequently all psychological phenomena, in fact, all phenomena whatsoever, within the circle of the knowable, which we call nature, are but a catena of expressions, and reducible to the idea of language. Descartes, in his celebrated. sentence, Cogito ergo sum," recognizes this truth. He means to say My subjective existence is an inference from my capacity to evolve objective existences or expressions which are selfindividualizations--i.e., thoughts. For what are thoughts but expressions, the result of a capacity of life to propagate itself in a specific way through an organism, and thereby give individuality -or a special form of expression-to the attributes of its own capacities, and those of the objective existences or expressions of which its own are indirectÎy a continuous part? If we divide, as we can, all psychological phenomena, and, in fact, all phenomena (for there are none which are not resolvable into psychological), into two classes-viz., expressions and impressions-we shall find on examination that these apparently dissimilar and antipodal categories are reducible to expressions only; what we call impressions being, when analyzed, the assimilation of entities to an expression or form other than that in which they were previously existing. When a sculptor impresses a piece of marble, he reduces it to the expression of its own conception. And the artist who sways the minds of generations does so by assimilating them to the expression of its own mental states.

It is misleading to restrict the idea of language to vocal expression, for all the phenomena of nature are but forms of language-the expressions of changes in her unfathomable and impenetrable conscious activities. Thus, if we take a single word (which is one form of expression), and trace it in all its relations, we are compelled to unravel the whole science of speech; and if we trace inward the science of speech to

that of its antecedent thought, we must, to understand it, unravel the whole science of psychology; and that is conterminous with the whole science of being-i.e., universal nature. A word, therefore, is thought evolved through an unbroken catena of psychic laboratories (brain centres), to an expression in which it is objective to itself.

Our modern scientists represent that the hidden and impalpable forces of nature, such as we call life and thought, are discoverable only by vivisection. Such a method of research is equivalent to dissecting a criminal alive, not with the idea of extorting confession by the torture to which we subject him, but under the delusion that we shall discover the nature of the thoughts he won't express, as they arise in the brain. Tennyson speaks of "When a great thought strikes along the brain and flushes all the cheek." Now the flushed cheek is the most ultimate and intense expression which the thought can assume through the organism in which it has arisen, except vocal speech, which is a more ultimate expression than the blush, as in it (speech) the thought assumes an independent individuality, in which form it passes beyond the subjective consciousness in which it apparently originated, and becomes objective to that parent consciousness as a sound impressing it through the organs of hearing; or if the person wrote the words which are the phonographic symbols of the "great thought," it has then acquired an objective form which impresses him through the sense of sight. Thought is obviously a birth-process, life, issuing from a state potential through an indefinable series of physiological changes, until it assumes the most perfect actual expression it is capable of through the organism which is its medium of utterance. So, if we cannot comprehend by observation and inference the nature of the thought which has flushed the cheek by perceiving the flush, we should not be likely to do so by watching the molecular changes in the particular centre of the brain in which the thought had birth.

Mr. Herbert Spencer speaks of the "science of mind, which, through an