The adjacent

part of the general epidermis segregated from the rest. tissues, changing first into cartilage and then into bone, enclose the auditory sac in a strong case, in which it undergoes its further metamorphoses; while the drum, the ear bones, and the external ear are superadded by no less extraordinary modifications of the adjacent parts. Still more marvellous is the history of the development of the organ of vision. In the place of the eye, as in that of the nose and that of the ear, the young embryo presents a depression of the general integument; but, in man and the higher animals, this does not give rise to the proper sensory organ, but only to part of the accessory structures concerned in vision. In fact, this depression, deepening and becoming converted into a shut sac, produces only the cornea, the aqueous humour, and the crystalline lens of the perfect eye.

The retina is added to this by the outgrowth of the wall of a portion of the brain into a sort of bag or sac with a narrow neck, the convex bottom of which is turned outwards or towards the crystalline lens. As the development of the eye proceeds, the convex bottom of the bag becomes pushed in, so that it gradually obliterates the cavity of the sac, the previously convex wall of which becomes deeply concave. The sac of the brain is now like a double nightcap ready for the head, but the place which the head would occupy is taken by the vitreous humour, while the layer of nightcap next it becomes the retina. The cells of this layer which lie furthest from the vitreous humour, or, in other words, bound the original cavity of the sac, are metamorphosed into the rods and cones. Suppose now that the sac of the brain could be brought back to its original form; then the rods and cones would form part of the lining of a side pouch of the brain. But one of the most wonderful revelations of embryology is the proof of the fact that the brain itself is, at its first beginning, merely an infolding of the epidermic layer of the general integument. Hence it follows that the rods and cones of the vertebrate eye are modified epidermic cells, as much as the crystalline cones of the insect or crustacean eye are; and that the inversion of the position of the former in relation to light arises simply from the roundabout way in which the vertebrate retina is developed.

Thus all the higher sense organs start from one foundation, and the receptive epithelium of the eye, or of the ear, is as much modified epidermis as is that of the nose. The structural unity of the sense organs is the morphological parallel to their identity of physiological function, which, as we have seen, is to be impressed by certain modes of motion; and they are fine or coarse in proportion to the delicacy or the strength of the impulses by which they are to be affected.

In ultimate analysis, then, it appears that a sensation is the equivalent in terms of consciousness for a mode of motion of the matter of the sensorium. But, if inquiry is pushed a stage further, and the

question is asked, What then do we know about matter and motion? there is but one reply possible. All that we know about motion is that it is a name for certain changes in the relations of our visual, tactile, and muscular sensations; and all that we know about matter is that it is the hypothetical substance of physical phenomena—the assumption of the existence of which is as pure a piece of metaphysical speculation as that of the substance of mind.

Our sensations, our pleasures, our pains, and the relations of these make up the sum total of the elements of positive, unquestionable knowledge. We call a large section of these sensations and their relations matter and motion; the rest we term mind and thinking; and experience shows that there is a certain constant order of succession between some of the former and some of the latter.

This is all that just metaphysical criticism leaves of the idols set up by the spurious metaphysics of vulgar common sense. It is consistent either with pure Materialism, or with pure Idealism, but it is neither. For the Idealist, not content with declaring the truth that our knowledge is limited to facts of consciousness, affirms the wholly unprovable proposition that nothing exists beyond these and the substance of mind. And, on the other hand, the Materialist, holding by the truth that, for anything that appears to the contrary, material phenomena are the causes of mental phenomena, asserts his unprovable dogma, that material phenomena and the substance of matter are the sole primary existences.

Strike out the propositions about which neither controversialist does or can know anything, and there is nothing left for them to quarrel about. Make a desert of the Unknowable, and the divine Astræa of philosophic peace will commence her blessed reign.

T H. HUXLEY.

THE BUSINESS OF THE HOUSE OF

LORDS.

As one of the chief privileges of an Englishman is said to be that of grumbling and airing a grievance, I venture to exercise my national rights on behalf of a class who, though small in number, may perhaps claim the same consideration shown to many others of an equally deserving character, and who, I make bold to think, are somewhat hardly dealt with; and these are the junior members of that august body, the House of Lords, which has at various times excited the admiration and ridicule of this free and enlightened country.

When the British public unfolds its daily newspaper, and turns with respectful admiration to the report of the doings of the Imperial Parliament the night before, it generally is informed that while the Speaker of the House of Commons took the chair shortly before four o'clock,' and continued in that exalted, but it is to be feared somewhat tedious, position until probably about two the next morning, 'their lordships,' strange to relate, having begun by installing the Lord Chancellor on his woolsack at five o'clock, adjourned at 5.20, or it may be 5.25 in busy times, having actually sat fully a quarter of an hour, or even twenty minutes! Thank God, we have a House of Lords,' will no doubt be the ejaculation of the pious at this announcement.

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But the intelligent householder, if he turns to another column of his cheap daily press,' may be often somewhat surprised to see a considerable amount of complaint expressed at the way in which Parliament is overworked, that there is really no time for the consideration of many important measures year by year, and that the progress of useful legislation is seriously impeded; and the question naturally arises: Why is all the work laid exclusively on one House, while the other House never seems to do anything?' And again: "What is the use of a House which practically but seldom sits, in which very few of its members ever attend, or, if they do attend, do anything?'

To answer these inquiries, we must glance for a moment at the method of conducting what business there is in the Upper House. The sittings for public business may be divided into three classes :

1. Sittings when there is no business.

2. Sittings for business of moderate importance.

3. Sittings for business of extreme importance.

Now the first of these speaks for itself. All that need be mentioned is that a very large majority of the sittings fall under this head, and thus tend to facilitate description.

The last description of business is necessarily undertaken by the chiefs on each side of the House. Debates on such subjects as the Eastern Question, the Berlin Treaty, &c., are necessarily confined in very great measure to scientific experts-such as the Ministry of the day who are behind the scenes, and their chief opponents who were lately in office themselves-and do not afford easy material for outsiders or junior members. It is perhaps on the whole a good thing that private members of the House of Lords do not interfere in these very important questions, as it tends to save time; and in fact, when the leading men have spoken out without the fear of constituents before their eyes, there is really very little more to be said that will be for the public benefit. But surely this is no reason why junior members (and when I use this expression I do not necessarily mean those who are young in years, but those who are not in the Government or on the front Opposition benches) should be almost entirely excluded, and that in a somewhat arbitrary manner, from taking part in any public business whatever.

If we turn to the second or intermediate class of business mentioned above, we shall see what opportunities are here afforded for outside members to play a useful part. This class would include the discussion of such measures as Army Reform, Local Government, the higher branches of railway business, and similar questions affecting home government, &c., of great importance in themselves, but which might easily and usefully be discussed by independent as well as official peers, and would moreover give the former excellent opportunities of training themselves for useful public men. But it so happens in this case that the time is too short, the duration of the sitting being regulated absolutely by the witching hour of dinner, so that, when the chief men have said their say, the House begins gradually but surely to thin; and if an unfortunate outsider gets up to make any remarks, he enjoys the double advantage of speaking to an empty House and upon an empty stomach.

But this is not all. It seems to be the invariable practice of the Government to put every possible spoke in the wheel of a young ambitious member. I do not hesitate to say that if a young man gets up in the House to speak, he is deliberately discouraged and given plainly to understand that he is a meddlesome intruder and had better not take such a liberty again; and no Government has exercised this constitutional rule to a greater extent than the present one.

This feeling was pretty conclusively shown not long since. A

motion was brought forward during last Session by a peer on the Conservative benches that the House should sit at four o'clock instead of five, so as to give more time for the discussion before dinner of business such as we are now considering; and this naturally led to the consideration of the opportunities afforded to junior members of the House for taking a part in public affairs, which was indeed admittedly the whole point of the debate. It was shown to demonstration that the opportunities afforded were almost nil, and that, on the other hand, every discouragement was given to these men. The Government exerted their matchless powers of ridicule' on the subject, and it was said that in society we might frequently see young peers late for dinner, and that therefore they might and did take their part in public business (loud cheers). The Liberals then got up one after the other, headed by their leader, and almost unanimously supported the motion (proposed by a Conservative). You are quite right,' said they; the way in which young members are treated is notorious. Not only is there no encouragement given to them, but, even if they do get up, their interference is hailed as an unwarrantable intrusion.' So strong was the feeling that if the matter had been pressed to a division, which unfortunately it was not, the Government would have been notoriously and deservedly beaten.

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Contrast this practice with that which obtains in the House of Commons. There a new member is always given a fair chance to start with, and facilities are afforded him on his entrance into public life, on whichever side of the House he may sit. When he rises to speak for the first time, he is invariably given a fair and patient hearing. Of course, if he neglects his opportunities and does not come up to the proper standard, that is his own affair; but he is at all events given a fair start and encouragement. There is indeed a much stronger incentive for a young man to come forward in the House of Commons from the fact of his being sent up to Parliament by his constituents, who will probably, to a certain extent, expect him to do something; and in the case of any strong and important constituency this pressure will be always more or less forcibly applied. True, this does not apply to the other House. There the chief incentive will be a man's own aspirations, which, if they be of any higher nature than those of a groom or keeper, will probably lead him to wish to act up in some degree to the position in which he is placed. And here it is, I think, worthy of note that the two positions are in a very important degree essentially dissimilar. It may be said (and with some degree of fairness) of a member of the House of Commons who does not fulfil his duties: If you are unwilling or incapable of performing these duties, why did you offer yourself for election? Your entry into Parliament is, subject to the approval of your electors, entirely a matter of free choice with yourself. If you meant to do nothing, you should not have come forward; in any case,