meteoric stones moving about through space. | whilst this planet has gone cycling on accordIf at the present instant no life existed uponing to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple this earth, one such stone falling upon it might, by what we blindly call natural causes, lead to its becoming covered with vegetation. I am fully conscious of the many scientific objections which may be urged against this hypothesis; but I believe them to be all answerable. I have already taxed your patience too severely to allow me to think of discussing any of them on the present occasion. The hypothesis that life originated on this earth through moss-grown fragments from the ruins of another world may seem wild and visionary; all I maintain is that it is not unscientific. a beginning endless forms, most beautiful and most wonderful, have been and are being evolved." With the feeling expressed in these two sentences I most cordially sympathize. I have omitted two sentences which come between them, describing briefly the hypothesis of "the origin of species by natural selection," because I have always felt that this hypothesis does not contain the true theory of evolution, if evolution there has been, in biology. Sir John Herschel, in expressing a favourable judgment on the hypothesis of zoological evolution (with, however, some reservation in respect to the origin of man), objected to the From the earth stocked with such vegeta- doctrine of natural selection, that it was too tion as it could receive meteorically, to the like the Laputan method of making books, earth teeming with all the endless variety of and that it did not sufficiently take into plants and animals which now inhabit it, the account a continually guiding and controlling step is prodigious; yet, according to the doc- intelligence. This seems to me a most valutrine of continuity, most ably laid before the able and instructive criticism. I feel proAssociation by a predecessor in this chair foundly convinced that the argument of design (Mr. Grove), all creatures now living on earth has been greatly too much lost sight of in recent have proceeded by orderly evolution from zoological speculations. Reaction against the some such origin. Darwin concludes his great frivolities of teleology, such as are to be found, work on The Origin of Species with the fol- not rarely, in the notes of the learned comlowing words: "It is interesting to contem- mentators on Paley's Natural Theology, has, I plate an entangled bank clothed with many believe, had a temporary effect in turning attenplants of many kinds, with birds singing on tion from the solid and irrefragable argument the bushes, with various insects flitting about, so well put forward in that excellent old book. and with worms crawling through the damp But overpoweringly strong proofs of intelligent earth, and to reflect that these elaborately- and benevolent design lie all round us; and constructed forms, so different from each other, if ever perplexities, whether metaphysical or and dependent on each other in so complex scientific, turn us away from them for a time, a manner, have all been produced by laws they come back upon us with irresistible force, acting around us." .. "There is grandeur | showing to us through Nature the influence of in this view of life with its several powers, a free-will, and teaching us that all living having been originally breathed by the Crea- | beings depend on one ever-acting Creator and tor into a few forms or into one; and that, Ruler. JOHN TODHUNTER. [Mr. Todhunter has written some remarkable | other Poems. These verses show very high poems. Many of them were originally contri- poetic power, rich, powerful imagination, buted to Kottabos, a periodical started some picturesqueness, and vigour of language, and years ago in connection with the Dublin Uni- considerable control over the mysteries of versity, which, although it has fostered the un-rhyme. "Laurella," the first and longest poem happy inclination for dabbling in Greek and in the volume, is a rendering into verse of one Latin verse, one of the relics of a barbarous of the prettiest of the tales of Paul Heyse, one system of education, has done much to inspire of the best known German romancists of our the poetic talent of Ireland. The poems are time. The story is brightly and in some parts published in a volume entitled Laurella and finely retold. Trembling, yet with a heart that bayed despair, "In the name of God, what art thou?" Answered him in a human voice-none less "Hast thou not heard of me?" He made essay, But Mr. Todhunter has sufficient originality | And a cold shiver stirred his rising hair. of his own not to seek for the incidents of his story in another writer. A more remarkable poem is "The Daughter of Hippocrates." In this, too, the poet sought for his story in another author, for the poem is founded, as he himself acknowledges, on a legend as told by Leigh Hunt in the Indicator. The legend, however, as is generally known, is much older than Leigh Hunt, and has attracted the attention of many poetic minds. It is, in fact, also the subject of "The Lady of the Land," in Mr. Morris's Earthly Paradise. The tale is of a fair woman concealed in the shape of a loathsome snake, who, through a kiss from the mortal lips of the man she loves, is restored to the original beauty of the human form. Some of the scenes are described with extraordinary force. The volume also contains a number of lyrics, many joyous, many sad, and nearly all full of real poetic inspiration and melody. Mr. Todhunter was born in Dublin on 29th December, 1839. He entered Trinity College in 1862, took the degree of M.B. in 1867, and of M.D. in 1871. He obtained the gold medal of the Philosophical Society for composition, and the vice-chancellor's prize for English verse three times. He practised medicine for some years in Dublin, but has now devoted himself wholly to the literary calling. He has also written Alcestes, a Dramatic Poem, and has in preparation a volume entitled A Study of Shelley.] THE DAUGHTER OF HIPPOCRATES. (EXTRACT.1) Gaultier was left alone. Then There he stood, With dry and tuneless tongue, to stammer, "Yea, Again To tear itself a way, as fierce and fast tale Thy ears have heard; but how shall I assail woe Plead there in sacred human guise? Yet O The chivalrous passion tingling through his blood, That tale is true; my father was the sage Yet half-faint, agonizing on the tense Of expectation. By all gates of sense Then came 1 By permission of the author. Hippocrates! How measure you the years Shuddering, he started back—a deadly drouth Parching his tongue, and all his flesh a-creep With a damp chill. The serpent seemed to weep, For twice he heard a piteous inward groan; Then down she grovelled, with a sobbing moan, Upon the ground; a wailing smote his ears, As when a woman weeps, and warm large tears Sprang in her eyes, and bathed her loathsome cheek. Thou dost not lure me to some dreadful doom- Gaultier was moved, and said: "What boots to In quiet sunshine! Living things that creep, speak, O Lady-if thou lady art indeed Of curse of that false goddess, whom our creed I cannot kiss thee!" At the sickening thought Then, lifting higher Her crested strength, she spoke again: "This curse A thing of naught! O what a cloud perverse Chills men to marble gods, whom beauty's tale Had found refreshing rivers. Hence with that pale And comfortless face of thine!--for my despair A-weeping in contorted agony; Then she fell And Gaultier, filled with wonder thus to see Her sorrowing rage for cruelty confest, Felt such a fascination in his breast As a man feels when hideous temptings risc To an abhorrèd sin. He kept his eyes Or run, or fly amid these glades in peace! O earth! O sea! O heavens, that never cease Yet he who hears leagues me in horrid pact His sceptic fears-not faith itself-farewell! grave Held three days in its womb, us men to save Fixed on her writhing neck, and clutched his And shuddering closed his eyes: "I'll kiss thee, sword, Ready to strike. But now she turned her tow'rd Her palace, with a passionate shriek of "Go!" Then Gaultier spoke again: "How can I know snake!" And held his lips out, thinking on his name And with the cross he signed himself. ROSA MULHOLLAND. might toss her head at having her horses turned on the road when going out for an evening's amusement; but there were fierce doings making a hot progress through the country, the perpetrators of which were but little concerned for the convenience of fair ladies. [Miss Rosa Mulholland was born in Belfast, | ears full of cotton wool, and Miss Janet Golden and is the daughter of the late Joseph S. Mulholland, M.D., of that city. Her family on both sides is purely Irish. After the death of her father she spent some years in a remote mountainous part of the west of Ireland; and the picturesque scenery and primitive people by whom she was surrounded doubtless did a good deal towards developing literary longings and talents. Her first idea was to be an artist, and when only fifteen she ventured to send a set of comic pictures to Punch, which were, however, rejected. Her next attempt was in another direction, and was more successful. She sent a poem of twenty-two stanzas called "Irene" to the Cornhill Magazine, which was accepted. It was also accompanied by an illustration by Millais. The great artist was kind enough to offer his assistance to Miss Mulholland in the pursuit of her artistic studies; but she was unable to remain in London. After this her success was rapid. She found an earnest friend in Charles Dickens, who pressed her to write a serial story for All the Year Round, and he himself chose the title "Hester's History." While the tale was proceeding he frequently expressed his gratification with it, and it was afterwards republished in volume form by Messrs. Chapman and Hall. It is from this tale our extract is taken. Dickens also selected Miss Mulholland's story "The Late Miss Hollingford" (published originally in All the Year Round), to be coupled with his own "No Thoroughfare" in a volume of the Tauchnitz Collection. Miss Mulholland has also written Dunmara, The Wicked Woods of Tobereevil, Elder-gowan, l'uck and Blossom, The Little Flower-seekers, Five Little Farmers, The First Christmas for our Dear Little Ones, Prince and Saviour; Holy Childhood; and a large number of short stories and poems in All the Year Round and other magazines, to which her name has not been attached.] THE PURSUIT OF A REBEL1 [The scene of the incident is the north of Ireland; the time, the year 1798.] Lady Helen Munro might live with her 1 By permission of the authoress. Dire tidings did the daily post now bring to the peaceful fishing village that had sat gratefully for so many hundred years in the lap of its fertile glens at the feet of its bountiful bay. A hostile soldiery, utterly unchecked in their terrible license, scoured the land. The flower of the population was melting off the mountain-sides; dales and hamlets were giving up their strength and pride to the prison, the torture, and the gibbet. Even already in our glens the wail of desolation had arisen among the cottages. Sir Archie Munro, in anguish for his people, strove in vain to shield them from the horrors of the times. Day by day one disappeared and another disappeared from among the hearty glensmen. Frantic tales of distress came flying to the castle. The servants clenched their hands and cursed over their work. Miss Madge sat up in her solitude and wept herself nearly blind. Lady Helen went into hysterics at every fresh piece of news. Miss Golden blanched, and was silent for a while, but refused to believe one half the stories; and Hester sat up in her tower with her needle trembling in her fingers; for the stitching and ornamenting, the embroidering and flouncing, had all to go on the same, just as if a rain of blood had not begun to fall over the land. Miss Golden began to think that it had been better she had taken Sir Archie's advice and returned to England; but she was, as she had said, not a coward, and she made up her mind, bravely enough, to see the worst to its end. Lady Helen lamented sorely that she should have been the means of bringing her darling Janet to so miserable a country. Yet, in the same breath, her ladyship quarrelled with her son, because he proposed for the women of the household a prudent retreat to England or France till such time as these miseries should world, to hide themselves, as if they were a set be over. No, why should they go flying over the of rebels? She believed that Archie made the most of things. They could not become so bad as he seemed to expect. She would not set off |