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they may have arisen among the lowest social strata, such as the Jacqueries; or have sprouted forth among the highest classes, and thus be out of reach of the comprehension and contact of the mass. This was the case with Nihilism in its earliest manifestations. They all end by triumphing, but until they adapt themselves to their surroundings may constitute a political crime, though one that is evidently but temporary, which a time not far distant will transform into heroism or martyrdom.

Historians are often called upon to decide between revolutions and rebellions. Many are the features they have in common, for even the most legitimate of revolutions cannot be accomplished without a certain amount of violence. Success or non-success in the course of years is often the only proof of the legitimacy or illegitimacy of the agitation, of its physiological or pathological character. The production of geniuses, however, is the highest effort of human evolution. A study, therefore, of their natures and the causes of their being in the agitations in which they appear, will give us, in pure solution, as the chemists would say, the true character and the true causes of those great evolutions which are called revolutions, distinguishing them perfectly from revolts.

Working on these lines, Lombroso proceeds to examine the various conditions. the milieux, so to speak-in which revolutions and revolts arise, the physical, anthropological, social, political, and economical causes from which they spring. Climate, for instance, and meteorological conditions strongly influence the abundance or rarity of insurrections, going far also to determine their revolutionary or seditious char

acter. In extremes of heat and cold, insurrections are rare. Moderate heat, on the other hand, especially if dry, being favourable to social and political evolution, by reason of the greater energy it infuses into nerve and muscle, is favourable to agitations. Lombroso gives tables showing that, as in the ancient world so in the modern, revolutions and revolts are most abundant in Europe during the spring and summer. Dryness of the atmosphere, hastening the processes of loss and reparation of the nervous system, renders a people excitable and ready to revolt. Thus is explained also the well-known turbulence and impatience of control of mountaineers, recognised from the times of Pisistratus to our own. If the mountain be too high, however, the rarefaction of the atmosphere has a depressing effect; geniuses cease to appear; the race deteriorates physically, morally, and politically.

Race has also an enormous influence on popular movements. Dolichocephalous and fair peoples are much more inclined to agitations than brachycephalous and dark ones. Thus, in the French Revolution, out of eighty-nine great innovators and revolutionaries twenty were brachycephalous, sixty-nine dolichocephalous. The northern fair races of Europe, which lead the vanguard of civilisation, can show the records of few revolts, but of some great revolutions; while the dark races of the extreme south present us with instances of many revolts, but few great revolutions. Further, abundance or poverty of food, the

use or abuse of alcoholic drinks, largely influence insurrectionary movements. Extremes of abundance or poverty depress mind and body, and while they may favour revolts, are hostile

to revolutions. Alcoholism is fatal to all strictly revolutionary movements, while it is most fertile in seditions. The impetuous character of revolts is still further shown by the fact that women and youths are constantly found as their instigators and furtherers, while in revolutions appear men of mature age. True, among the Nihilists many women are to be found, but this Lombroso treats as an exception, adducing various social reasons to explain it, such as the fact that Nihilism represents the mystic-religious tendency inherited from the horrors of famine, fire, and inundation in Russia, which has been turned into a political tendency, as is well expressed by the women when they exclaim, speaking of the Revolution, "Thou art my beloved spouse," in the same manner as saints and nuns salute Christ.

In an able chapter Lombroso traces the influence which geniuses, enthusiasts, madmen, and criminals have had on revolution and revolt; discusses the conditions under which political crime is most likely to abound, or rather has actually abounded in the past, and still occurs; and finally applies his researches and conclusions to the elaboration of the punishments, and especially the preventive measures which political crime demands, for he lays the old proverb, "Prevention is better than cure," here, as elsewhere, well to heart.

The perusal of this book recalls the old story of our nursery days

called "Eyes and no eyes." It might be contended that we knew all these things before, that some even are trite. Ordered by Lombroso's hand they assume new significance, and give food for deep reflection concerning the multitudinous external influences which are at work on our whole being, modifying and moulding us individually and en masse, even in matters in which we are wont loudly to assert our independence of thought and action. Instead, it seems we are in the power of a host of plastic agents which unswervingly fashion every part of our individual and social life. What becomes of free-will under such circumstances? Have not our modern scientists destroyed it once again? and will the Dantes, and Miltons, and Boethiuses of the future have to reargue it anew? Certainly the results of the scalpel and microscope brought to bear upon Homo sapiens is little flattering to the vanity of the self-styled "head of creation." How little of the sapiens there is in the bulk of humanity, how dependent the sapientia is on muscles, nerves, and disposition of internal parts, on climate and meteorological conditions, our modern scientists amply show.

But is there not, perchance, an ineffable something that they miss and lose sight of? We trust so; certainly the tendency of the day is too much to "Take upon us the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies."

HELEN ZIMMERN.

AN EVENING WITH SCHLIEMANN.

"He needs no ship to cross the tide,
Who, in the lives about him, sees
Fair window prospects opening wide
O'er history's fields on every side,
To Ind and Egypt, Rome and Greece."

THE time of the year was April, the thermometer stood at 80°, the days were lengthening, the barley was ripening, as some weary travellers reached a hotel in Cairo. They had seen early morning in a small boat on the Suez Canal, while devout worshippers were saying their prayers, and a camel was threading its way on the banks near Goshen. They had felt the sun at mid-day at Ismailia, seen the desert and the palms and the low flat mud-buildings of the poor fellahin. They noticed for the first time the precious water sold in skin bottles at Tel-el-Kebir. The sand lay in heaps on the uneven surfaces of the railway carriages, and the stifling atmosphere within was only less distressing than the clouds of dust outside. The open omnibus of Shepheard's hotel has passed through the crowded streets, avoided the runner before some wealthy citizen's chariot, and at last stopped. There, on the cool broad verandah where magicians ply their enchantments and vendors sell their wares, the neware investigated by the

comers

older inhabitants.

The hotel became a home to us, because of the presence there before us of our friend Professor Virchow of Berlin; and that evening, without any previous arrangement, we found that his seat was placed opposite our party at table. He introduced us to his companion, Heinrich Schliemann, the discoverer of Troy. When asked how long they had known

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--RUSSELL LOWELL.

each other, Virchow said "Seit Adam "Since Adam." They looked like brothers. Schliemann was the taller and broader, something between a jovial farmer and a German officer, but keen, genial, impulsive; while Virchow was shorter and slighter, with the simplicity and intensity of genius marked on his features. Sometimes they were accompanied by fellow-workers not then resident in the hotel-M. Naville, who was then exploring the remains of the temple at Bubastes, and Schweinfurth, the African traveller. They are enamoured of the land, and say they could spend here a thousand years.

We have now before us the writing of three of these friends in our interleaved Bible.

Professor Virchow, who knows his Bible, turned up Exodus opposite the story of Israel in Egypt, and wrote, "Rudolf Virchow, in returning from a journey to Nubia and Upper Egypt in special research of the statues and pictures of Rameses II., the king of the oppression."

Dr Schliemann wrote in Greek, with certain adaptations, two hexameter lines from the Odyssey, "King Zeus, grant me that [Telemachus] may be happy among [men], and may have all [his] heart's desire."

Dr Schweinfurth wrote, "Ich glaube, dass die hohe Bedeutung der biblischen Geschichte für die Erziehung des des Menschengeschlechts in der Natürlichkeit der darin enthaltenen Gedanken liegt,

welche stets die urmenschlichen Gefühle anrufen und alle Unnatur ausschliessen."-Cairo, 8 April '88. [Translation.] In my belief, the deep significance of the Biblical story for the education of the human race consists in the fidelity to nature of the thoughts it embodies, which always appeal to the deep-seated feelings of men, to the exclusion of everything that is contrary to nature.

Next evening Dr Schliemann and my husband exchanged places, the latter sitting beside his old master of German student days, and the writer next Dr Schliemann. Some funny remark was passed about the exchange of their wine. As we sat there, Schliemann told us his life-story. Intense reality and earnestness in life and pursuit of one aim always captivate one, and among a crowd of mere pleasure-seekers often with soulless faces-breathing wax figures-one learned much from the purposefulness of Dr Schliemann.

In that land where there is no twilight, in a city where almost every nationality is represented, on a soil which rewards the explorer at every turn of his spade, and the student every look at an old papyrus, surely the living picture which was on that night to be painted for us had a fitting background. In our childhood we went to dioramas, and great was our delight as we watched the moving pictures, the thunderstorms, moonlight effects, sunrisings and sunsets. We used to go home to our attic nursery with the green baize curtains and the sloping windows, to reproduce to any audience we could lay hold of queerly made pictures on gummed rolls of paper, with lighted tapers behind pinholes in our illustrations, and musical accompaniments, of what

we had seen before. So, after that sixty minutes' experience in the large hall at Cairo, in our little bedroom where mosquitoes hummed round us all night in the sultry air, the whole scene was again enacted for us in the theatre of memory. As, after a stormy voyage, the traveller, though on land, thinks he is still in the moving ship, so our mind surged and swelled under the force of the impetus received from the story of the dreams, hopes, fulfilments of a single life. We felt when with him that we were in a great presence-a life that had been built up of varied and costly experiences, and which was always imbibing from every source. While he was speaking, waiters were hurrying to and fro, sometimes whisking off the flies, again putting down the quaint brass fingerbowls; but the guests were scattering, the chairs were creaking over the smooth surface of the polished floors, and the dinner was over, before we thought it had well begun. The flight of time was the only obstacle to his going on much longer.

Since the news of his death reached us a week ago, busy workers have been in our brain digging away the heap of material which has accumulated since that night two years ago, and we have refreshed our memory by reading his autobiography. The warm

heart and the clear brain which had mastered so many languages, and told the story with such artless simplicity, as if only for the first time, made an impression not easily to be forgotten. Here are some of the results of our excavation.

It was in romantic surroundings that the boy's life was spent. Behind the garden-house of his childhood was a pond, out of

which, ran the legend, a maiden rose each night, holding a silver bowl; and in the village a small hill with burial-place, in which a robber-knight had laid his child, coffined in a cradle of gold. To add to all this, there was a living heroine in that fairyland, the little Minna, whom he loved, and who always shared his dreams. When poverty blocked the way, he used to say to his father, "Why not dig up the golden cradle or fish for the silver bowl?" His father pinched himself to afford as a Christmas gift to the little lad of eight a Universal History, with an engraving of Troy in flames. "If these walls were as thick as those in the picture," said the boy to his father, "there must be some remains of them; and I shall excavate them some day." The agreement was made between father and son. Not every bud opens to a flower, not every acorn becomes an oak, not every beginning has an ending so true in every detail to the ideal first raised in that child's imagination.

Among his childhood's friends, besides the faithful Minna, was the village tailor, Wöllert, who had one eye and one foot, and was for this reason called "Hopping Peter." This man had a most wonderful store of tales, which he told with inimitable skill, one of which was how he had caught a stork which used to build a nest on Schliemann's barn, and fastened a piece of parchment round its foot asking the proprietor of its winter's home to say where it lived; and that it had returned in the spring with a verse of bad German tied to its foot, telling that it had been to St John's Land. In the written story of his life, he tells how this and several other anecdotes of

Hopping Peter stimulated his desire to learn geography, and increased his passion for the mys terious.

Another event which he loved to dwell upon was the entrance of a drunken miller into the grocer's shop where, as a young apprentice, he was working from 5 A.M. to 11 P.M. This man recited a hundred lines of Homer, and the boy was so attracted by the rhythmic cadence that he wept, though not understanding a word, and had the lines repeated three times. He spent all his little savings in giving three glasses of whisky as a reward to the man; and from that moment constantly prayed to God that he might learn Greek.

His deliverance from grinding potatoes, sweeping the shop, and selling herrings and candles, came in this way. He lifted a cask too heavy for him, spat blood, and could work no more; and the next glimpse we catch of him is as a cabin-boy on the Dorothea, selling his coat to buy a blanket. The brig was wrecked; he did not know the name of the land he was cast upon, but he heard a voice, as he writes, that "the tide in my earthly affairs had come, and that I had to take it at its flood." He was on the coast of Holland; and from that country wrote to a kind friend in Hamburg, telling him of his unfortunate position. His letter reached the friend when sitting at a large dinner-party; a subscription was started on the spot, and £20 forwarded to Schlie

mann.

The recommendation which accompanied the money got him a situation. His new work was stamping bills of exchange and getting them cashed in town, and carrying letters to and from the post-office. His

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