Patty smiled in undisguised amusement. "How terribly unformed and impulsive she is! and I used to think her so ladylike. I suppose, poor thing, she can't afford to visit,-lives quite shut up, I daresay."

"How is Mr. Whitmore ?" she said. But Nuna had recovered herself; she felt that a fresh trouble had started into life, but she thrust it bravely away till she should be alone. Patty's words brought her back to the present, vividly.

"Quite well, thank you." She was able to look calmly into Mrs. Downes's lovely blue eyes. "I'm so glad." Patty spoke with sympathy in her voice. "Do you know I felt a little anxious about him; he has been painting my portrait lately,"-she spoke with a little conscious look, just as if she were in Paul's confidence," and I was so sorry to see the change in him; he looked pale and thin, and he was so grave; but I suppose marriage makes men older."

She laughed; she saw a flush on the delicate face; and it vexed her to be obliged to recognize Mrs. Whitmore's beauty. She was surprised to see Nuna smile. "I must be going. I only came to give your father's message." The spell that Patty had held over Nuna broke with her last words. In an instant Mrs. Downes was again Patty Westropp, and all the superficial polish failed to hide the real want of refinement from Nuna's intuitive insight. "You will go and see Roger then, won't you?" she said, but there was not a trace of shyness in her voice; "he is expecting you. Goodday."

She was gone before Patty had had

time to reassert her sway,-Patty, who, for the first time since her marriage, had an irresistible consciousness of inferiority.

"Pale-faced, gauche creature! she has not a bit of savoir faire." The blue eyes flamed up, and then tried to comfort themselves by a long gaze in the lookingglass. The result was the exclamation—

"No wonder Paul Whitmore liked to paint my portrait!" and yet all the while an irrepressible chorus of vexation repeated every refined inflection, every simple movement, all the inborn grace and gentleness of the artist's wife. "Poor weak thing! she don't even know how to use the advantages she has," said Mrs. Downes, contemptuously. "I wonder what De Mirancourt would say to see such eyes so little under control; I don't believe she knows how she shows her feelings in them. I saw what she meant about my father, so fine from her too. Why, there's not a shadow of excuse for the way she's cut herself off from the Rectory. Her father's quite as much of a gentleman as her husband is-more, for he lives in better style. I don't know what I was about, to let her off so easily, stuck-up, ignorant creature, reproving me in my own house!"

And then, as Mrs. Downes calmed her very unwonted vexation, she looked round complacently, and told herself that it must have been a trial to Nuna to see her as she was, and that she must make allowance for her vexation. "She's not

worth putting oneself out about," Patty sighed, "but it is horrid to have to go to that dirty house in such hot weather. I really will make him move from Bellamount Terrace."

We now pass to another question, which is of even greater consequence than that of man's intellectual powers. Mr. Darwin does not hesitate to declare that even the "moral sense" is a mere result of the development of brutal instincts. He maintains, "the first foundation or origin of the moral sense lies in the social instincts, including sympathy; and these instincts no doubt were primarily gained, as in the case of the lower animals, through natural selection" (vol. ii. p. 393).

(To be continued.)

Everything, however, depends upon what we mean by the "moral sense." It is a patent fact that there does exist a perception of the qualities "right" and "wrong" attaching to certain actions. However arising, men have a consciousness of an absolute and immutable rule legitimately claiming obedience with an authority necessarily supreme and absolute

in other words, intellectual judgments are formed which imply the existence of an ethical ideal in the judging mind.

It is the existence of this power which has to be accounted for; neither its application nor even its validity have to be considered. Yet instances of difference of opinion respecting the moral value of particular concrete actions are often brought forward as if they could disprove the existence of moral intuition. Such instances are utterly beside the question. It is amply sufficient for our purpose if it be conceded that developed reason dictates to us that certain modes of action, abstractedly considered, are intrinsically wrong; and this we believe to be indisputable.

It is equally beside the question to show that the existence of mutually beneficial acts' and of altruistic habits can be explained by "natural selection." No amount of benevolent habits tend even in the remotest degree to account for the intellectual perception of "right" and "duty." Such habits may make the doing of beneficial acts pleasant, and their omission painful; but such feelings have essentially nothing whatever to do with the perception of "right" and "wrong," nor will the faintest incipient stage of the perception be accounted for by the strongest development of such sympathetic feelings. Liking to do acts which happen to be good, is one thing; seeing that actions are good, whether we or others like them or not, is quite another.

Mr. Darwin's account of the moral sense is very different from the above. It may be expressed most briefly by saying that it is the prevalence of more enduring instincts over less persistent ones-the former being social instincts, the latter personal ones. He tells us :

"As man cannot prevent old impressions continually repassing through his mind, he will be compelled to compare the weaker impressions of, for instance, past hunger, or of vengeance satisfied or danger avoided at the cost of other men, with the instinct of sympathy and goodwill to his fellows, which is still present and ever in some degree active in his mind. He will then feel in his imagination that a stronger instinct has yielded to one which now seems comparatively weak; and then that sense of dissatisfaction will in

evitably be felt with which man is endowed, like every other animal, in order that his instincts may be obeyed."-vol. i. p. 90.

Mr. Darwin means by "the moral sense" an instinct, and adds, truly enough, that "the very essence of an in

stinct is, that it is followed independently of reason" (vol. i. p. 100). But the very essence of moral action is that it is not followed independently of reason.

Having stated our wide divergence from Mr. Darwin with respect to what the terra "moral sense" denotes, we might be dispensed from criticising instances which must from our point of view be irrelevant, as Mr. Darwin would probably admit Nevertheless, let us examine a few of these instances, and see if we can discover in them any justification of the views he propounds.

As illustrations of the development of self-reproach for the neglect of some good action, he observes :—

"A young pointer, when it first scents game, apparently cannot help pointing. A squirrel in a cage who pats the nuts which it cannot eat, as if to bury them in the ground. can hardly be thought to act thus either from pleasure or pain. Hence the common assumption that men must be impelled to every action by experiencing some pleasure or pain may be erroneous. habit may be blindly and implicitly followed. Although a independently of any pleasure or pain felt at the moment, yet if it be forcibly and abruptly checked, a vague sense of dissatisfaction is generally experienced; and this is especially true in regard to persons of feeble intellect -vol. p. i. 80.

Now, passing over the question whether in the "pointing" and " patting" referred to there may not be some agreeable sensations, we contend that such instincts have nothing to do with "morality," from their blind nature, such blindness simply ipso facto eliminating every vestige of morality from an action.

Mr. Darwin certainly exaggerates the force and extent of social sympathetic feelings. Mr. Mill admits that they are "often wanting;" but Mr. Darwin claims the conscious possession of such feelings for all, and quotes Hume as saying that the view of the happiness of others "com municates a secret joy," while the appearance of their misery "throws a melancholy damp over the imagination." One might wish that this remark were universally true, but unfortunately some men take pleasure in the pain of others; and

Larochefoucauld even ventured on the now well-known saying, "that there is

*"Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals," Edit. 1751, p. 132.

something in the misfortunes of our best friends not unpleasant to us." But our feeling that the sufferings of others are pleasant or unpleasant has nothing to do with the question, which refers to the judgment whether the indulging of such feelings is "right" or "wrong."

If the "social instinct" were the real basis of the moral sense, the fact that society approved of anything would be recognized as the supreme sanction of it. Not only, however, is this not so, not only do we judge as to whether society in certain cases is right or wrong, but we demand a reason why we should obey society at all; we demand a rational basis and justification for social claims, if we happen to have a somewhat inquiring turn of mind. We shall be sure avowedly or secretly to despise and neglect the performance of acts which we do not happen to desire, and which have not an intellectual sanction.

The only passage in which our author seems as if about to meet the real question at issue is very disappointing, as the difficulty is merely evaded. He remarks, "I am aware that some persons maintain that actions performed impulsively do not come under the dominion of the moral sense, and cannot be called moral" (vol. i. p. 87). This is not a correct statement of the intuitive view, and the difficulty is evaded thus: "But it appears scarcely possible to draw any clear line of distinction of this kind, though the distinction may be real!" It seems to us, however, that there is no difficulty at all in drawing a line between a judgment as to an action being right or wrong and every other kind of mental act. Mr. Darwin goes on to say :-

"Moreover, an action repeatedly performed by us will at last be done without deliberation or hesitation, and can then hardly be distinguished from an instinct; yet surely no one will pretend that an action thus done ceases to be moral. On the contrary, we all feel that an act cannot be considered as perfect, or as performed in the most noble manner, unless it is done impulsively, without

deliberation or effort, in the same manner as by a man in whom the requisite qualities are innate."-vol. i. p. 88.

To this must be replied, in one sense, "Yes;" in another, "No." An action which has ceased to be directly or indirectly deliberate has ceased to be moral as a dis

tinct act, but it is moral as the continuation of those preceding deliberate acts through which the good habit was originally formed, and the rapidity with which the will is directed in the case supposed may indicate the number and constancy of antecedent meritorious volitions. Mr. Darwin seems to see this more or less, as he adds: "He who is forced to overcome his fear or want of sympathy before he acts deserves, however, in one way higher credit than the man whose innate disposition leads him to a good act without effort."

As an illustration of the genesis of remorse, we have the case "of a temporary though for the time strongly persistent instinct conquering another instinct which is usually dominant over all others." Swallows "at the proper season seem all day long to be impressed with the desire to migrate; their habits change; they become restless, are noisy, and congregate in flocks. Whilst the mother-bird is feeding or brooding over her nestlings, the maternal instinct is probably stronger than the migratory; but the instinct which is more persistent gains the victory, and at last, at a moment when her young ones are not in sight, she takes flight and deserts them. When arrived at the end of her journey, and the migratory instinct ceases to act, what an agony of remorse each bird would feel, if, from being endowed with great mental acttinually passing before her mind of her ivity, she could not prevent the image conyoung ones perishing in the bleak north from cold and hunger."-vol. i. p. 90.

Let us suppose she does suffer" agony," that feeling would be nothing to the purpose. What is requisite is that she shall judge that she ought not to have left them. To make clear our point, let us imagine a man formerly entangled in ties of affection which, in justice to another, his conscience has induced him to sever. The image of the distress his act of severance has caused may occasion him keen emotional suffering for years, accompanied by a clear perception that his act has been right. Again, let us suppose another case: The struggling father of a family becomes aware that the property on which he lives really belongs to another, and he relinquishes it. He may continue to judge that he has done a proper action, whilst tortured by the trials in which his act of justice has involved him. To assert that these acts are merely instinctive would be

absurdly false. In the cases supposed, obedience is paid to a clear intellectual perception and against the very strongest instincts.

That we have not misrepresented Mr. Darwin's exposition of "conscience" is manifest. He says that if a man has gratified a passing instinct, to the neglect of enduring instinct, he "will then feel dissatisfied with himself, and will resolve with more or less force to act differently for the future. This is conscience; for conscience looks backwards and judges past actions, inducing that kind of dissatisfaction, which if weak we call regret, and if severe remorse (vol. i. p. 91). "Conscience" certainly "looks back and judges," but not all that "looks back and judges" is "conscience." A judgment of conscience is one of a particular kind, namely a judgment according to the standard of moral worth. But for this, a gourmand, looking back and judging that a particular sauce had occasioned him dyspepsia, would, in the dissatisfaction arising from his having eaten the wrong dish at dinner, exercise his conscience!

Indeed, elsewhere (vol. i. p. 103) Mr. Darwin speaks of "the standard of morality rising higher and higher," though he nowhere explains what he means either by the "standard" or by the "higher"; and, indeed, it is very difficult to understand what can possibly be meant by this "rising of the standard," if the "standard" is from first to last pleasure and profit.

We find, again, the singular remark :— "If any desire or instinct leading to an action opposed to the good of others still appears to man, when recalled to mind, as strong as or stronger than his social instinct, he will feel no keen regret at having followed it" (vol. i. p. 92).

. Mr. Darwin is continually mistaking a merely beneficial action for a moral one; but, as before said, it is one thing to act well and quite another to be a moral agent. A dog or even a fruit-tree may act well, but neither is a moral agent. Of course, all the instances he brings forward with regard to animals are not in point, on account of this misconception of the problem to be solved. He gives, however, some examples which tell strongly against his own view. Thus, he remarks of the Law of Honor,-"The breach of this law, even when the breach is known to be strictly accordant with true

morality, has caused many a man more agony than a real crime. We recognize the same influence in the sense of burning shame which most of us have felt, ever after the interval of years, when calling to mind some accidental breach of a triting though fixed, rule of etiquette" (vol. i. p. 92). This is most true; some triting breach of good manners may indeed oocasion us pain; but this may be unaccompa nied by a judgment that we are morally blameworthy. It is judgment, and not feeling, which has to do with right and wrong. But a yet better example might be given. What quality can have been more universally useful to social comm nities than courage? It has always been, and is still, greatly admired and highly ap preciated, and is especially adapted, both directly and indirectly, to enable its pos sessors to become the fathers of succeeding generations. If the social instinct were the basis of the moral sense, it is infallibly certain that courage must have come to be regarded as supremely "good," and com ardice to be deserving of the deepest moral condemnation. And yet what is the fact? A coward feels probably selfcontempt and that he has incurred the contempt of his associates, but he does not feel "wicked." He is painfully con scious of his defective organization, but he knows that an organization, however de fective, cannot, in itself, constitute moral demerit. Similarly, we, the observers, despise, avoid, or hate a coward; but we can clearly understand that a coward may be a more virtuous man than another who abounds in animal courage.

The better still to show how completely distinct are the conceptions "enduring of strong instincts" and "virtuous desires" on the one hand, and "transient or weak impulses" and "vicious inclinationsTM on the other, let us substitute in the fol lowing passage for the words which Mr. Darwin, on his own principles, illegit mately introduces others which accord with those principles, and we shall see how such substitution eliminates every element of morality from the passage:"Looking to future generations, there is no cause to fear that the social instincts will grow weaker, and we may expect enduring [virtuous] habits will grow stronger, becoming perhaps fixed by inheritance. In this case the struggle between our stronger [higher] and weaker [lower] im

that

pulses will be less severe, and the strong [virtue] will be triumphant" (vol. i. p. 104).

As to past generations, Mr. Darwin tells us (vol. i. p. 166) that at all times throughout the world tribes have supplanted other tribes; and as social acts are an element in their success, sociality must have been intensified, and this because "an increase in the number of well-endowed men will certainly give an immense advantage to one tribe over another." No doubt! but this only explains an augmentation of mutually beneficial actions. It does not in the least even tend to explain how the moral judgment was first formed.

Having thus examined Mr. Darwin's theory of sexual selection, and his comparison of the mental powers of man (including their moral application) with those of the lower animals, we have a few remarks to make upon his mode of conducting his argument.

In the first place we must repeat what we have already said as to his singular dogmatism, and in the second place we must complain of the way in which he positively affirms again and again the existence of the very things which have to be proved. Thus, to take for instance the theory of the descent of man from some inferior form, he says: "The grounds upon which this conclusion rests will never be shaken" (vol. ii. p. 385), and "the possession of exalted mental powers is no insuperable objection to this conclusion" (vol. i. p. 107). Speaking of sympathy, he boldly remarks," This instinct no doubt was originally acquired like all the other social instincts through natural selection" (vol. i. p. 164); and "the fundamental social instincts were originally thus gained" (vol. i. p. 173).

Again, as to the stridulating organs of insects, he says:-"No cne who admits the agency of natural selection will dispute that these musical instruments have been acquired through sexual selection." Speaking of the peculiarities of hummingbirds and pigeons, Mr. Darwin observes, "The sole difference between these cases is, that in one the result is due to man's selection, whilst in the other, as with humming-birds, birds of paradise, etc., it is due to sexual selection,—that is, to the selection by the females of the more beautiful males" (vol. ii. p. 78). Of birds, NEW SERIES.--VOL. XIV., No 5.

the males of which are brilliant, but the hens are only slightly so, he remarks:"These cases are almost certainly due to characters primarily acquired by the male, having been transferred, in a greater or less degree, to the female" (vol. ii. p. 128). "The colors of the males may safely be attributed to sexual selection" (vol. ii. p. 194). As to certain species of birds in which the males alone are black, we are told, there can hardly be a doubt, that blackness in these cases has been a sexually selected character" (vol. ii. p. 226). The following, again, is far too positive a statement :-"Other characters proper to the males of the lower animals, such as bright colors and various orna. ments, have been acquired by the more attractive males having been preferred by the females. There are, however, exceptional cases, in which the males, instead of having been selected, have been the selectors" (vol. ii. p. 371).

It is very rarely that Mr. Darwin fails in courtesy to his opponents; and we were therefore surprised at the tone of the following passage (vol. ii. p. 386):—“ He who is not content to look, like a savage, at the phenomena of nature as disconnected, cannot any longer believe that' man is the work of a separate act of creation. He will be forced to admit" the contrary. What justifies Mr. Darwin in his assumption that to suppose the soul of man to have been specially created, is to regard the phenomena of nature as disconnected?

Secondly, as an instance of Mr. Darwin's practice of begging the question at issue, we may quote the following assertion :-"Any animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social instincts, would inevitably acquire a moral sense or conscience, as soon as its intellectual powers had become as well developed, or nearly as well developed, as in man" (vol. i. p. 71). This is either a monstrous assumption or a mere truism; it is a truism, for, of course, any creature with the intellect of a man would perceive the qualities man's intellect is capable of perceiving, and, amongst them-moral worth.

Mr. Darwin, in a passage before quoted (vol. i. p. 86), slips in the whole of absolute morality, by employing the phrase "appreciation of justice." Again (vol. i. p. 168), when he speaks of aiding the needy, he remarks: "Nor could we

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