Chapter VIII: Avowals (3)

The uprising of the Irish population in 1641 occurred under more favorable auspices than any previous one, and had they made a united effort for absolute independence, England could not have resisted the forces which were brought into the field against her. But the confederates, as the Irish party was called, were composed of elements too much at variance among themselves to meet with permanent success. The Anglo-Irish inhabitants, or those of English descent, who were looking simply to the security of their property, and exemption from the tyranny of local officers, had no bond of union with the native Irish, who sought the complete recovery of their lost liberties and the rehabilitation of their ancient institutions. Here was a cause for faction which their enemies readily understood, and by which they as readily profited. The Anglo-Irish were afraid of the resumption of power by the descendants of the native chieftains, and it was natural that they should seek to avoid such a result. Nevertheless, led by officers whose exile from their country in former years had been the means of raising them to eminence in the armies of France, Spain, and Germany, the confederates were very successful, and obtained possession of almost the entire island. The peasantry came down from the mountains, whither they had been driven years before to give place to the English colonists, and, without bloodshed, again took peaceable possession of their lost domains. Owen O'Niel, an officer who had done eminent service on the continent, was the ruling spirit of the movement, and it was through his management and address that the confederacy was enabled to maintain such formidable proportions. But the various incidents of that struggle, prolonged through several years, and ending finally during the dictatorship of Cromwell, belong rather to history than to such an article as this, and we must restrict our attention to the results that followed upon the triumph of the English arms.

The troops that Cromwell had brought into Ireland were the most puritanical of his entire army. He had probably at this period begun to indulge in regal aspirations; and hence he desired the removal from England of the more ultra republican and radical of his followers. It is likewise probable that he selected this class of men because their religious fanaticism would make them more zealous in the cause. In the final settlement of the country, as Ulster and Connaught were already the property of the colonists, and not subject to confiscation, the two remaining provinces of Munster and Leinster had to satisfy the claims of the army, and were accordingly portioned out to the followers of Cromwell. The property of the lords and gentry who had joined the confederation was ruthlessly confiscated. The peasantry who had survived the long war were reduced to a state akin to slavery, and many indeed, by order of Cromwell, were sold in the Barbadoes, and in other dependencies of Great Britain. About 200,000 people in all, it is estimated, left the island, of whom 40,000 entered the various armies of continental Europe. These comprised all classes; as to the peasantry who remained, some estimate may be formed of their privileges when we state that they were forbidden to leave their parishes, or to assemble together for public worship, or for any other purpose whatever. The Cromwellian soldiers of every grade, from privates to commanding officers, had taken possession of the estates; and these were the new lords to whom allegiance was due, and by whom it was most rigidly exacted.

But the commonwealth was already crumbling to pieces. The death of Cromwell, and the dissatisfaction caused by a government which was aristocratic and despotic without being regal, soon paved the way for the accession of Charles II., and revived the hopes of those who had been unjustly deprived of their estates at the close of the war. From first to last the Anglo-Irish portion of the confederates claimed that they had been contending for Charles I., and only against his enemies and the parliament. Of the fact that they had desired simply protection, and had been more loyal than disloyal to the throne, there was abundant evidence; and it was to be presumed that the new king would look with more favor upon their claims than upon those of their opponents. To the end of recovering their property, therefore, they began to petition the king in great numbers. That there might be a semblance of justice, a court of claims was established for the ostensible purpose of adjudication. But it was soon evident that there was no intention of dispossessing the new proprietors; and when it was found that, without the most gross and palpable violations of right, it would be impossible frequently not to decide in favor of the former occupants of the confiscated estates, the court was adjourned, and was never allowed to hold another session. Many thousands, by this act, were irretrievably ruined. The Duke of Ormond, prominent throughout the rebellion, played an important part, to the disadvantage of his countrymen, in these transactions, and added enormously to his own estates. At the beginning of the rebellion his property had been about nine tenths encumbered; but by securing an act transferring all encumbrances to the king, and then obtaining a release from his obligations in that quarter, he freed himself from all his difficulties.

When James II. ascended the English throne, about two thirds of the private property of Ireland appears to have been in dispute. The dispossessed proprietors were still clamoring for their rights, and the Cromwellian settlers and the colonists were as sturdily adhering to their claims, and ready at any time to defend their new possessions by either legitimate or illegitimate means. The reign of James from the beginning was weak. The trifling rebellions in Scotland and England which disturbed the first years of his authority were easily quelled, it is true; but he seems to have been intoxicated by his success, and led to the support of measures which were not advised by either prudence or good judgment. The spirit of religious intolerance was at this time most active and implacable. It had been many years since the separation of the English Church from the Catholic authority, and the time might have been thought propitious for something like a recognition of equality between religious bodies; but James endeavored to promote the interest of Catholicity with a zeal that was not to be tolerated by the Protestant bigotry of the day, and many of his acts gave great offence. Of this character was the appointment of the Earl of Tyrconnel, a Roman Catholic, first to the command of the Irish army, and afterward to the government of Ireland itself. The Protestant inhabitants of that country, who knew by what a doubtful claim they held their estates, could not fail of taking the alarm and looking forward to the day when there would be an attempt made to dispossess them of the disputed property. The event proved, indeed, that their fears were not groundless. The act of settlement, the measure upon which the Protestant proprietors depended for the possession of their lands, became immediately the subject in debate; and it was soon evident that its repeal was intended. To comprehend fully the magnitude of such an undertaking, it will be necessary to glance at the situation of the island at this period, and see to what an extent the inhabitants of the country had been plundered of their property. The whole number of acres of land in Ireland was estimated at above 10,400,000, and of this amount 3,000,000 acres were unproductive. This would leave about 7,000,000 acres of arable and pasture land, and 5,000,000 of these, during the reign of Charles I., were still in the hands of Catholic proprietors. Then followed the revolution with the irruption of Cromwell's followers. The situation became greatly changed. At the time of the passage of the act of settlement, only about 800,000 acres remained in the hands of Catholic proprietors. Of the remainder, 800,000 acres were under the control of the government, but leased to Protestants, and 3,300,000 had gone to reward the prowess of the Protector's soldiers. This property had now been in the hands of its present occupants, or absentee landlords, for nearly forty years. To repeal the act which settled all this broad inheritance upon the adventurers was undoubtedly the intention of James; and although this was not the only charge which the British aristocracy and people made against their unpopular sovereign, it was a powerful influence in the train of events that seated the Prince of Orange on the English throne.

Exiled from London, the unfortunate James fled to Dublin. The Irish parliament of 1689, which was summoned by his authority, besides repudiating the jurisdiction of the English courts of law and of the English parliament, and proclaiming the independence of the Irish legislature, repealed the act of settlement; but, as the event proved, these acts were the mere mockery of regal and legislative enactments, and were not productive of even a temporary advantage to his adherents. The Prince of Orange, now recognized as King William of England, came in person to Ireland, and the two kings confronted each other at the battle of the Boyne. History has told the story of the discomfiture and inglorious flight of James, and of the prolonged and desperate struggle which the Irish afterward maintained against their adversaries; until finally the treaty of Limerick confirmed and strengthened the English in their possessions. Some concessions were made to the Irish, it is true, but they were of a character that affected religion more than the tenure of property; and at the final settlement, we are told, only 233,106 acres of land remained in the hands of Catholic proprietors.

This was the last great event that influenced to a considerable degree the tenure of property in Ireland. After a struggle of about five hundred years, we find the island completely at the feet of the conquerors, and the descendants of the native inhabitants with no inheritance, or next to none, upon their own territory. We might have heightened the picture by recounting the assassinations and butcheries of the various wars, the outrages of military government, and the refined cruelties of religious persecution; but these things did not enter into the purpose of this article, and we have confined ourselves to simple statements of facts in their relation to the tenure of property. We have endeavored to trace the means by which the great bulk of the real estate on the island has been transferred from those whose descent entitled them to a proprietary interest in the soil to a class of foreign and frequently absentee landlords, who manifest no interest in the country or the people save by the annual collection of their tenant dues. It cannot have failed to impress the reader that the purpose of the English government, from the beginning, has been to crush out and destroy as far as practicable the native inhabitants, and to supply their place with a foreign population. To this end only could have been designed the various colonization schemes that distinguished the reigns of James I. and Charles II.; the different edicts of expulsion, and the readiness with which the English government has always advanced the wishes of those who contemplated a voluntary expatriation from their native country. But in despite of all this, the proportional native population of the island has steadily increased, while in both Great Britain and America the Irish people have become a formidable power. Their complaints and demands for redress of grievances can no longer be passed by in silent contempt. The land question must be settled upon some basis that will not merely place the Irish peasantry upon the footing of an independent tenantry, but will enable every laborer to look forward to the eventual possession of a portion of the soil, that thus a fitting stimulus and reward may be offered to thrift and industry.

AT THE CHURCH DOOR.

A lovely afternoon in September was drawing to its close; the shadows were long upon the pavement, and a gentle breeze brought the fragrance of heliotrope and late roses over the wall from a garden adjoining a handsome house in the old and well-known town of N----. The hall-door opened and shut behind a young woman who walked rather wearily down the steps and along the street. It was evident that she was not thinking of the sun, nor the breeze, nor the sweet breath of the flowers; she looked neither to the right nor to the left, and yet her steps seemed listless and without an aim.

Her dress was plain, plain almost to poverty, and without the slightest attempt at ornament, yet it would have been impossible to pass her without notice. She was tall and graceful, and her features were very handsome; but that was not what would have attracted your attention; there was a something which told she was a lady--not perhaps in the truest meaning of the word, as it may be applied to a servant-girl or an apple-woman whose instincts are refined and Christian; but you felt that she was well-born and well-bred, and that her tastes were such as would not well accord with her coarse dress and shabby bonnet. True, if you had been a close observer, you might have seen that her boots were very pretty, her gloves of the best kid, very fresh and unworn at the finger-tips, and it might have surprised you to see that on her ungloved hand sparkled a splendid ruby. But enough for exterior description; the face, though so fair, was clouded and preoccupied, and as she walked she drew a letter from her pocket and glanced at its contents.

"He appoints seven o'clock to meet me," she said to herself, "on the stone seat outside the Catholic church. A strange place to choose! I wish it had been somewhere else! Yet why should I care? What is that church to me more than another? And soon I shall give my promise that it shall be less than every other. It is a kind offer, a generous offer; but I will not exchange you"--here she gave a contemptuous twitch to her dress--"for a better till my wedding day. He and every one shall see that I consider myself his equal, even in these shabby clothes. O dear me! how tired I am! How that wretched child insisted on playing discords with the pedal! I will not go home, it is so far; but rest somewhere, and think how I can accept him most graciously. I might as well sit on the stone seat here outside the church; the shade of that tree looks inviting."

Agnes--for that was the name of the girl whose reverie we have put into words for the benefit of our readers--had come to the pretty church where Mr. Redfern had appointed to meet her. She sat down on the bench outside, and we will take this opportunity to tell who she was and why she waited there.

Agnes Deblois was the only child of Catholic parents; they were wealthy, and as she was their idol, she was surrounded with friends, comforts, and pleasures; with every thing, in short, that makes life bright and beautiful. She had been carefully instructed and trained in her religion by her excellent and fond mother; and it was a great misfortune to her when this pious lady died, leaving her daughter, at the age of seventeen, to the care of a father who was a negligent and unpractical Catholic. Agnes was devoted to her father, and, influenced by his example and by the ridicule of her worldly friends, she allowed herself gradually to abandon her habits of piety and the duties of her religion. After three years, during which Agnes had been engrossed by the engagements and excitements of life "in society," her father also died; when it was discovered not only that he had lived beyond his means, but that he was even largely in debt. By selling house, silver, and estate, Agnes was enabled to satisfy all the creditors, and, finding herself almost without a dollar, she looked around for her friends, whose protestations of devotion she recalled, and to whose sympathy she naturally turned. But she was shocked at the change she found even in those of whose fidelity she had felt sure.

She was offered assistance, it was true, and even a home, yet with a coldness and constraint which showed she was considered in the light of a burden. From being almost crushed by the grief of her bereavement, her spirit rose as the bitterness of her situation became apparent, and she very soon resolved to be indebted to no one either for home or for bread. Her education had been thorough and superior; for music she had a rare talent, and she found it easy to obtain as many pupils as her strength would allow her to attend to. She threw herself into her new duties with an ardor which arose from wounded pride, but which was destined to grow cool as the irksomeness of the daily routine and unloveliness of the continual presence of poverty wore upon her. It was hateful to her to be poor; to wear clothes which, however neat and even pretty she might make them, must still be plain and cheap. So she gave up all attempt at ornament, and took a bitter pleasure in wearing what was coarsest and most unattractive for her dress, though allowing herself, as she was able, what was best in such small articles as gloves, and still wearing the handsome jewels she had preserved from her former life. For this she was greatly blamed, and even reproved by those who called themselves her friends, and who were scandalized at the bad taste of wearing dresses which a beggar might despise with ornaments which, it must be confessed, were handsomer than their own; but Agnes paid no attention, and went on her own difficult and joyless path.

Formerly she had neglected her religion from carelessness and human respect; now she kept away from church because she was always tired and always sad, and because she no longer cared for the faith of her mother and of her own happy childhood. But now a wonderful thing had happened to her. She had come to this beautiful and fashionable place in the summer because her pupils were there, and because, as she took pleasure in saying, she wanted their money, and at the house of the richest and proudest of them all she had seen Mr. Redfern, a man of immense wealth, who had noticed her, found opportunities of paying her attentions, and now had asked her to marry him. She had his letter in her pocket, and she took it out once more as she sat outside the church, and read a passage from it:

"The only thing I ask of you is this: that you will give up, now
and for ever, all interest in the Romish Church."

"A needless request," she said, and laughed as she said it, while her heart gave a leap as she thought of herself at the head of Mr. Redfern's handsome house, sitting in state behind his high-stepping grays, or receiving the keys from the hands of the obsequious housekeeper.

A very old woman passed her and entered the church, bowing herself low as she crossed the sacred threshold. Agnes watched her.

"I wonder if it is a pretty church inside? I think I have heard that it is pretty."

Feeling impatient at the slowly passing time, she rose and walked through the door, and up the middle aisle. There were no doors to the pews, and seeing one that was cushioned, she entered it, sat down, and leaning back, looked carelessly round her.

It was indeed a pretty church; the softened sunbeams streamed through the stained glass of the Gothic windows, and fell in purple and gold lights on the stone floor, flickering as the old elms outside moved gently to and fro in the west wind. She saw the old woman she had before noticed, kneeling before a picture, then leaving it with many bows and courtesies, and going to another. What was she about? Oh! she was saying the stations. Agnes remembered the stations--those fourteen grievous steps in the Passion of our Lord from his trial in Pilate's house to his burial in the sepulchre, at the close of his three hours' agony on the cross.

"Poor old thing! how her back must ache. Why does she do it? Why, she is crying, wiping her eyes with her apron, and lifting her hands to heaven! Is that for her own sorrows, or those of her Saviour?"

Agnes was interested; she sat up and looked about her.

"There are two little children coming up the aisle. Do see them bob up and down and cross themselves! Oh! now they are saying their prayers."

Why should Agnes see them indistinctly? Why impatiently brush something from her eyes? Ah! the picture of her childish days rose before her, and she was for a moment once more a little child....

What nonsense! She had other things to think of now. She would have a purple satin dress just the color of that pretty light on the floor. It was fading away; it must be near sunset. At that moment came from a choir of sweet young voices:

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!"

She turned and saw the children practising for their Sunday-school Mass, led by an excellent tenor; and leaning her head on her hand, she listened; for so she thought the angelic choirs must sound.

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!"

She knew what those words meant. Had she not often sung them herself in days long past? Those dear old days!

Disturbed by a slight noise, Agnes glanced around; she saw an old and venerable-looking man with gray hair, whose long black dress fell to his feet, come up the side aisle and enter a confessional, round which silently gathered a few women, kneeling till their turns should come. A vague fear took possession of her heart, and she quickly rose to leave the church; but something stopped her, and she stood as if riveted to the earth.

What was it? Only a light, a feeble flame, which shone in a vase hanging before the high altar. She had not noticed it before, the sun had been so bright; but it was there all the time, and would be there when she had turned her back upon it. Whose presence did the light reveal? Who was it that waited day and night upon that holy altar? Alone, unknown, forgotten--yes, and betrayed.

She uttered no sound; but her heart gave a great cry as she fell upon her knees.

"Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison!" Those innocent voices still prolonged the hymn, though what was their need of mercy compared with hers? But the thought came to her that perhaps those invocations of God's mercy by the little lambs of his fold would ascend in his sight not for them, but for her, for the strayed sheep; and thinking thus, she felt herself comforted. Kneeling motionless with her head bowed on her hands, she did not pray, nor weep, but only _saw_.

She saw herself a little child robed in white, one of a band of many little ones, with her shining veil, a true marriage garment, receiving at the altar for the first time her God and Saviour.

She saw herself again, still a child, but older, kneeling again to receive the bishop's hand on her forehead, and hearing the sacred words, _Signo te signo crucis_. _Confirmo te chrismate salutis._[149]

She saw her mother lying pale and faint, but with eyes full of light and peace, and heard those dying words, "My only child, remember that he who is ashamed of the Son of Man here, of him will He be ashamed before His Father in heaven. Remember that, and remember your best Friend." Who was that Friend?

She saw herself not once, but many, many times, blushing at the name of her faith, hearing it despised and turned into ridicule; at last denying it and becoming a scoffer herself. Whom had she denied and despised?

She thought of the friends who had deserted her, and the answer came, "Because I have deserted my best Friend."

She remembered her weary labors and thankless efforts, and a voice replied, "But my yoke is sweet, and my burden light."

She said to herself, "But there is one who has offered me enough to pay for all I have lost;" and once more the Holy Ghost spoke to her heart, "Come unto me, you that labor and are burdened, and I will refresh you."

That was meant for her; that was what she wanted for her weary, troubled soul. "For the life is more than the meat, and the body more than the raiment."

The voices of the children were silent as she once more rose and looked about her. There was no one kneeling at the altar now; shadows had fallen deeply upon the pavement; she was alone in the church. No! for yonder at the window stood the priest, holding his breviary up high to catch the fading light. What was he waiting for? Who was it that waited long, long hours in that holy tribunal of penance for the straying, lost sheep to come back to the fold? Her every question was answered, and, urged by an impulse she could not resist, she rose and hurried to the confessional, thinking as she cast an imploring glance toward the priest, "Will he see me? Will he come and save me?"

She knelt trembling, scarcely daring to breathe, till she heard his step approaching, and in a moment the long unheard, yet strangely familiar words, "_Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis tuis, ut rite confitearis omnia peccata tua_."[150]

"Well, my child?"

Well may we let the curtain drop, not to penetrate that sacred confidence. O poor soul! thou art safe. There are hymns of joy and thanksgiving ascending to the eternal Father; for we know "there is joy before the angels of God upon one sinner doing penance."

FOOTNOTES:

[149] "I sign thee with the sign of the cross. I confirm thee with the chrism of salvation."

[150] "May the Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayst truly and humbly confess thy sins."

* * * * *

Half an hour later, as the clock struck seven, Mr. Redfern stood at the church door, and asked an old woman whom, with beads in hand, he met hobbling out, if she had seen a young lady waiting there.

"No," she answered readily; "but there was a beautiful lady inside, on her knees before the holy Mother of God. Bless her sweet face!"

With a terrible fear in his heart, he entered the church, and stood beside a form bowed before the altar dedicated to the Immaculate Mother. He touched her arm, and Agnes raised her face, suffused with happy tears, yet smiling. She looked at him bewildered--for she had forgotten all about him--as he said, in a whisper,

"Have you lost your senses? Come with me. I want to speak to you."

She rose obediently and followed him to the door. The tall tree-tops waved in the breeze, and the young moon stood in the sky. She was still silent, motionless, and he said in a hoarse voice, that trembled in spite of his efforts to control it, "Are you coming with me?"

"No," she answered, "I must go back; I cannot leave It yet."

"What do you mean? I came for an answer to my letter. Have you read it?"

She made a strong effort, and replied, "Yes, I read it; but I have found peace and my faith again, and I forgot that you were coming. O Mr. Redfern! for years I have been ashamed of the Son of God; but I did not remember, till to-day, that he would be ashamed of me before his Father. How could I bear that? But now he has forgiven me, and made me happy, oh! so happy. I must go back to him." And she looked at the door.

Mr. Redfern stood speechless for a moment. "I could not have a papist wife," he said slowly. "So this is my answer, is it?"

But Agnes had already turned away, and in a moment more was kneeling again beneath that faithful light, forgetting all but her love and gratitude; and as the lamps were lighted in the choir, the children's glad and rapturous voices chanted,

"_Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis._"

THE CHAPEL.

On the outskirts of the city, where the poor and outcast dwell,
Is a humble little chapel, in its tower a sweet-voiced bell;
And beside its simple altar, with a smile serene and mild,
Stands a rudely-sculptured image of the Virgin and her Child.

In the early, dewy mornings, when the grass-grown walks are bright,
When beyond the chimneys glimmer the far mountain-tops with light,
Here a crowd of poor and lowly to the dust their heads incline,
As the chalice of salvation is uplifted o'er the shrine.

Yonder, in the great cathedral, oriel tints the banners stain,
On the purple and the mitre slanting down the pictured pane;
And the statues high in niches, and the chanting of the choir,
All art's mighty inspirations to the tired heart say, "Aspire!"

Here heaven's pure white light streams inward; here through open
windows sweet
Blow the fresh airs on the wild flowers at the Virgin Mother's feet,
And sweet, silvery, girlish voices sweetly chant a simple strain,
Such as shepherds might have chanted on the old Chaldean plain.

Often when my heart grows restless, burdened with earth's cares,
and sore,
Come I to this humble chapel, kneel down on the wooden floor;
Those poor ragged outcasts round me, praying side by side with them,
Wondrously I seem drawn nearer to the crib of Bethlehem.

These pale faces, seamed and weary, seeking solace here, and peace,
Speak more eloquent a language than the olden seers of Greece;
More than Plato taught when round him stood the Athenians rapt and
dumb;
More of wisdom than e'er echoed through the groves of Tusculum.

The poor lives and poor endeavors of these toilers of the sod
Teach life's grand and noble lessons--patience, faith, and trust in
God;
And the weight of earth falls from me, for I hear a soft voice thrill,
And my heart lies down in quiet as it whispers, "Peace, be still!"

CONSTANTINA E. BROOKS.

THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES.[151]

III.

No alleged factor of evolution is so capable of arresting the attention of a physiologist as correlation of growth. To this law we have before often incidentally alluded. But as we conceive that it furnishes strong confirmation of our views, it behooves us to extend to it a somewhat more lengthy treatment.

The current impression is, that every authenticated instance of variation is so much added to the probabilities of the evolution of the species; and that the refutation of Darwinism is rendered difficult just in proportion to the number of proofs of variability. It is natural, then, that Darwin should accord prominence to those factors which play a part in inducing modification. Conspicuous among these factors is correlation, the nearest approximation to a law of all the colligations of facts involved in Darwinism.

Correlation is a bond, _nexus_, or connection subsisting between different growths. Owing to it, a modification seldom arises in any portion of the organism without involving a corresponding change in another part. It is often not a little difficult to determine which part first varies and induces the modification of the other. Frequently, characters simultaneously vary, and are apparently affected by some distinct cause. Correlation is an important subject for Darwin; for, owing to its operation, varieties seldom differ from each other by a single character alone. He declares that "all the parts of the organism are, to a certain extent, connected or correlated together," and that "of all the laws governing variability, that of correlation is the most important." Parts, however, differ greatly with respect to the strength of their connection. In some parts, the tie is ever manifesting itself; in others, it is seldom traceable. Each character, when developed, tends to stimulate the development of others. But, owing to adversity of conditions, or to being systematically suppressed by man, these correlated growths lose all ability to respond to this stimulus, and, in consequence, fail to develop.

We intended to adduce quite a number of facts from Darwin, in order to enable our readers clearly to understand the precise nature of correlation. But want of space forces us to change our mind. We do this with less reluctance, when we consider that those for whom this article is more especially written have already familiarized themselves with those facts.

All the phenomena of correlation show increase of growth corresponding to increase, and decrease corresponding to decrease. Now, the antithesis to correlation is compensation or balancement of growth. This alleged law, as applied to species under nature, was propounded by Goethe and Geoffroy St. Hilaire. It implies that the development of any one part is attended with the reduction or starvation of some other part. Not a little diversity of opinion exists respecting the validity of this law. Darwin inclines to believe that compensation occasionally occurs, but conceives that its importance has been overestimated.

We, however, are of opinion that there is really no such law. That correlation obtains, there is not the slightest doubt. The instances of correlation are innumerable; and every one of them is a disproof of the doctrine of compensation of growth. For the law of correlation is totally incompatible with the law of economy of growth. The latter, according to the hypothesis, makes decrease correspond to increase, and increase to decrease. The former entails the reverse. Both laws, then, cannot stand. One must, of necessity, fall. One must negative the other. Unquestionably, the stronger law is correlation. This law none can invalidate. It follows thence that there is no such law as that of compensation of growth.

The reader is now naturally desirous to know how we explain away the alleged cases of economy of growth. The explanation is, that they are merely manifestations of correlation. The reduction of the given parts is consequent, not, as alleged, upon the building up of some other parts, but upon the suppression or reduction of correlated parts. Strong confirmation of this view is given by the fact that seeming compensation of growth is more observable under nature than under domestication. As development under nature is slow and occasional, we would expect to find, upon the theory of Goethe and St. Hilaire, very few instances of apparent balancement of growth. On the contrary, the instances are most numerous; which fact is strictly in accordance with our hypothesis. For where we find the conditions entailing the reduction of many parts, there must we also find the reduction of other parts, induced by correlation. These parts, then, being in close proximity with characters which neither the conditions nor correlation have affected, their suppression is naturally referred to compensation of growth. Under domestication, however, development is carried on rapidly and to a great extent. A very large number of characters is selected and developed. Here, then, we should look for the most striking manifestations of compensation of growth. But it is a fact, of which the significance is at once apparent, that, instead of meeting with the fulfilment of our expectations, the converse thrusts itself most obtrusively upon our attention. Nature here is most prodigal; giving growth for growth, and meeting the development of one feature with the corresponding development of another. The cases illustrating apparent balancement of growth are here exceptional. They bear a very insignificant proportion to those under nature. Hence we conclude that the law of compensation of growth never obtains, that its apparent manifestations are really due to the operation of the law of correlation.

But there are two classes of cases of which correlation is not an interpretation. The first is the instances in which the tie of correlation is in a measure broken by man's selection of one part, and by his systematic suppression of another. Darwin refers to these when he declares it "scarcely possible in most cases to distinguish between the supposed effects of such compensation of growth, and the effects of long-continued selection, which may at the same time lead to the augmentation of one part and the diminution of another."

The following is an example of the second class of cases: The Polish fowl is distinguished by the possession of a crest of feathers on the head. In consequence of its development, there arises a protuberance on the skull. This is due to correlation. But in the cock, the skull is so perforated with small holes that at any point a pin may be sunk to the brain. This is adduced as an instance of compensation of growth. But a rational explanation may readily be assigned. Darwin has shown that the crest of feathers is abnormal in the male, that it normally belongs to the female. The feature has been gained by the male by the somewhat mysterious law of the transmission of secondary sexual characters. The economy of growth may then be considered as abnormal, and may reasonably be attributed to the character not completely harmonizing with its fellows.

The facts of correlation meet with an exhaustive treatment at the hands of Darwin. Herbert Spencer, however, almost totally ignores them. Although they are seemingly most striking exemplifications of evolution, he passes with only an occasional incidental notice. What we conceive to be Mr. Spencer's reason for thus ignoring them, we will venture to give further on. But, while Darwin extends to the facts of correlation a full recognition, he is by no means over-desirous to ascertain their cause. Correlation is another of those laws which it pleases Darwin to consider as ultimate.

Now, the supposition that the correlated part has arisen by evolution, involves the absurd conclusion that a centre of growth normally preëxists without a relative arrangement of parts. And on the evolution hypothesis, we are forced to believe that an evolved part is correlated to another part not yet in existence; that all the parts of the organism anticipate, as it were, the birth of the new feature, and so adjust themselves as to become immediately susceptible to its influence; and that, while the previous coördination of parts is destroyed, owing to the influence of the new-born feature ramifying throughout the whole organization, the organism is capable of immediately effecting a re-coördination. To assume for any organism such powers as these, is virtual hylozoism. The only escape for him who admits the evolution of variations, is to adopt the explanation furnished by the Duke of Argyll--that correlations are the _direct_ manifestations of design.

This interpretation of the teleologist precludes all further argument. We, of course, concur in design. But we do not deem ourselves therefore bound to take for granted the validity of every argument adduced in proof thereof. We conceive that design can be proved by incontrovertible evidence, and that it can be shown to manifest itself in conformity to laws not merely empirical.

As for the ultra-evolutionist, if he were to cease regarding correlation as an ultimate fact, and if he were to employ himself in placing an interpretation upon it, he would perceive that the tie of correlation is strongly suggestive of reversion, and that its phenomena completely negative the hypothesis of evolution.

On the hypothesis of reversion, correlation is perfectly explicable. The supposition of reversion necessarily involves the conclusion that all the features of the species coexisted in each individual, saving, of course, the characters peculiar to the opposite sex. The perfect organism, then, is a balance of all the parts. The parts are correlated to each other with respect to centres, and these centres are correlated to each other with respect to the axis or the aggregate. All the parts are mutually dependent. When a part is reduced, it tends to involve the reduction of its corresponding part. The centre of the parts is then weakened, and this weakening entails the weakening of the other centres, to which this center is correlated. The loss or suppression of even one part, then, manifestly disturbs the physiological balance--destroys the coördination of the parts. Under nature, many parts have been lost or reduced, and these have entailed the loss or reduction of others. When, under domestication, characters develop, owing to selection and favorable conditions, they concur with the different centres of growth to effect a return to the balance, and, in consequence, the correlated parts arise and assume their primordial relations to their correlatives and to the aggregate. When all the parts are developed, by correlation and otherwise, there result an equilibrium and a consequent perfect coördination. Correlation is the inseparable concomitant of coördination. Each implies the other. And this is the reason, we apprehend, why correlation is barely noticed by Mr. Spencer. He feared, we surmise, that a lengthy philosophical treatment of the subject would suggest the conception that correlated growth necessarily implied previously imperfect coördination.

In order to facilitate the reader's conception of our meaning, it may be well to adduce an analogy. Analogies between organic and inorganic nature, the advocates of evolution ever delight in. And as that of the crystal has found especial favor in their sight, we will venture to use it. As we conceive that there are laws governing the organism, which are _sui generis_, we would request our readers to regard the analogy only as an illustration of our views, and not in the light of an argument.

In crystallization, the initial force involved in the deposition of the first molecule determines the form and shape of the crystal. This molecule is correlated, as it were, to the aggregate to be formed. It controls the whole formative process, with a view to the shape eventually to be attained. Otherwise, how are we to account for the due tempering and modification of the forces implied in the deposition of each of the atoms of the accretion? From the first, there must of necessity be but one normal process. But this correlation between the first molecule and the aggregate is not the correlation which we wish particularly to illustrate. The crystal having been fully formed, a couple of edges are truncated. The crystal is then placed in a solution similar to that in which it was formed. Now, the absence of these edges implies an abnormal distribution of the forces. This is manifest; for correlation, directly with the corresponding edges and indirectly with the aggregate, leads to the reproduction of the lost parts--a fact manifestly implying previously imperfect coördination, and a present equilibrium of all the parts, or due coördination. The parts reproduced assume their previous relations, and effect a return to the balance impaired by their truncation. It is hence clear that correlation implies coördination, and that coördination implies correlation. Correlation, then, is a necessary corollary from the hypothesis of due coördination, or proportionate development. It will be seen that, while it receives a clear, consistent, and rational interpretation upon the theory of reversion, it carries with it implications at variance with the hypothesis of evolution.

As our knowledge of crystallography is that of an amateur, these views respecting crystallization may be open to modification; though we are assured that they are not so in essentials.

The analogy of the crystal most happily illustrates our views of correlation. With equal felicity it illustrates the opposing views of the evolutionist and the reversionist, respecting the main points in the controversy.

Suppose three crystals, similar in shape, to have been formed in a solution. The truncation of six of the edges of each has, in some manner or other, been effected. With these edges thus reduced, the crystals are found by a person anxious to prove the theory of evolution. He places them in solutions similar to those in which they were formed. The development of the lost edges then ensues. But, instead of allowing them all to develop, only a single edge in each crystal is suffered to reproduce itself; and this edge is in each crystal a different one. This is done in order to render the crystals as unlike as possible. Practically, however, this would be not a little difficult to effect. Our friend, imbued with the inquiring spirit of the age, now seeks to ascertain the cause of the growth of the edges. In his observation of the phenomena of crystallization, he has noticed that the growth of an edge is often due to reproduction. But this fact he now finds it convenient to forget. He at last affects to believe himself forced to conclude that the growth of the edges is an ultimate fact; and, at the same time, refers the phenomenon to evolution, an explanation which has the strong recommendation of being a mere re-statement of the phenomenon to be explained. He next observes that, in each crystal, a new angle develops in correspondence with the angle first developed. This gives him two characters peculiar to each crystal. Recognizing a new factor in the induced development of the last angle, he propounds the law of correlation, and affirms that it concurs with and subserves evolution. The three crystals, originally alike, are now widely distinct. These varieties of crystals, exclaims our friend with the proud and patronizing smile of conscious superiority, present differences almost equally great with those displayed by species. Given, then, an indefinite number of hours and the requisite conditions, and all the species of crystals can be shown to evolve one from another. You cannot assume a limit to the development of parts, otherwise than gratuitously. There cannot possibly be any such thing as the immutability of the species; for individuals vary, and the species is composed of those individuals. This argument of our friend cannot be invalidated, if we concede that the growth of the edges forming the peculiarities of the varieties is new growth, is evolution, and that it is not reproduction. But it is obvious that it is reproduction, or reversion back to the state which existed previous to the truncation of the edges. It is equally obvious that correlation, or the growth of the last edge in correspondence with that of the former, is merely a return to more perfect coördination. It is also manifest to every physicist, that the absence from each crystal of the four edges which constitute the peculiar characters of the other varieties implies an imperfect coördination of the remaining parts. In other words, their absence involves a departure from a state of chemical integrity. For there can be a normal distribution of the forces of a crystal only when all the angles and parts are present, and proportionately developed. The views of the evolutionist are therefore wholly erroneous. For the principles of physics preclude the possibility of the normal existence of more than one variety. The existence of a plurality of varieties of a species implies disproportionate development of some of the parts. With crystals, however, varieties may normally exist when their differences are merely those of size. But the only way in which the relations of the parts can normally be changed is by a totally new distribution of the forces; which would involve complete dissolution, a modification of the force originally implied in the deposition of the first molecule, and reintegration. Now, just as, in a crystal, the loss of any part involves a departure from a state of chemical integrity, so, in an organism, the reduction, suppression, or disproportionate development of any part involves a departure from a state of physiological integrity. In the perfect type alone are the relations of the different parts perfect. The only way in which these relations could be normally changed, is by complete dissolution and new creation.

Not a little prejudice exists against a perfect type. This prejudice is, in a measure, justifiable, owing to the vague and gratuitous manner in which the perfect type has been assumed. But it cannot reasonably be extended to the perfect type which we here assume. This, of ours, is an individual in which all the characters of the species are fully and proportionately developed. It is no Platonic idea; we assume it to prove it; and it is no more metaphysical than the assumption for a crystal of a specific shape, which, owing to perturbations of the forces of the solution, it has been incapable of attaining.

In "A Theory of Population," propounded in _The Westminster Review_ for April, 1852, Mr. Herbert Spencer defines life as "the coördination of actions." This definition is, equally with his others, exceedingly felicitous in every respect but one. It is not a definition of life, as it purports to be, but merely a definition of the conditions of life. In a note on page 74 of his _Principles of Biology_, wherein he repels the imputation of being a disciple of Comte, he declares that the conditions _constitute_ existence. Recognizing the fact that the _onus probandi_ rests upon him, he presents phenomena in an aspect which at first gives not a little plausibility to his view. But these phenomena derive all their significance from the circumstance that Mr. Spencer's readers concur in the conception of the evolution of variations. When this conception is demurred to, his arguments lose all their force. The theory of reversion negatives the validity of his premises; and the hypothesis of the conditions constituting existence is then sustained by no proof greater than that of gratuitous assertion.

But, whatever may be the diversity of opinion respecting the truth of Mr. Spencer's definition of life, there is none, at least between him and us, on the subject that "the coördination of actions" is a definition of the conditions of life. On this point both he and we are fully agreed. His belief that the definition is more than that which we concede, is a matter immaterial in connection with the argument immediately to be adduced. We wish now to observe which theory consists more with the definition, the theory of evolution or that of reversion.

The coördination of actions is the attribute which characterizes all organisms. All the parts of each organism must work in concert. "If one of them does too much or too little--that is, if the coördination be imperfect--the life is disturbed; and if one of them ceases to act--that is, if the coördination be destroyed--the life is destroyed." These remarks of Mr. Spencer more particularly refer to the _vegetative system_; but, as he shows, they are, with little modification, applicable to the _animal system_. He says:

"How completely the several attributes of animal life come within
the definition, we shall see on going through them _seriatim_.

"Thus, _strength_ results from the coördination of actions; for
it is produced by the simultaneous contraction of many muscles,
and many fibres of each muscle; and the strength is great in
proportion to the number of these acting together; that is, in
proportion to the coördination. _Swiftness_, also, depending
partly on strength, but requiring, also, the rapid alternation
of movements, equally comes under the expression; seeing that,
other things equal, the more quickly sequent actions can be made
to follow each other, the more completely are they coördinated.
So, too, is it with _agility_; the power of a chamois to spring
from crag to crag implies accurate coördination in the movements
of different muscles, and a due subordination of them to the
perceptions."

On page 61 of his _Principles of Biology_, he further assures us "that arrest of coördination is death, and that imperfect coördination is disease."

A superficial view of Mr. Spencer's definition would involve the inference that, upon the evolution hypothesis, only one of two things is possible. Either there is an ever-continuing imperfect coördination, or there is an always perfect coördination. As parts subserve actions, the perfect coördination of the latter must be dependent upon the perfect coördination of the former. Now, evolution implies a constant change. In fact, according to the hypothesis, constant change is the only normal state. The variation of parts, then, would entail their imperfect coördination, and, consequently, the imperfect coördination of their actions; for the only conceivable way in which the imperfect coördination of actions is possible, is by a change in the parts subserving those actions. As variations, then, are ever occurring, imperfect coördination must always exist.