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or distinct form of animals and plants, by evolution—that is to say, the modification of organisms under the influence of external causes, assisted by the survival of those best adapted to the prevailing conditions—will finally be fought out upon entomological grounds. In this respect the careful observation and comparison of the insect-faunas of scattered islands of common origin cannot but lead to most interesting results ; as may, indeed, be seen from the brilliant researches of Mr. Wallace

upon the butterflies of certain islands in the Eastern Archipelago, and from the elaborate investigations of the lato Mr. Vernon Wollaston upon the beetles of the Atlantic islands. In the case of the Cape Verde islands the last-mentioned distinguished entomologist, although a staunch anti-evolutionist, was compelled to admit that he did not believe all the closely related permanent forms which he felt himself compelled to describe as species really owed their existence to distinct acts of creation.

One of the most curious phenomena the full recognition of which we owe to the promulgation of the doctrine of evolution is the mimicry or imitation of one organism of the general characters of another, or of some inanimate object, instances of which aro tolerably numerous. Here again insects hold the first place. The subject was first approached in a philosophical manner by Mr. Bates, who found in the Valley of the Amazon whole groups of butterflies which imitated most closely the form and coloration of other species belonging to quite a distinct sub-family. Mr. Bates discovered that the imitated forms were endowed with certain properties which rendered them disagreeable to insectivorous birds, and hence concluded that these mimetic resem. blances in general were acquired by a process of selection for protective purposes. Many other instances of the same kind have since been detected in various parts of the world, and they are by no means deficient even in this country.

In the preceding rapid and very imperfect sketch I have endeavoured to indicate the more important of the manifold pleasures and advan. tages which the study of entomology offers to its votaries, even supposing them to pursue it as a mere amusement. But even in connection with this method of study it has been pointed out that certain philosophical notions will crop up, such as the homology of the parts of the mouth in biting and sucking insects, the phenomena of the metamor

hoses and of parasitism, the close inter-relation of diverse organisms, and the question of the origin of species. The influence of such studies in training the mind to habits of observation such as involve the clear appreciation of evidence has also been mentioned as a great and impor. tant educational advantage.

There is yet another side to the question. In these days of competitive and other examinations, and of wide-spread science-teaching, great numbers of students learn more or less of what is called zoology from lectures and text-books, their object being in most cases, perhaps, only to pass what they call an “ exam." By this means a certain

amount of morphological knowledge gets crammed into their heads, but of the practical application of this they are as innocent as the babe unborn. For the due comprehension even of the principles of zoology it is essential that the stndent should possess something more than a mere book-knowledge, often merely of structural details; and an ac. quaintance with those principles is becoming day by day more necessary, as natural history considerations are assuming a more and more promi, nent position in our general philosophy. How is this to be attained ?

It is manifestly impossible for anyone who does not devote himself entirely to zoological pursuits to make himself practically acquainted with the whole animal kingdom ; he must perforce confine his attention more or less to some special group, and extend the knowledge of the principles and method of zoology thus acquired to the formation of a general conception of the whole. I have already indicated that, from the ease with which it is followed, and the total absence of restriction as to locality, the study of entomology presents special advantages ; and in other respects, if pursued in no contracted spirit, its influence on the mind of the student will be at least equally beneficial with that of any other branch of natural history. Popular Science Revier.


WHOEVER explores a mountain-pass must necessarily often look back. From the vantage-ground he has gained the climber measures his advance, taking note of his point of departure the better to guide his future ascent. He looks down on the country he has already traversed; he marks the spot where he diverged from the true course, the swampy land that appeared likely to bar all progress, the torrent that he forded at the risk of his life. Far beneath him, in. significant because of their distance, lie the many obstacles which were once so formidable. His breath grows more and more regular with the momentary repose ; then, glancing up at the towering peaks through which he must still force his way, he tightens his belt by a hole or two, and springs forwards with a fresh impulse. But suppose him to be not alone in his quest ; nay, rather one of a multitude striving in the same direction ; not engaged in a race to gain the highest mountain-peak, where one alone can come off victor, but struggling across a barrier which bars the path to a land where there is ample room for all to live in honour and prosperity ; he must grievously regret that his own efforts will be of no benefit to others, and that a combination of all did not lighten the general task.

A similar reflection must have forced itself on the mind of many an English artist midway in his profession. Looking back on his

career, he must regret years lost whilst obscurely labouring at the elementary stages of his profession, when he might have been guided onward with expedition and certainty by those already familiar with the road, or aided by a causeway of education constructed so as to smooth all difficulties except those incident to the journey and his own incapacity for the effort. In this age of organisation, when men work less and less by their sole hand, and combine more in every pursuit in life, it seems strange that art throughout its branches should in this country have a strong bias in the contrary direction. During the great period which culminated in the Renaissance, art was among the most highly trained and organised of all human pursuits. Almost as much may be said of the continental schools at the present day. We produce a surprising number of original thinkers, but are a source of perplexity to our brothers on the Con. tinent, who admit that we have many artists through natural aptitude, but deny, and with reason, that we have any national school. The English are becoming in the year 1879 a highly educated race. Schools are endowed for all classes and every profession; the higher mathematics will soon be as familiar as the alphabet, and the thumb of labour must ere long grow intimate with the leaves of the Greek Testament. The schoolmaster inflates our progeny to gigantic proportions, whilst we creep feebly about among our offspring's feet. So be it; let art share in the coming benefits; let the young artist claim his place among the intellectual giants thus matured; I challenge the divine instinct of this generation to organize his efforts, and devise a scheme for his scientific instruction.

In art, as in every other branch of education, there are two chief modes of instruction open to a people. Either the nation undertakes the duty, through its Government, and acts by endowed schools and colleges, tested by public examination (the Government becoming responsible for the result); or professions gradually crystalise into corporate bodies, undertake their own training, and supply the instruction necessary for their advance. In this country it has been a problem which of these two modes is the better fitted for art; neither system has obtained, and art-education has fallen betwixt two stools.

A little more than a century ago a body of English artists petitioned their monarch, who, at their request, constituted a Royal Academy of Arts. Their first President was a man of genius, and among them were men of great worth and talent. The constitution of the Academy was so framed as to give the members several privileges, as well as academic honours, for which they undertook correse ponding duties. They bound themselves to become the accredited exponents of the art of their country; yearly to place the best artistic works before the public, and, above all, to conduct a national school of art by academic teaching. They were to replenish their body by election from among the most worthy aspirants for the honours of the Academy, and thus to remain in harmony with their profession and with the nation. As is usual with corporations, the honours and privileges grew to be more insisted on than the duties they under: took, and the reason not far to seek. A body corporate is always jealously alive to its own side of the bargain, whilst the public often grows indifferent to the service for which it has stipulated at the time of creation. For half a century after the Academy had received its charter, the nation was occupied in anything rather than art and artists; the genius of the race was bent on war, politics, and trade, and turned a disdainful eye towards the adornment of life. During that period, the Royal Academy, although retaining its honours and privileges, performed but the semblance of its duties; it prospered, and was well satisfied, and so was the public. Years advanced, and in their train followed success in war, increase of liberty, wealth and well-being before unheard of; and with these, an interest in all connected with art again revived. The Royal Academy found itself suddenly brought to a reckoning by the public for the neglect of its duties, but time had sanctified its vested rights; the foundation of its house had petrified, and no storm could shake the structure.

Probably, had the attention of the nation been turned towards the fine arts whilst the Acamedy was still young and in a plastic condition, a school of art worthy of the British nation might have been developed. But indifference on one side engendered neglect on the other; who shall say that the Royal Academy is more to blame than the nation, because it has not succeeded in the principal object for which it was constituted? The school was starved and neglected, and grew to be a cripple whilst still in arms; both parents were equally neglectful, and both to blame.

The renewed interest of the nation was first appreciated by the authorities of South Kensington. Sir Henry Cole, taking the first of the tide, with a splendid audacity rode on the back of his department over the whole Empire; the force of the sustaining stream must have been prodigious, and so was the energy of the man who took the lead. Schools of art were established from one end of Great Britain to the other; India was invaded, and our farthest colonies were impregnated with South Kensington ideas; but art did not benefit in proportion. The endeavours of the department were directed to the advancement of manufactures through the assistance of art, and it cemented an alliance of the two; but a school of art in the higher sense was not within the scheme of the department, or if it were, it withered before it grew to any fair proportion.

These efforts are worthy of consideration, and were made at different tives and in opposite directions: one by the agency of a corporate body, the other through a department of the Government; the one untimely crippled through want of vitality, the other divertea into side channels. Nevertheless, they have not been without excellent results; the creation of a Royal Academy was an acknowledgment of the importance of art by the body politic, and the honours

accorded to its members by the Crown placed all artists on a higher social level than they had hitherto held. South Kensington and its numerous dependencies brought art and manufacture into a close alliance, but has neither şucceeded in giving at a proper school, nor in obtaining for artists that status in society that they hold in other countries.

In order to appreciate the isolation of the English artist as compared with his brothers on the Continent, we have only to look over the catalogue of the different sections of the Fine Arts in the Universal Exhibition held at Paris last year. Glancing down the list of the French exhibitors, it is impossible to avoid remarking the constant recognition of their merit by the State, and the honours they achieve in their career. On examination, one is struck by the number of men whose early promise has been fostered byt he State, who have studied at Rome in the Academy, and whose works have been purchased for the nation. The catalogue runs somewhat thus; “E. Blanc, born at such a town, studied at such a local school, became pupil under such a painter, won such and such medals, is of such a rank in the Legion of Honour.' Here is a brief epitome of his success, of equal significance to himself as to the public. He is not only acknowledged as an honour to his profession, but to his country; further, it appears that he is one of a brotherhood who have studied under some acknowledged master, and who are bound by ties of scholarship to each other.

Turning to the English section, name follows name, without any illustration whatever, excepting the occasional R. A. or A.R.A., that is well understood; so many names to so many works, and all is told. It may be urged that Englishmen do not care for the recognition of their merit by the State, and are satisfied with the solid rewards of their profession; that they despise the bit of ribbon so eagerly sought for by a French citizen, and think it unbecoming and frivolous. But although an inch of colour at the button-hole may offend the sobriety of our race, can it be doubted that, were some mode adopted by which the nation were to mark its approval of excellence, either in art or science, it would be eagerly sought for ? It would imply honour, and that is a nobler incentive than gain.

It would be unreasonable at the present time to erdeavour to change the fabric of British art, which has been a century in development; its web is of such proportions, and of so complicated a texture, that praise is rather due to those who assist in keeping it in working order. Also the genius of the race is closely interwoven with its growth, and sanctifies with its glory the system it has helped to create. Rather let us consider how our present system may be developed in new directions, so as to give us all that we can desirebetter instruction, honour, and continued prosperity. Let education stand foremost in this trio, and be our first appeal to the Royal Academy. It is bound by the terms of its charter to fulfil this duty;

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