herence among them. This was supplied by the theory of evolution. The different departments of science were not even then regarded as complete; it was well known that there were many gaps in our knowledge, but we were only seeking for missing details, whereas in reality it was the main thing that was lacking-the unifying idea which Goethe had sought for, and tried to supply in his theories of the plant-prototype, and of the skull.

The science of embryology, or, as we now call it, ontogenesis, at that time consisted of a great number of observations, interesting enough, but without any recognized unity; it was not a harmonious structure, but a collection of finely-cut building stones. But what a change when the luminous idea of evolution was added! Life seemed to be infused into the stones, and almost spontaneously they formed a magic edifice. The ovum, now at last recognized as a cell, was seen to be a reminiscence of the descent of all higher animals from unicellular organisms; rudimentary organs, such as the rudimentary eyes of blind cave animals, were found to be sign-posts indicating the racial history of these animals, and pointing back to their sight-endowed ancestors. This evolutionary view illuminated the whole science, and not embryology alone, but also "comparative anatomy," the understanding of the structure of animals. It became plain why the New Zealand kiwi should have little rudimentary wings under its skin, although it does not fly. It is not in order that it may conform to an ideal of a bird, as was previously thought, but because its ancestors had possessed wings which were used in flight.

Physiology also gained much, especially the theory of reproduction, of heredity, of organs, of the cell, and especially of the cell-nucleus. I do not mean to say that all these were the

direct result of the idea of evolution, but they have an indirect connection with it.

Anthropology gained quite a new interest after it was recognized that man, too, was a product of evolution. A vast number of problems presented themselves: it was necessary to investigate the gradual becoming not only of the body but of the mind, the evolution of the Psyche and all that flows from it. Before that time there had been a history of language, of law, of religion, of art, and so on, but it now became necessary to carry these farther back-beyond Adam and Eve to the animal ancestors. Undoubtedly a study of the psychology of animals is one of the essential tasks of the future! I can here only give a few hints without elaborating them, but I must emphasize the fact that the idea of evolution, in the form in which Darwin presented it to us, has given an impulse to new life and further development in every department of human knowledge and thought; everywhere it acts as the yeast in ciderit sets up fermentation. This has already borne rich fruit, and We may hope for much more in the future.

Our greatest gain from the theory of evolution has, however, been the evidence it affords of the unity of Nature, the knowledge that the organic world must be referred back to the same great everlasting laws which govern the inorganic world and determine its course. Even if formal proof of this be still wanting, the probability is now so strong that we can no longer doubt it.

It is not only the theory of evolution as a whole, but the active principle in it-the principle of selection-that is transforming and illuminating all our old conceptions. It is teaching us to understand the struggle, silent or clamant, among human races, their

rivalry for the possession of the earth, and to understand, too, the composition of human society, the unconscious division of labor among the members, and the formation of associations. The development of "classes" and their union in a State appears in a new light when looked at from this point of view. In this department a good deal has been already accomplished.

The study of human health must be particularly influenced by the theory of evolution, and a beginning has already been made in this department also.

But there is another and very important point in regard to which the theory of selection must be our guide. If we take a survey of the evolution of the world of life as we know it, we see that, on the whole, it has been an ascending evolution, beginning with the lowest organisms and advancing through higher and higher to the highest of all, man himself. It must be admitted that at certain stages in this evolutionary series we find retrograde steps (as, for instance, parasites and sedentary animals), but on the whole the direction of evolution has been an ascending one.

I see no ground for assuming that this will be otherwise in the future. According to the principle of selection the best will survive in the future as in the past, and mankind will ascend. I do not believe we are likely to undergo any essential changes in a crude physical sense; we are not likely to grow wings, and even our mental powers may not be capable of much further improvement, but ethical improvement seems to me not only possible but probable, on the principle of selection. Mankind will never consist of wholly selfless saints, but the number of those who act in accordance with the ideals of a purer, higher humanity, in whom the care for others and for the whole will limit care for self, will,

it is my belief, increase with time, and lead to higher religions, higher ethical conceptions, as it has already done within the period of human existence known to us. But here again I can only indicate without following out my ideas. I wished to express them, because the principle of selection has so often been applied in an inverted sense, as if the brutal and animal must ultimately gain the ascendency in man. The contrary seems to me to be true, for it is the mind, not the body, that is decisive in the selection of the hu

man race.

Thus we see the principle of evolution intervening, transforming, recreating every department of human life, and thought, and endeavor. We owe this principle, which has been so fruitful in results, mainly to Charles Darwin, though he was not the only one nor the first to think it out. But it was he, with Wallace, who secured it its place in science and made it a common possession of mankind by working it out in all directions, and supporting it with another principlethat of Selection-which explains the riddle of the automatic origin of what is suited to its purpose in Nature. Thus he cleared away the obstacle which would otherwise have stood in the way of the acceptance of the theory of evolution.

His

By all this he has earned enduring fame in the annals of science. own country has not been ungrateful to him. A colossal statue of him in marble decorates the British Museum; from the background of the entrancehall he looks down on the passers-by with the calmness of the Sage. His mortal remains lie in Westminster Abbey beside those of Newton.

Fate, too, was kind to him. He could truly say that his life was a happy one, for it was filled with a great idea, and he was supported by the consciousness that Goethe ex

August Weismann.

Visitors to Venice even in the torrid months of summer are many-Southerners naturally rather than Northerners-Egyptians, Greeks, Turks, dwellers in Southern Italy and on the coasts of the Adriatic, and those from mid-Europe to whom the luxury of ideal sea bathing is unattainable in their own country. All these as soon as possible after their arrival wend their way to the shores of the Lido, now no longer

a bare strand

Of hillocks heaped from ever shifting sand

Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds,

as when Byron took his daily gallop along it, but strewn with fresh accessories yearly in the shape of huge, many hundred-roomed caravanserais, termed "Tours de Babel" by the Armenian monks dwelling on the island hard by, whose prescriptive rights of light and air from over the blue sea they block out.

Among this heterogeneous throng of visitors, as they either laze down Lidowards in a gondola on the outgoing tide, or form one of a crowd on the fussy little steamers which take them thither for twenty centessimi a head, there will hardly be one but will cast his eyes with pleasure beyond the grim guardship, always stationed in midstream, over to the agreeable bank of green foliage which, forming the Giardini Pubblici, stretches seaward from the Riva degli Schiavon, and is the more attractive owing to the paucity of foliage to be found in the waterways of the city, and in most of the lands

from which the visitors have come.

But standing out from amongst and above this boskage another object, namely, a large Union Jack, is sure to attract attention. Flags are not usual forms of decoration ashore in Venice, save of course that trinity, grandiose in size, which, at much yearly expense to the Municipality, fill the air on fête days in the Place of St. Mark's with the brightest of coloring, and by their magnitude dwarf and hide the incomparable façade of its Basilica. The British flag therefore, which dominates the greenery on the way to the Lido, may well elicit questionings, the reply to which will be that its novel appearance in the public gardens is due to the fact that it surmounts the British Pavilion at the Venice International Exhibition of Fine Arts, a pavilion which good fortune has placed on the summit of the highest, perhaps one might with truth say the only, piece of elevated ground in Venice.

These Giardini Pubblici were made just a century ago, and are due to the insatiable energies of Napoleon, who demolished any number of monasteries to make what was, until lately, a park of little use to the Venetians, although it is the only public place where the limbs of energetic citizens can be stretched, or a hundred yards of soil can be found unencumbered by a crowd of foot passengers. It would appear to be an ideal receptacle for the usual denizens of such places in foreign cities, namely, nursemaids and children, but unfortunately it is almost impossible of access by land save through many intricacies of pathways

too unsavory for well nurtured children destitute of perambulators (for such means of conveyance exist not in Venice), and unpalatable to the gutter children, whose quarters surround the gardens, they preferring to play on the small pieces of foreshore afforded by the boat builders' yards that interpose themselves so picturesquely (as artists know) between the gardens and the Riva degli Schiavoni.

George Sand in her Lettres d'un Voyageur, speaking of these gardens, informed the world that the Venetian ladies feared both heat and cold, for they were so frail and delicate that a ray from the sun hazarded their complexion, and a breath of wind their life -hence they never ventured to gardens where they might have benefited their health, and consequently the place was deserted save "pour quelques vieillards grognons, quelques fumeurs stupides et quelques bilieux mélancoliques."

The Municipality of Venice (owing perhaps to the enjoyment of the gardens being made so little of) has of late years assigned the greater part of them to other uses, although by so doing they have raised the ire of a certain section of their constituents, who see in this utilization an encroachment on rights of free access of which they never availed themselves.

Italy just now is filled with an activity strangely in contrast to its former lethargy-activity in the fields of thought, religion, politics, industry and art-an activity in some of these domains which, perhaps, tends towards destruction as much as construction. It permeates the whole peninsula, but is most in evidence in its northern provinces of Piedmont, Lombardy and Venetia. No one can traverse the southern watershed of the Alps without seeing from west to east the energy that is being displayed, and the prosperity evidenced in the expansion not

only of the cities of Turin and Milan but those of lesser size, and the recognition and utilization of the benefits which Nature has bestowed upon the whole valley of the Po.'

Venice thirty years ago seemed to those who then visited it a city of the dead. Yriarte in his Venise, published in 1880, spoke of its inhabitants as "un monde qui semble d'avoir perdu son âme et sa vie," and added that it was permeated with a "tristesse douce et constante, qui gagne peu à peu le cœur le plus viril et s'impose à l'esprit le moins sentimental."

But the Venetians, now that they form part of Italy, have not only shared with their countrymen in the Renaissance but appear determined once more to dominate the Northern 'Adriatic. 'Unfortunately they have more than one serious difficulty to contend with. Whilst other cities can extend their borders north, south, east and west, cover them with houses of the well to do, and factories with dwellings for those who toil therein, and can carry these workers far afield by means of tramways and other forms of cheap locomotion, Venice has no such possibilities. Every yard of her soil that emerges above her waterways is already covered, and remunerative industries on any large scale that require large ground space appear impossible. The stillness that is one of the charms and attractions of the city remains unbroken by the riveting of girders, or even the clink of the trowel, and save for a large new railway terminus and the doubling of the viaduct which carries the line over the lagoons-in themselves testimonies to the increasing prosperity of the place the builder's occupation seems non-existent.

Again, the increasing size of ships and the decreasing depth of the approaches to the city render the future 1 Venice obtains her electric supply from water-power in the Euganean Hills, many miles away.

of the shipping industry, for which they have been so renowned in the past, a very uncertain one.

To the outsider, therefore, the perspicuity of the Venetians, in seeing a way out of the impasse that Nature had placed in the way of outlets such as these to their energies, through the medium of a huge Biennial International Art Exhibition, appears little less than a heaven-born inspiration.

In formulating such a world-wide scheme, however, Venice had abundant reason to expect success, whether she regarded it from a political, geographical, or artistic standpoint. No other nation in Europe has so few political antipathies as Italy. An International Exhibition in France, for instance, could not command the cordial co-operation of Germany or vice versa. England is too far afield, and besides, as a nation is only now beginning to show that she is not altogether a negligible quantity in all matters pertaining to Art. Besides the capitals of these countries have already old established exhibitions, whose domains and personnel it would be impossible either to annex or ingratiate. Venice has the advantage in this respect of being able to start with no vested, hide-bound interests to contend with.

From a geographical point of view also she has everything in her favor, for she stands almost at the central point of Europe, having connection by land or sea with every quarter of the globe, to such an unequalled extent that works of art even from America or Japan can, if desired be unloaded at the gates of her Exhibition grounds.

And as to her artistic advantages, it is almost a waste of ink and paper to set them down.

It has been said of Japan

Art is Art all over this quaint country, Art is almost air, for everybody

breathes it.

To Venice such words not only apply to-day but have done ever since she rose from the sea. Where in Paris, Berlin, London, or any of the world's capitals, nay, even in that of Italy itself, shall we find such magnificent specimens of the Art of all the ages, not displayed in a single example, nor in a single branch, but covering the whole range of architecture and painting, as expressed in Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, and Rococo times, and all of which chefs-d'œuvre are placed in settings such as it is the aspiration of every lover of art the world over to see before he dies? A city unique in its inspiration, its beauty, its seductiveness. A city endowed by the hand of Nature quite as much as of man, owing its existence to an enchanted wand, concerning whom every poet who has sung has dwelt as much upon the setting,

Roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry,

as upon the

Temples and palaces,

Fabrics of enchantment piled to heaven.

Lastly, a city the home of such giants of painting as Giorgione, Titian, Tintoret and Veronese, not to mention Tiepolo, Canale, or Guardi.

Thus it came to pass that when in 1893 it was a question amongst all the cities of Italy how to commemorate fittingly the twenty-fifth anniversary of the marriage of their sovereigns, those in power at Venice were sage enough to inaugurate a policy which should not only carry on the old æsthetic traditions of their city but should attract to its portals a host of participants who would bring honor as well as prosperity in their train. And so every other year since then a considerable part of the city's efforts has been spent in organizing an International Fine Arts Exhibition, until it has not only