appears in all bodies, whether vegetable or animal, and in whatever species or part of an individual it may be found, is identically the same in physical appearance in chemical composition, and in its modus operandi, and different only in its products, which are the different sorts of formed material in either a plant or an animal. He states this bioplasm or cell-contents is surrounded by, or has access to, pabulum or food, and has the power of secreting to itself, or just outside itself, from the pabulum those elements required to make the formed material or cell-wall, which differs as much as there are different sorts of formed material in the different organisms existent in nature. It is all but mathematically demonstrated that bioplasm is in the reception of such an influx or power, as to enable it to build up from the pabulum just that particular individual sort of formed material which this influx requires and nominates. Thus the bioplasm which has to build bone is directed by the influx to select from the pabulum those materials which will build bone, and to arrange them around itself as formed bone, and so of the bioplasm which is directed to form muscle or fat; thus the form and composition of an organism is an effect of influx from the spiritual world.

From the New Churchman's point this is an interesting subject, and the theory indicated here will no doubt be considered beautiful and fascinating. As the spiritual world therefore increases in extent and variety, as it does, so will the influx vary in variety and power, and new varieties, new species, will constantly be produced, or "evolved" if you like, in the natural world, many of which no doubt will far surpass even in beauty and use the forms we at present have in the vegetable and animal kingdoms. The rose of the future is to surpass in sweetness the rose of the present. G. MEEK.

WIGAN.

EULALIE.

O MY dead love, upon thy sweet white brow
The grass grows, and wild weeds are ravishing
The perfume from thy flesh, whose tender bloom
Is changing with the change which mars each shade
Of beauty, and leaveth in the eye no light

Of love! Last night I dreamed that we two sate
Together with clasped hands, and my full eyes
Darted a flame electric into thine,

Which thrilled to the still depths of thy great soul

Responsive to a throb that woke in mine,
And filled thee with a music sweet, though mute,
Whose harmonies brimmed over at thine eyes.
I felt my being glow, and erst calm soul
Leap as a flame within and torture me
With longing, till I heard thy voice, which rose
In accents where no passion was, rebuke
My thought and purge my heart of its gross fire.

This morn my life is chastened, for thy smile
Still beams upon me out of that glad dream,
And still the dear and holy words I heard
Besiege my soul, as from thy lips they speed
Into its hidden depths; and I am 'ware
Of life intensified by thoughts that spring
Out of a buried memory, a hope

Laid in a deep, still grave, which gave thy form
All hues of living glory and delight

And beauty, made thy golden cluster curls

Be ambient rays of glory, canonized

Thy loveliness and perfect featured grace.

Thy feet are still beside me as of old,
Thy dear and tender yearnings fill my life,
And all the saintly splendour as of old,
Beams in thy smile seraphic. In thy hand
Thou bear'st a harp, a little golden harp,
And, waking it to fitful melody,
Thy soul throbs in its strings.

Sometimes I feel

A sense of movement near me, and thy hand Smooth my wan cheek, and sometimes my thin hair

Is ruffled by the nearness of thy wings.

Thus, my Eulalie, love alive in death!

Thus would I have thy presence and my love

Grow as of old together: I, content

To reap the secret glamour of thy smile,
The mission of thy spirit's ministry,
For me the richest guerdon of my love.

I know that love is not the specious dross
Of married hands, fierce eyes, and clinging lips-
A bounty of the senses which must die;

But something holy, yet a gift of fire
Whose flames are fed by longing and desire;
A present ever with us, though the past
Be dead and wholly blotted from our eyes,

Who ever slaked his thirst of fullest love?
Who ever drained his bliss-cups to the dregs?
Not any favoured mortal who has loved!
For as a flower that springs in a dark wood,
Shoots its pure tendrils, and alone uprears
A sweet life 'mid environments of pain,
So love expands and blossoms in the dull
And hurtful briar-thronged byways of the world,
And makes a golden presence in the dark.

Such holy light, Eulalie! from dear eyes
Rain on me, faithful; lonely in my life
Yet faithful in my worship as of old.
Still do I turn to thee: thou wert the star
Whose rays effulgent clove the thickening gloom
Wherein I groped, with a dumb sense of woe,
Enamoured of th' enfolding throng of doubts
That came to me unbidden.

Lo, I bring

A garland wove of light and radiance,
The fairest flowers of the after time,

Crocus and snowdrop, and all buds that gleam,
Or white or golden; and I lay it here,

A fragrant load of love and memory,
To wither on the barren mound, thy grave.

Winter is here, Eulalie, but mine eyes,
Bent homeward, heed no more the frozen earth,
Whose pallid loveliness seems most divine
Because I have a fire in my breast,

Have wings upon my feet; and in mine ears

A sound of harpings and flute harmonies!

Sweet strains sublime float toward me through the mists,

And bright shapes beckon from the golden space

Beyond the utmost clouds: I feel the dew

Of that far clime mysterious cool my brow,

I breathe its wondrous ether drawing nigh!

With spirit reassured—e'en as a bird

That leaves regretful some chill clime, but gaining
The warm breath of the South, is reassured-

I turn from what is dark awhile to thee

With cheerful hope of a transcending spring.

TOM WATKINS.

26

TOUR IN FRANCE AND ITALY-No. II.

MARSEILLES TO ITALY AND BACK.

I ARRIVED at Marseilles in the evening of September 18, and was recommended to seek accommodation at the Hôtel des Phocéens, an hotel whose name reminds us that this city was founded by the Greeks. Six hundred years B.C. a colony settled here, and the genius and excellent qualities of its inhabitants, combined with its favourable situation, have made it the third city of France for importance, and the chief port for commerce. Its magnificent harbour on the Mediterranean, and its proximity to the Rhone, the grand and rapid river which drains the south and east of France, constitute Marseilles the entrepôt of the produce of the country making its way to the East, and of the commerce of Eastern lands entering France, and through that extensive realm being diffused far and wide in the West.

The

As Liverpool is to Manchester and the West Riding of Yorkshire, so is Marseilles to Lyons, to Macon, and the surrounding country. The silks and the wines of France pass chiefly through Marseilles, as the cottons and woollens of England do through Liverpool. remains of the old city and harbour are confined and poor, the streets narrow, the whole appearance inferior; but the modern city is spacious and splendid, the streets wide, and the buildings magnificent. The Grand Cours, leading from north to south, beautified by noble trees, makes one of the finest avenues in Europe. The Rue Canabière, also planted with goodly trees, is broad and commanding. The chief streets are filled with large and brilliant shops. The people are lively and vigorous, elegant in dress, and very courteous and obliging.

There are several spacious squares in which markets are held; and in the flower-market I observed a curious scene. The flower-women, at least fifty in number, were seated on platforms raised about four feet from the ground, each having a decorated arbour, from which she sold her flowers. It has a picturesque, and by no means an unpleasing, appearance.

The long history of Marseilles is doubtless crowded with noteworthy events, but two have made themselves especially pre-eminent. The first is the terrible plague in 1720, which is said to have carried off 60,000 of the inhabitants. The sad result of the ignorance of old times was often seen when the horrible filth of the narrow, crooked,

ill-ventilated streets, and unhealthy houses, poisoned the people, and the wise of the earth were content to say, "DIED BY THE VISITATION OF GOD." To this Pope alludes in the " Essay on Man"

66

Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath
When nature sickened, and each gale was death?”

A fine monument in the city tells of the fearless goodness and the pious care of the worthy bishop to whom the poet alluded. The second instance of the wide and sinister fame of this city was formed by the terrible excesses of the political parties of 1793 and 1794. Thousands of the citizens were murdered on both sides for their political opinions, and the stern and terrible spirit engendered which breathes hate, fury, and war in De Lisle's hymn, "The Marseillais.”

How different the city must have seemed when torn by these lamentable orgies of political rage to the bright and noble home of busy multitudes I looked upon with pleasure in the sunny weather of last September.

I had intended to go on by rail to Italy, but finding there would be a comfortable steamer going without delay, I decided to go by water and return by rail. I left at half-past eight in the morning, and arrived at Genoa about three the following day. The cabin fare, including food, was only 16s.

The steamer was never out of sight of land. The company consisted of about a dozen persons-all Italians except one, a French priest in the cabin, with very good accommodation, and a large supply of hardy country people on deck. The Italians were several of them from towns on the coast, and they pointed out the localities as we passed. There, they said, is Toulon, the station for ships of war; there is Hieres, there is Cannes, and the Isle Marguerite, where De Bœuf made his escape; there is Nice, San Remo, and so on. Thus the time passed pleasantly. The weather was so calm and lovely, the sea so quiet, the air so pure and balmy, the sky so serene, that the whole journey was a continued luxury. An Italian Professor was among the passengers, who had been at Well's College in America for eleven years, and was very good company, and the French priest was to go out to America in a short time, and was therefore learning English to prepare himself. I tried to persuade him to practise while he had me in company. He was, however, very diffident. I went

I rose

to bed soon after sunset, and had an excellent night's rest. in the morning to see the sun rise, and the next on the quarter-deck, under the awning, was the priest, who, I suppose, had been thought