fought with our rivals, and the toys that we shared with our playmates, and the names that we carved, high or low, on the wall, above our desks-will they so much bestead us hereafter ? As new fates crowd upon us, can they more than pass through the memory with a smile or a sigh? Look back to thy schooldays, and answer.'

Of My Novel, justly deemed by some critics Lord Lytton's masterpiece with its vast variety of subject and character-and of the later romance, What will he do with it?-happy in all except the eccentricity of its title, I forbear to speak. They have each the power and freshness which grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength-the perennial youthfulness which became brighter as his mind matured with advancing years. Sign of flagging there was none. The Parisians is as fresh and sparkling as anything he ever wrote, and abounds in bits so distinctly Bulwerian, that it is hard to imagine any true student of the great artist could read a single chapter without recognising the well-known pencil.

Here is a description of a successful financier :

'He has the genius of riches, and knocks off a million as a poet does an ode, by the force of inspiration. . . . Croesus consulted the Delphic Oracle. Duplessis was not alive in the time of Croesus, or Croesus would have consulted Duplessis.'

Who, except Lord Lytton, could have written the following ?

Romance in youth is, if rightly understood, the happiest nutriment of wisdom in after-years; but I would never invite any one to look upon the romance of youth as a thing

"To case in periods, and embalm in ink."

Enfant, have you need of a publisher to create romance? Is it not in yourself? Do not imagine that genius requires for its enjoyment the scratch of the pen and the types of the printer. Do not suppose that the poet, the romancier, is most poetic, most romantic, when he is striving, struggling, labouring, to check the rush of his ideas, and materialise the images which visit him as souls into such tangible likenesses of flesh and blood, that the highest compliment a reader can bestow on them is, to say that they are life-like? No: the poet's real delight is not in the mechanism of composing; the best part of that delight is in the sympathies he has established with innumerable modifications of life and form, and art and naturesympathies which are often found equally keen in those who have not the same gift of language. The poet is but the interpreter. What of? Truths in the hearts of others. He utters what they feel. Is the joy in the utterance? Nay, it is in the feeling itself." As a dramatic writer Lord Lytton's claims are of the highest. His plays are more popular on the provincial stage than those of any modern dramatist. They rank side by side with the favourite plays

of Shakespeare, and are, in most cases, more certain to draw a full house. Where is the juvenile actress-unknown, perhaps, to metropolitan fame, but famous in her particular sphere-whose Pauline is not her strong point? where the stage-stricken youth whose highest aspiration is not to play Claude Melnotte? The successful revival of Money is only one among a hundred indications of the comedy's enduring popularity. Revive Richelieu to-morrow, with Mr. Irving as the Cardinal, and all London will flock to see the finest historical drama that has been written since Shakespeare adapted history to the stage of the Globe. Only last May, Lord Lytton witnessed the performance of Money, at the beginning of its second run.' If the actors and actresses of the Prince of Wales's Theatre could have guessed how near that brilliant life touched on its sudden close, they would, perhaps, have been eager to crown the playwright with laurels, or the playwright's bust with a chaplet of roses, as they did at the Français when Voltaire, in the words of Horace Walpole, assisted at his own apotheosis. It is illustrative of the different genius of the two nations, that for Lord Lytton the garlands came only after death, and the votive wreaths which France would have given to him living, England laid upon his coffin. That he is the greatest writer England has known since Scott, I think none can doubt, even those to whom the works of Charles Dickens have been ever a source of most pure and complete happiness. Nor can we hope to see his place filled speedily. Kaunitz, speaking of himself, said: 'Heaven requires a hundred years to produce a mind great enough to restore a monarchy. Then it rests a hundred years. This makes me fear for the Austrian monarchy after my death.' May we not justly fear that Providence will rest a century or so before the world is enriched with another Bulwer?

Perhaps, after putting out of the question the one superlative requisite for success called genius, without which Lord Lytton could never have written Pelham, the chief secret of his supreme excellence lies in the fact that he, like Charles Dickens, gave to the art of novel-writing thought and labour rarely bestowed upon what is called light literature.' From the beginning, every book he wrote had its distinct and always exalted aim, and his thoughtful prefaces, in which he sets forth his design, are now amongst the most interesting of his writings.

But the distinctive charm of Lord Lytton's novels lies in their all-pervading air of romance, their spirituality-a something indefinable that lifts them out of the beaten road of every-day life. Scattered among the pages, we come, every now and then, on bits that set us thinking-thoughts and fancies that exalt; counsel that seems designed, by some prophetic power, to fit exactly our own perplexities; philosophy that supplies the peculiar remedy for our own peculiar grief. His knowledge of the human heart is so wide as to

embrace every phase of life, every shade of feeling. Yet, despite his profound sympathy with sorrow, despite that underlying melancholy which pervades much of his writing, he is never gloomy. A sportive wit, a genial humour, continually come to the relief of the poet's natural pensiveness. He has the richness of Young's imagery, without his gloom; the subtlety of Balzac, without his cynicism. He has some of Scott's grandest gifts, linked with a power of passionate expression and a variety of subject that Scott had not.

That Lord Lytton's fame will increase with the passage of time as in the case of Balzac-I think there is no room for doubt. As the age grows more and more matter-of-fact, the world will turn from its newspapers and statistics with more and more fondness to those glowing pages which open the gates of a dreamworld; and those poetic figures which have a grace that never can grow oldfashioned will find a place in the hearts of the young as readily as when the books first came from the press; while that splendid diction, which can no more become obsolete than the language of Addison or Goldsmith, will serve as a model for a generation of writers yet unborn.

M. E. BRADDON.

NOTE. In the noble funeral sermon recently preached, with a peculiar tenderness, by Professor Jowett, in Westminster Abbey, occurs the following passage, indicating the place which that distinguished scholar accords to the novelist's art :

'Novels exercise a wonderful influence over us, greater, probably, in the present age than ever before. They form a new element of literature which was unknown to the ancients; they not only add to the stock of harmless amusement-which is no small matter-but the novel of a great writer may justly be considered as one of the ties that bind us to one another-one of the common interests of society. They lower or elevate the taste of the nation; they enlarge our knowledge of human nature; they show the world to us in many new lights and aspects. We do not imagine that we learn anything from them, because we are always learning from them insensibly. Have not many seeds and germs of noble thoughts and actions been sown or planted in the impressionable minds of the young by works of fiction? Sometimes the novelist delights to turn out to the light the other side of society, and makes the judge and the criminal change places, when regarded by the eye of the inner soul as they might be by the judgment of God. Or, again, he shows how near the best things are to the worst; how philosophy, and even philanthropy, may dwell in the breast of the villain or the murderer; for human nature is sometimes a strange compound, and a man may be equally sincere both in good and in evil. Are there not many lessons of religion and philosophy to be learnt from such creations? Or the genius of the novelist may rise up against the conventionalities and respectabilities of mankind; and some persons may fear that society will be undermined, and that it is bad for the young to read such books, which were, perhaps, written in youth. But is the truth so conveyed really different from that of the Gospel-that the Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses' seat, but that the publicans and harlots shall enter into the kingdom of heaven before them? Or the novelist may imagine the world under new conditions, and show us-not without the aid of supernatural machinery-pure reason and pure instinct in their separate natures, now dividing, now blending; rising to heaven or sinking to earth; unable to sustain themselves, either separate or united, in an alien world. Those are mistaken who suppose that the great novelist had no other object in such works but to amuse the world, or that he did not intend the hope of life and immortality to shine through them.'

SACRED ANIMALS

THE worship of animals commenced at a very early period, and continues to the present moment. Sometimes representations of the animals were made of wood, stone, or metal, and these took the places of the living creatures. Such was the molten calf, which the Israelites made shortly after their departure from Egypt, where animal-worship was predominant.

Apis, the sacred bull of Memphis, and Mnevis, the sacred ox of Heliopolis, were pretended by the priests of Egypt to present to their worshippers the material form of their deity Osiris. At Memphis was erected a grand court, ornamented with figures, in which the sacred bull was kept, when exhibited to the public. Attached to it were two stables, also for its use. The festival in honour of Apis lasted seven days, on which occasion a large concourse of people assembled. The priests then led the sacred bull, preceded by a chorus of children singing hymns in his honour, in solemn procession. All persons crowded to welcome him as he passed. It was thought that children who smelt his breath were thereby gifted with the power of predicting future events. When the Apis died, certain priests, chosen for the duty, went in quest of another, who was known from the signs mentioned in the sacred books. As soon as he was found, they took him to the city of the Nile, preparatory to his removal to Memphis, where he was kept forty days. These days being completed, he was placed in a boat, with a golden cabin prepared expressly for him; and he was conducted in state upon the Nile to Memphis. The Apis was forbidden to live more than twentyfive years. Should he be alive at the end of that period, the priests led him to the sacred fountain, and drowned him with much ceremony. His body was embalmed, and a grand funeral-procession took place. When the Apis died a natural death, his obsequies were celebrated on the most magnificent scale. The burial-place of these sacred bulls was discovered a few years since by M. Marietti, near Memphis. It consists of an arched gallery hewn in the rock, about twenty feet in height and breadth, and two thousand feet in length, besides a lateral gallery. On each side is a series of recesses, every one containing a large sarcophagus of granite, in which the body of a sacred bull had been deposited. From whatever cause the death of an Apis took place, the people performed in public lamentation; and this mourning lasted until his successor had been found. They then commenced the rejoicings, which were celebrated with an enthusiasm equal to the grief exhibited during

the mourning. The people consulted the Apis as an oracle, and drew from his actions good or bad omens.

The Hindoos have, for many centuries, propitiated the bull with divine honours. Their temples are frequently situated, says Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs, in the midst of the wildest scenery, surrounded by woods and forests. In these groves, a number of consecrated bulls, after being dedicated with great ceremony by the Brahmins to Siva, and having a distinguishing mark set upon them, are permitted to wander whithersoever they please, everywhere welcomed as the representatives of the god. Never was Apis regarded in ancient Egypt with more veneration than is now paid to the bull of Siva in Hindostan. Besides the living animals, there is in most temples a representation of one or more of the race, sculptured in marble or stone, reposing under the banian or peepul tree; for, living or dead, they are supposed to add to the sanctity of the holy retreats. The consecrated bulls are of extraordinary beauty. They are perfectly white, with black horns, a skin delicately soft, and eyes rivalling those of the antelope in brilliant lustre.

Among the Kytch tribe of Africans, located on the banks of the White Nile, to every herd of cattle there is a sacred bull, which is supposed to exert an influence over the prosperity of the flocks; his horns are ornamented with tufts of feathers, and frequently with small bells, and it invariably leads the great herd to pasture. On starting in the early morning from the cattle-kraal, the natives address this bull, telling it "to watch over the herd, to keep the cows from straying, and to lead them to the sweetest pastures, so that they shall give abundance of milk," &c.

The worship of the horse still seems to linger, says Ferguson, in remote parts of India; and he considers the worship of this animal as the counterpart of the worship of the bull by the Sivitas.

The horse does not appear to have been one of the sacred animals of Egypt, as no instance of its embalmed head has hitherto been discovered in any of the repositories for the bodies of their animal-divinities. The ass and the camel also have not been found there.

This venera

In India the white elephant is greatly venerated. tion is in some degree connected with the doctrine of the metempsychosis. Xara sustained seventy thousand transmigrations through various animals, and rested in the white elephant.*

Among the North-American Indians, says Lord Minton, in his North-west Passage by Land, the moose is a sacred animal; and certain portions of the meat-such as the breast, liver, kidneys, and

* A notion that the elephant was a religious animal has been held, not only in the East, but amongst several nations of antiquity. In Kircher's description of China there is a plate of an elephant worshipping the sun and moon, copied from one of the sacred pictures of the Chinese.