November day is still fresh in most of our memories, whether we watched the long procession through the streets, or were present at the ceremony in the dimly-lighted interior of the Cathedral itself. With this marked and solemn event Dean Milman is most closely associated. It is somewhat remarkable,' he says, that I, who, as an undistinguished boy, witnessed the burial of Lord Nelson, should officiate, as Dean of St. Paul's, at the funeral of the Duke of Wellington.' In his brief description he pays a final tribute to the memory of Sir Christopher Wren, who, alone of all architects,' seems, either from intuition or from philosophic discernment,' to have penetrated the abstruse mysteries of acoustics. Certainly it was remarked at the time, as it is here by the author himself, that Dean Milman's voice, in the reading of the prayers and lessons, was most distinctly heard by all the vast multitude present, while no one who was there can ever forget the solemn effect of the repetition by so many thousands of the Lord's Prayer, which seemed like the sad combined prayer of the whole nation.' The last Dean of St. Paul's but two still survives in the venerable Bishop of Winchester. The last but one was Copleston, a man of great mark, well worthy, like Milman himself, to occupy the stall of Colet, Nowell, and Donne, Stillingfleet, Tillotson, and Butler. The late Government has discharged its duty well in selecting a man of mark as successor to these eminent men. If, as years pass on, there are great varieties in the accomplishments and abilities of the successive Deans of St. Paul's, so much the better for the country, if only men of an inferior stamp are not appointed. We congratulate Dean Mansel on being raised to a position of deserved eminence. It is, however, a position of great responsibility at a critical time. The significance and capabilities of our Cathedrals constitute one of the questions most likely to come soon again very prominently before public attention; and it is satisfactory to know that these institutions are far better able to stand a searching test than formerly. In fact, our Cathedrals, though some reforms are required in them, are rapidly becoming the most popular parts of the system of the Church of England. Thus, if renewed public discussion on the subject arises, some of the foolish things which used to be said concerning it will probably not be said again. Among the current mistakes regarding our Cathedrals, a very common one has been the habit of speaking of them as if they * His predecessor was Van Mildert. were were all alike in their constitution and in their relation to the people around them. Now, leaving on one side the well-defined differences of old foundation' and 'new foundation,' and the varieties of duty which arise from contact with large or small masses of population, it may be said with truth that St. Paul's has very special characteristics of its own. Among the most obvious of these characteristics is the close connexion of this Cathedral with the City, with its business, its enterprise, its vast social influence, its power of promoting great religious movements, its wide-spread contact with all the world. The Dean of St. Paul's ought to be a great power in the City of London. This side of his office was perhaps the least congenial to the late Dean, as was to be expected from his calm, studious, and literary habit of mind. Nor can any Dean rise fully to the height of all his opportunities. Still this aspect of our great Metropolitan Church ought never to be forgotten: and it is well noted in that Report of the Cathedral Commissioners of 1852, which has been most discreditably forgotten, though invaluable as a repertory of well-digested information on the whole range of this subject. It is observed in that Report* that one of the distinguishing features of St. Paul's is its peculiar connexion with the City of London; and this is illustrated by various details. Thus it is remarked that Americans are drawn in large numbers to this Cathedral by a natural curiosity.† Again stress is laid on the necessity of having large and strong vocal resources here, in consequence of the noise created by the unceasing traffic around. This is used as an argument against diminishing the staff of Minor Canons, who are more numerous here than in any other English Cathedral and it is noted as obviously desirable that they should have official duties in some of the other City Churches. In connex : ion with this subject it is pointed out that anything like a quiet Cathedral Close round St. Paul's is an evident impossibility, and that it is an advantage that the Canons should not reside near it. These are all points of importance in rightly appreciating this part of our great English Cathedral problem. But what we are chiefly laying stress on here is the duty resting on St. Paul's of throwing itself into hearty association with the mass of people round it. In one important respect, this has been done. Westminster, as Dean Stanley does not fail to remind us, ‡ led the *Appendix to First Report,' p. 42. It is interesting to remark here that the late Dean was most highly appreciated in the United States. Americans seem to have regarded him as our greatest living writer. 'Westminster Abbey,' p. 551. way way in the establishment of Cathedral Evening Services. St. Paul's followed the example without delay, and Dean Milman took the liveliest interest in the new arrangements. The building was most obviously adapted for the purpose. In fact Wren most clearly himself contemplated the using of the vast area under the Dome for a multitude of worshippers. Few changes have been more beneficial to the influence of the Church of England, than the establishment of these services in the two great Metropolitan Churches. And still some things seem to be desirable in regard to both. Is there any good reason why these services should not now be continued throughout the year and thus cease to be 'special'? It must also have been often remarked that the packing together of the chairs is not favourable to devotion, that it makes kneeling impossible, and suggests the thought that the people are assembled, not at all with any view to the prayers, but simply to hear the sermon. And yet these services are capable of being made eminently congregational, and will become more so, in proportion as the taste for Music increases. We have seen that Dean Colet placed his great foundation school, not under the Cathedral Clergy, but under the Mercers' Company. It is noted in the Cathedral Report* as an advantage that St. Paul's is not encumbered either with general educational duties on the one hand, or on the other with the pecuniary responsibility of keeping the fabric in repair. Thus we are brought to our last notice of the characteristics of our famous St. Paul's. When Sir Christopher Wren's structure was completed, property producing 15001. a-year was set aside for the repair of the fabric, and consigned to the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of London, and the Lord Mayor, as trustees. Thus the City Cathedral is placed, as it were, under the protection of the Nation. We gladly welcome this arrangement as an omen of that continued union of Church and State, which was so dear to Milman's heart, and which promises a long career of dignity and usefulness to St. Paul's and its Deans. *P. 628. ART. ART. IX.-1. Lectures on the Comparative Anatomy and Phy siology of the Invertebrate Animals. By R. Owen. London, 1855. 2. Lectures on the Elements of Comparative Anatomy. By T. H. Huxley. London, 1864. 3. Handbuch der Physiologischen Botanik (Handbook of Physiological Botany). By W. Hofmeister. Leipzig, 1867. 4. The Physiological Anatomy and Physiology of Man. By Todd and Bowman. New Edition. By Dr. Beale. Part I. London, 1866. By W. 5. Untersuchungen über das Protoplasma und die Contractilitat (Researches on Protoplasm and Contractility). Kühne. Leipzig, 1861. IT T has happened to many loitering by the sea-side, to pick up what seemed to them two kinds of sea-weed; the one of a light drab, the other of a dark-brown colour; and, meeting afterwards some learned friend, to be told that the one is, indeed, a sea-weed, but that the other is really an animal, or rather a colony of tiny animals, of complex build and manifold powers. On such occasions some minds feel a passing wish to have shown to them the boundary-line between the two worlds of organic life, to be taught the distinctive characters which absolutely and peremptorily determine whether this or that living being is to be called an animal or a plant. Some, on the other hand, are not displeased at being told that no such boundary-line can be marked out; but rather take delight in hearing of a debateable kingdom, the members of which cannot truly be said to be either animals or plants. Even before becoming acquainted with the facts which can alone decide the question, almost every one feels at least some little mental bias in favour of one view rather than of the other; and possibly a similar natural tendency may have influenced the conclusions of professed naturalists. It could hardly have been expected, for instance, that Linnæus, 'the great framer of precise and definite ideas of natural objects, and terse teacher of the briefest and clearest expressions of their differences,' would be content to leave any part of the world of life undefined and undefinable. We accordingly find him-in a definition to which we shall have occasion farther on to refersummarily characterising minerals, animals, and plants, by the help of about twenty words. And many subsequent writers, though less sparing of their sentences, have imagined that they could speak with no less stringency of various absolute differences between the two organic kingdoms. On the other hand, no no less an authority than the great anatomist Richard Owen, in his Hunterian Lectures' for 1852 on the Invertebrate Animals, speaking of this matter, said: 'Nothing seems easier than to distinguish a plant from an animal, and in common practice, as regards the more obvious members of both kingdoms, no distinction is easier, yet as the knowledge of their nature has advanced the difficulty of defining them has increased, and seems now to be insuperable. . . . The groups of characters that are essential to the true definition of a plant and animal interdigitate, so to speak, in that low department of the organic world from which the two great branches rise and diverge. Every naturalist or physiologist is at liberty, of course, to adopt any one of the characters that have been supposed to divide the two kingdoms; but the boundary so defined will be artificial, and each different character will bisect the debateable ground in a different latitude of the organic world.' Since the time when Professor Owen published these, his wellknown lectures, our knowledge of the nature of both animals and plants has still further advanced; and it may be not without interest in discussing the difficulties of definition which he recognised to inquire whether they have been increased or diminished by the later increments of knowledge. Every living thing, be it an animal or a plant, may be studied from two different points of view. From the one the eye is directed towards structure, from the other towards action. Were the whole world suddenly petrified, and every creature (and every part of every creature) transformed in a moment into a statue of flint, there would still be abundance of work for the anatomist to do. It would still be possible to investigate the laws of organic structure; and philosophers visiting such a world of stone would be able to gather facts, and throw up theories concerning the build and make of living beings, more slowly, perhaps, but very little less completely, than they who now dissect fresh or living creatures. Should it be urged that, under such circumstances, the confusion of hard parts with soft would be likely to give rise to errors, let us fancy that the great dance of life were brought to a sudden stop by some weird spell, such as Mr. Tennyson has imagined in The Day Dream.' But for our purpose we need a sleep deeper than that which the poet-laureate pictures. No beard must lengthen in our pause. The sleep must wrap round growth as well as round movement and sense. The magic wand must be laid not only on all limbs and creeping trunks, on waving fringes of ocean swimmers and rhythmic sweep of breathing oars, not only on heaving chests, and on the ebb and flow of beating hearts, but also on the hidden finer tumult of the fibre and the cell. The mystic dance of atoms must be stayed, the |