finite space. to see that, if the matter in the solar system had been originally spread through a sphere enclosing the orbit of Neptune, the falling together of its parts into separate agglomerations, such as the sun and planets, would far more than account for all the energy they now possess in the forms of heat and orbital and axial revolutions. We cannot here enter into details as to the amount of each of these forms of energy in the members of the solar system. The reader will find them given with more or less detail in the writings of the three authors just named. Thomson's numerical results, with reference to the " Age of the Sun's Heat," are amongst the most recent, and are probably the most accurate of any that have been given on this vast subject. It is sufficient to observe that these calculations entirely forbid the supposition once entertained, that the sun's heat is due to chemical combination (or combustion). If the sun's whole mass were composed (in the most effective proportions) of the known bodies which would give the greatest heat of combination, the entire heat that could be developed by their union would but supply the sun's present loss by radiation for about 5000 years. But geological facts show that for hundreds of thousands of years the sun has been radiating at its present, if not at a much higher, rate. The potential energy of gravitation is the only known antecedent capable of accounting for the common facts of the case. And the sun still retains so much potential energy among its parts, that the mere contraction by cooling must be sufficient (on account of the diminution of potential energy) to maintain the present rate of radiation for ages to come. Moreover, the capacity of the sun's mass for heat, on account especially of the enormous pressure to which it is exposed, is so great, that (on the least, and most, favourable assumptions) from seven to eight thousand years must elapse, at the present rate of expenditure, before the temperature of the whole is lowered by one degree centigrade. As regards the transformation of energy, this presumed origin of the sun's radiation is most instructive, and we have only to mention the as yet unexplained relations which have been observed to exist between solar spots on the one hand, and two such distinct phenomena as terrestrial magnetism and planetary configurations on the other, to show that the grand subject has as yet been barely sketched; and that every step towards filling in the details will be of importance as well as novelty By simple calculations it is easy | members of the solar and stellar systems are of course in the position of hot bodies cooling. The smaller bodies would of course. be less heated by the agglomeration of their constituents than the larger; and, even if they had been equally heated, would cool faster. The original fluidity of all the larger masses is attested by their nearly spherical forms, rendered more or less oblate by their axial rotations. Dissipation by radiation takes place very freely until the surface cools sufficiently to solidify to some little depth; and is then, on account of the low conductivity of rock masses, reduced to a very slow rate. Though a great portion of the interior of the earth must be still at a high temperature, the surface temperature is not perceptibly increased by conduction through the crust. The sun, however, has been calculated to give out energy so profusely, that the radiation from one square foot of its surface amounts to 7000 horse-power. This estimate is possibly too low, as no account is taken of absorption by the matter which fills all space between the earth and sun. in science. As regards dissipation of energy, all the *Mc William's Magazine, 1862. But while the heat of the sun and planets is thus being lost by dissipation, the energy of their axial and orbital motions is, on account of resistance, being gradually converted into heat. This process is so slow that its effects have as yet been observed only on one of the smaller comets, but it is certain that on this account all the planets will in time fall in to the sun, whose store of energy will thus be for a short time recruited. One noticeable point in Mayer's Celestial Dynamics is the effect of tidal friction in dissipating the energy of a planet's axial rotation. [J. Thomson had worked this out eight years before, but unfortunately did not publish it.] The general tendency of tides on the surface of a planet is to retard its rotation till it turns always the same face to the tide-producing body and it is probable that the remarkable fact that satellites generally turn the same face to their primary is to be accounted for by tides produced by the primary in the satellite while it was yet in a molten state. Numerous and beautiful though they have been, the applications of the laws of energy to the solar system are yet merely in their infancy; and, till they have been carried into further detail, it would be presumptuous to attempt to shift the field to stellar or nebulous systems, of which our knowledge is so small in comparison. In this short account of the discovery and development of the grand laws of nature, so far as they are yet understood, we have confined our illustrations to the simplest cases; and the reader must not imagine that we have alluded to more than a small fraction of the known facts which have been directly shown to agree with them. It is as if, in treating of the theory of gravitation, we had contented ourselves with the proof that Kepler's laws of the planetary motions follow from it, and that it enables us to compare the masses of the earth and sun; without. even mentioning lunar and planetary perturbations, or precession and nutation, as far more recondite facts also perfectly explained by it. By means of extracts, notices, and general remarks, we have sufficiently characterised the various works enumerated at the commencement of the article, with the exception of M. Verdet's Lectures. In our former. article we considered them so far as they referred to the direct relation between heat and mechanical effects. We can now say of them as a whole, what we said of a part, that, though brief, they are exceedingly clear and comprehensive. As before, our objections are confined to their historical portion, and will be easily understood by the reader. We will make but two, though there are several passages equally open to unfavourable comment. Thus (p. 82) M. Verdet says— "A une somme donnée d'actions chimiques de nature donnée doit correspondre un dégagement constant de chaleur, quelle que soit la constitution de la pile et du circuit où les deux phénomènes se produisent à la fois. Cette conclusion théorique a été vérifiée par une remarquable expérience de M. Favre." As we have already mentioned, Joule, in 1843, showed by experiment that "However we arrange the voltaic apparatus, and whatever cells of electrolysis we include in the circuit, the whole caloric of the circuit is exactly accounted for by the whole of the chemical changes." The earliest of M. Favre's experiments was published in 1853. Again (p. 101), M. Verdet says "Lorsque l'animal est en repos, ce travail a pour équivalent la quantité de chaleur que l'animal dégage incessamment pour compenser la perte de chaleur due au rayonnement, au contact de l'air et à l'évaporation. Lorsque l'animal est en mouvement, une portion du travail des affinités chimiques a pour équivalent le travail effectué par ce mouvement; le reste seulement se convertit en chaleur, et par conséquent à une même somme d'actions chimiques produites dans l'intérieur de l'organisme, doit répondre un dégagement de chaleur moindre dans l'état de mouvement que dans l'état de repos. "Ces idées introduites pour la première fois dans la science en 1845, par Jules-Robert Mayer, font faire à la physiologie générale un progrès, etc." What is this but a mode of stating, somewhat less concisely than Joule had done in 1843, the hypothesis that I "If an animal were engaged in turning a piece of machinery, or in ascending a mountain, apprehend that in proportion to the muscular effort put forth for the purpose & diminution of the heat evolved in the system by a given chemical action would be experienced"? that Joule's papers appeared only in the It is, no doubt, to be ascribed to the facts Philosophical Magazine, and that some of his most valuable remarks were made in the Appendix to one of them, that these important discoveries have been thus attributed to others. ART. IV.-1. The Warden. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. New Edition. London, 1861. 2. Barchester Towers. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. New Edition. London, 1861. 3. Dr. Thorne. By ANTHONY TROLLOpe. New Edition. London, 1861. 4. The Three Clerks. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. New Edition. London, 1860. 5. The Bertrams. By ANTHONY TROLLope. Third Edition. London, 1860. 6. Framley Parsonage. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. London, 1861. 7. Orley Farm. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. London, 1861-62. 8. The Small House at Allington. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. London, 1864. 9. The Macdermots of Ballycloran. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. New Edition. London, 1861. SIR WALTER SCOTT Somewhere compares the critic who selects an entertaining novel for the subject of his invidious labours, to the mischievous child who plays with his new toy to-day, and finds a still more exciting amusement in tearing it in pieces to-morrow; and it must be owned there is something almost ungrateful in coldly dissecting books that are written for our amusement after they have served their purpose of amusing us. On the other hand, novels now-a-days are not quite so humble in their pretensions that the simile of the child and his toy should indicate the relation between them and their readers. Even if they are not written with the object of illustrating or refuting any particular theory of life, or system of morals, or doctrine of theology, it is impossible for a man of any mental power at all to invent human beings and set them in motion without touching, expressly or by implication, the problems of human existence. I not very numerous; and therefore it may be If the world be a school in which we cannot assumed that the writers are few, who possess live a day without learning something, no such gifts as the author of Barchester Towers. true picture of the smallest fragment of it. And yet it is probable that the same powers can be altogether insignificant; and though of observation, the same shrewdness, good few people, now that Miss Edgeworth is for- sense and humour, are expended every day gotten, read novels for the purpose of im- on the common affairs and common amuseproving their minds, it is only very happily ments of life by people who never dream, or constituted persons that can be certain of who only dream of writing novels. always escaping that result. And, indeed, the functions of criticism would be miserably curtailed if amusing novels were considered too sacred, or dull ones too trivial, for handling. It is probable that the writing of such books at this moment absorbs more talent than any other literary pursuit; and it is certain that no amusement is so universal as the reading of them. The popularity of a novelist who is popular at all is so enormous that every successful novel, good or badand some very bad novels have been among the most successful-is a phenomenon worth studying. Such a study will be far from fruitless if it only convince us how little ability, imagination, or culture, it takes to set all England talking. This humiliating conviction, we are afraid, would be only too often the result of an analysis of the novel of the season; and it would not be at all uninteresting to investigate the sources of so much unmerited popularity. Our present task will be less amusing, but certainly much more agreeable; for if bad novels sometimes fascinate a deluded public, neither do good ones often fail of success; and Mr. Anthony Trollope's have unquestionably deserved their good fortune. The novelist par excellence of the moment is assuredly Mr. Trollope. His work can by no means be placed in the highest rank; but within their own range, nothing better ever came from an English novelist. In our view, it is no drawback to their merit that they are the books of a man whose peculiar temperament is scarcely that of the literary artist. If we may judge on such a point from his writings, we cannot help thinking it a happy accident that Mr. Trollope should have written books at all. The wit and liveliness of his story and dialogue, and the simplicity, ease, and vigour of his style an admirable style-are unquestionably the graces of a master of his craft. But the whole tone and habit of mind implied in these novels is that of a man of activity and business, rather than of a man of letters His books are the result of the experience of life, not of the studious contemplation of it. A rare degree of talent was required for their production, but the kind of talent which was required is not, perhaps, uncommon. Books like Barchester Towers are certainly The great charm of Mr. Trollope's novels seems to lie in this circumstance. While we read them we are made to share, in the easiest way, the experience of a man who, in going through his own daily business, has been brought in contact with an immense variety of people; who has looked at so much of the world as it came in his way to consider, with a great deal of keenness, kindness, and humour; who thoroughly understands, because he shares the thoughts and feelings of the majority of educated Englishmen; and who sets himself to describe his own world and ours, with vivacity and grace, with a delicate appreciation of the niceties of character and manners, and in plain straightforward English. The result is a picture of society, wonderfully real and true. It is not merely that the incidents are such as occur, and the characters such as may be met with every day. The atmosphere also is that of real life. Mr. Trollope, if his books survive, will afford invaluable materials to the future historian of the manners of the nineteenth century; not like some of his contemporaries, by minute dissection, either of society or of individual men and women, but at least by a very agreeable exhibition in his own person, as well as in his characters, of the common opinions, sentiments, and habits of the men of his own day. We shall look to him in vain for such an analysis of mankind in society, as Balzac has given us in such marvellous perfection for a fragment at least of the world of France; and the great novelist whose loss we all deplore, for probably a larger section of the world of England. To compare him, indeed, with Thackeray at all, were both useless and misleading. They are too dissimilar to furnish common points for comparison. Their dis parity, according to a sound doctrine of Coleridge, excludes comparison. With all his subtle power of observation, Mr. Trollope has few of the qualities of the satirist, and is still more slenderly endowed with any of the qualities of the moralist. The force of his peculiar talent deserts him, if he strays for a moment into the regions where Thackeray has shown most unmistakeably the true elevation of his genius. And yet there is one point in which he resembles if he does not even rival the greater writer. There is no other male novelist that we remember, who has seized so successfully the true character of the petty intrigues of society, of family feuds, of household discomforts and household pleasures, of small malignities and daily kindnesses. He seldom attempts, with success, to penetrate deeper than other people to the ultimate springs of all the good and evil, "all the wealth and all the woe," which he sees and depicts on the surface of the world. But the surface world with which he does deal, the characters which come within his range, the manners, affections, sympathies, of ordinary people, the common activities and occupations, the accidents and trivial realities of life, these things are represented with marvellous truth and minuteness of detail, and at the same time with a certain sobriety of tone which is singularly characteristic of English society. The effect of all this is probably heightened by the somewhat inartistic obtrusion of the author himself and his opinious. It is natural in the houses to which Mr. Trollope introduces us that there should be a good deal of talk about Mr. Carlyle and pre-Raphaelites, and the Bishop of Oxford, and the system of pleading at the bar. It is equally natural that such talk should be lively and sensible, without indicating any very profound insight into the real meaning and character of men, or books, or pictures, or institutions. If the plot of Mr. Trollope's novels were of paramount importance, such superfluities would be more objectionable. But the realist in fiction is careless about plot. His sole object is to describe men's lives as they really are; and real life is fragmentary and unmethodical. We do not know whether this is Mr. Trollope's opinion, or whether he has any theory on the subject at all; but we know that it is not by dexterous manipulation of his story that he hopes to sustain the interest of his readers. That moves on, not indeed very rapidly, but easily and naturally enough; and ever as it moves, we are made to understand more clearly how thoroughly this storyteller despises the arts by which curiosity may be kept on the stretch. One or two of the scenes have some connexion with each other, and follow each other in natural sequence; but this is by no means the case with the majority. In many of these books, the chapters which carry on the story, and lead up to the catastrophe, are probably fewer in number than those which have nothing whatever to do with either the one or the other. This is a serious fault in art; and in policy, if Mr. Trollope desires his novels to be read often, it is, we think, a dangerous 1 But here it is necessary to discriminate. We are not of those who think that a perfect plot, or what is called so, is essential to a good novel. A plot may be a very ingenious invention; but it generally implies at once an isolation and interdependence of characters and interests which never found its counterpart in real life since this world began. Ten or twelve people are so absolutely cut off from the rest of mankind, and linked so closely to one another, that the most insignificant cannot move an arm without hastening or retarding a catastrophe, the gradual evolution of which is the end of their miserable existence. Such phenomena are rare in the actual world; and by no means essential to the interest of those novels which appeal to higher feelings than curiosity. In these, there is no reason that we can see, why the people should not hang together as loosely as in real life. The characters need not be isolated from the world, nor from all the interests of humanity which do not affect the catastrophe. novel is not a drama; and we have time, in our way to the conclusion, to pause upon details and to wander into byways. If the novelist can trust himself to let his story stand still, while he elucidates a nicety of character, or describes a picturesque or a humorous situation, there is no reason why he should not disport himself in this way, so long as he continues to amuse his readers. Even a dramatic writer, if his dramas are to be read, may be allowed a certain license in this respect. On the stage, a play must move; in the closet we are delighted that the action should pause, while Egmont displays the Golden Fleece to his Clächen, or describes to her the stately Regent of the Netherlands. But all this is permissible, only because, although it has no tendency to evolve the dénoúment, it throws light upon the characters in whom it is presumed that we are interested. It is not the least inconsistent, therefore, with that unity of feeling and interest which is absolutely indispensable in the drama, and almost equally important in prose fiction. But if the scenes for the sake of which the story stands still, in no way concern the principal characters, and are remote from the leading interest of the piece, their introduction at all is a blot, more or less excusable according to the skill with which they are described, but always awkward and inartistic. The interest of Orley Farm, for example, turns upon the trial of a certain Lady Mason, nominally for perjury, but virtually for forging her husband's will. A trial involves barristers, attorneys, and witnesses. It is obvious that all these people must have interests in life, unconnected with Lady Mason; and it is right that this should be made apparent in a novel which aims at representing things as they are. But when two or three months are interposed-for the book was published in monthly numbers between Lady Mason's committal for trial and the opening speech for the prosecution, in order that the high-life love affairs of her junior counsel, and the low-life love affairs of an unhappy witness, to say nothing of the eatings and drinkings of that witness's brother-in-law, should be detailed at length, this is surely carrying reality to a dangerous pitch. It is imitating nature, as it was said that Richardson imitated nature, jusqu'à l'ennui. For Mr. Trollope scarcely seems to be sufficiently aware that the time-honoured rules which he disregards so pleasantly are founded on principles as real and permanent as the love of novel-reading itself. Superfluities and irrelevancies are objectionable in a novel for no other reason than because they make it less interesting. Even in a novel there is a certain strain on the reader's attention. The strain is at its minimum if every particular scene is good in itself, and also contributes to the general movement of the book; but many a stout swimmer has perished in sight of land, because the power which might have carried him triumphantly to the conclusion has been thrown away on an unnecessary episode. If that, as he somewhere hints, is a slight impropriety in Mr. Trollope, which would have been a fatal fault in some of his predecessors, it is only because he sins more gracefully than they. It may be that his episodes are in themselves amusing; the incomparable liveliness with which he tells his story does not often desert him, even in his digressions; and his readers are seldom allowed to guess how narrowly they have escaped being bored. His peculiar merit as a story-teller lies in the conduct of particular scenes; and the ease with which these lead into one another, blinds one occasionally to their real incoherence. But his novels would be still more interesting than they are, if, in the construction of the story, they were more artistic. This, however, is a point on which criticism may easily degenerate into pedantry. It is no blame to Mr. Trollope, who writes novels, that his talent is in some respects undramatic; for after all it is no more desirable than it is necessary that either in the marshalling of scenes and incidents, or even in the delineation of character, the novel should conform to the conditions of the drama. The dramatist who describes his characters instead of making them reveal themselves, fails in the principal object of his art. But the novelist is tied down by no such rigorous rules. It is his privilege to describe, if he is so minded, what a play-writer would be bound to represent. And as long as he can do so without becoming tedious, we know no other reason why he should not be permitted to explain, in his own language, whatever he may find it troublesome to make his characters themselves express. Mr. Trollope, indeed, occasionally tells us, on the first introduction of a character, that he will allow it to unfold itself as the story proceeds; but that only means that he will describe it a little more minutely by and by, and illustrate what he describes by its walk and conversation. Some of his characters are rather vague and shadowy, but the greater number are very far otherwise. He not only draws very clearly and correctly the salient features, by means of which all men recognise their fellows, but with still more felicitous delicacy and precision, the minuter shades of sentiment, by which ordinary people, living the same life and holding the same opinions, are nevertheless distinguished from one another. His books are full of ordinarily upright, generous, and well-bred people, who in the real world in which they might easily have lived, would not be supposed to rejoice in any very striking or peculiar physiognomy. But Mr. Trollope, with the delicate perception which he possesses, seizes upon the distinctive features which underlie so much apparent uniformity, and creates, or rather portrays, a character which is not the less amusing, because it is perfectly commonplace. Some female writers have possessed this peculiar subtlety in still greater perfection, but then it is accompanied in Mr. Trollope, with a masculine maturity and knowledge of the world, to which there is no kind of parallel in Miss Austen nor in any of her English sisters. And yet it is not by penetrating very far below the surface that the character is rendered so lifelike. His books are a wonderful mirror of the world; or at least of a certain portion of the world. Of the heart, they reveal few secrets that are hidden from the generality of mankind. Miss Austen's name reminds us of a talent, in which that exquisite delineator of character was deficient. She cannot describe the faces of her heroes and heroines. Mr. Trollope's powers in this direction are admirable. In the delightful art of portrait-painting in words, we doubt if any master has surpassed him. We can scarcely think of a rival excepting Count Anthony Hamilton. The gift is by no means a common one. It may be easy enough, perhaps, to describe the exag gerated features of imaginary monstrosities, so that the dullest reader cannot mistake one |