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I find that attraction in such doctrines as these, which are laid down by him: "In the Positivist phase the mind, convinced of the futility of all inquiry into causes and essences, restricts itself to the observation and classification of phenomena, and to the discovery of the invariable relations of succession and similitude which things bear to each other: in a word, to the discovery of the laws of phenomena."*

Now, some of the most important phenomena in the world are in the domain of the personal: which have regard to the personality both of individuals and of nations. It was to these phenomena that such men as Bacon, Macchiavelli, and Goethe largely devoted their attention when dealing with questions relating to government.

How all-important is this question of personality when the choice of men for the highest situations is to be made! A man, much versed in the discernment of human character, chooses another man, also well versed in that great art of life, and henceforth, while that well-chosen man rules over the greatest Viceroyalty of the earth, millions of human beings are tolerably well governed.

I can not also help remarking that recent events of great magnitude show how much necessity there is for studying the personal character, if I may so express it, of nations.

II.

ON COMPROMISE.

I SUPPOSE that every writer is prone to exaggerate the importance of the subject which immediately occupies his attention. Perhaps he would hardly write with sufficient vigor if it were not for the stimulus afforded by this exaggeration. Though I am very averse to throwing adjectives about carelessly, I fear that I have often used the word "important" rather indiscriminately, applying it to each division of the general subject I have been treating. And now this subject of "compromise," I must own, seems to me of the highest importance; for it not only enters largely into the ordinary affairs of daily life, but is certainly to be found in full vigor in the greatest matters relating to govern

ment.

The habit of the English people to in

* Comte's "Philosophy of the Sciences." By G. H. Lewes. Sect. I., p. 11.

dulge in compromises is a rooted one. It has its origin in the very depths of their nature. As I have intimated before, they do not like pushing things to extremes. They like to get on, somehow or other, with the business that is before them; and compromise always seems to be progress. Then, again, those who are masters of the situation, who feel that they have the commanding vote, whenever it may come to the point of voting, are often inclined to be generous, and would be glad if the measure they advocate could be passed with something like an appearance of unanimity. On the whole, therefore, this inclination of ours in favor of compromise is a good thing, and has often prevented outbreaks of passion, and great ruptures in public affairs.

It is not

But there are drawbacks. every matter that will admit of compromise; and it often requires great discernment to decide when a question admits of compromise, and when it does not. There are matters in which compromise is admirable-as, for instance, when there is submitted to a legislative body some social or political measure, affecting closely the wishes, interests, or even the prejudices, of large bodies in the State, and respecting where there is wide difference of opinion throughout the land. Then compromise may justly be adopted as affording a wise and peaceful solution of the difficulty-a solution which, if not final, may be expected to remain undisturbed for a considerable time.

good in legislation and bad in adminisAs a general rule, compromises are tration.

I will now give an instance of the unfitness of compromise in a matter of administration. Suppose that a government department is being re-organized, and that it is thought advisable to place certain duties, and certain clear and definite responsibilities, upon a newly-created officer in that department. These duties and these belong to some other officer, or some responsibilities at present, however, partly section of the department; and for the sake of peace, and with a view of getting something done, compromise is employed, and these said duties are not wholly severed from that old officer, or section of the department. Every body will see at once that much mischief may ensue as the effect of compromise in this particular case.

Again, as regards matters of account, I have known the greatest confusion, and ultimately great evil, to arise from the want of clear definition of duties and responsibilities. And, when you trace the mischief to its source, you are nearly sure to find that it originated in an unwholesome spirit of compromise-in fact, in applying compromise to some transaction which did not admit of any compromise whatever. Now this is a thing which English statesmen have much to beware of. Being addicted to compromise in political affairs and in social measures-also as members of Parliament, being often obliged to make compromises with their constituents-their minds get into a habit of compromising, and they are under the domination of that habit on occasions when they should totally discard it.

The lover of compromise may take an objection, which appears very plausible at first sight, to the foregoing course of argument. He may say, "Compromise is not surrender. I, at any rate, contrive to carry my views partially into effect. My opponent has gone a bit, if but a small bit, of the road on which I wished that we should travel together; and, so far, some good has resulted from compromise."

There is, however, an answer to this train of reasoning, which in many cases is a complete answer, and which, in almost all cases, requires to be carefully considered. It is this that you, the compromiser, have, as it were, shot your bolt. You have made an effort which most probably can not be made again with the same vigor. Moreover, you may never have the opportunity of making it again. How often this must apply to the case of a Minister of State. He does not, perhaps, remain long enough in office to remedy the ill effects of an injudicious compromise in some matter which, as I before said, did not admit of any compromise at all. He had far better have left the thing alone; content to wait for an opportunity, either for himself or his successor, of effecting his object thoroughly.

The question of compromise or noncompromise is often one of the thorniest possible. Its ramifications are very extensive, and it can not be exhausted by a few apt illustrations, as it deals with every variety of circumstance in human life.

Moreover, you have not only to consider the nature of the subject submitted

for compromise, but also the exact nature and extent of your convictions respecting it. A subject may in itself be unfitted for compromise. Again, it may be suitable for compromise on the part of other people, but not on your part, on account of the opinions which you hold in regard to this subject. Again, it may be a subject respecting which your views would allow you, however unwillingly, to enter into a compromise. Those views, however, extend into other objects of great importance, and if you compromise here, you must compromise there, in pari materiâ, and this you are by no means prepared to do.

To take an instance: It is proposed to abrogate a law which prevents the marriage of a man with his deceased wife's sister. Many people will say, as I do, that this is not a question which in itself admits of compromise. Whichever side we may take in the controversy, most of us have come to that conclusion. But suppose, just for the sake of argument, that some ingenious person, who dotes upon compromise, should have invented a mode of introducing his favorite remedy in the case of this vexed question. Suppose he should say: "It is unwise to allow men, as a general rule, to marry their deceased wives' sisters; but we will make an exception for poor and plain men-poverty and plainness to be defined in the schedule to the bill," where, as I have often observed, the special difficulties of an Act of Parliament are conveniently placed in comparative obscurity. Our compromising friend would argue in this way: "The poor and plain man would naturally have a difficulty in finding a second wife, but his deceased wife's sister, having regard to her little nephews and nieces, and being, perhaps, somewhat accustomed to the tiresome ways of the man, may kindly put up with him as a husband."

I have chosen a rather strange and ludicrous mode of compromise, which only serves to illustrate how difficult, to my mind, any compromise at all would be in this matter.

The compromise is, however, proposed; and some kindly souls might say: "Let us take any compromise we can get in this matter. We shall be doing something at least for the poor and plain men." If, however, your convictions, reader, are as strong as mine upon this matter, you could

not listen to any compromise, but must insist upon a total maintenance or a total abrogation of the present law.

Again, speaking generally, your convictions as regards any question submitted to you may not be so clear and strong as to render you absolutely adverse to any compromise relating to it alone, as you might say. But remember that no large questions, and indeed very few questions of any kind, are of an isolated nature. Even if you are willing to abandon principle in the particular case, you have deeply to consider whether you could prudently and rightly do so, bearing in mind other questions which are of a kindred nature, and

which demand the application of the same principles as those upon which your convictions in this matter are based.

If you give way here, you may find hereafter that you are subject to a surprise upon your opinions in relation to these kindred subjects. In short, there is nothing which requires more to be considered in making any compromise than whether it is final in its nature, and what concessions in the future are, logically at least involved in your present compromise.

Those compromises alone are perfectly safe which have no continuity of compromise involved in them.

Cornhill Magazine.

A GIANT PLANET.

This

DURING the present month (May) an evening star, which some may mistake for the planet of love, will adorn the western skies for several hours after sunset. orb is not, however, the true Hesperus, nor does it shine with equal lustre. It is the noble planet Jupiter, the giant of the solar system, itself the centre of a system of orbs whose movements, under the mighty influence of their ruling centre, resemble in regularity the motions of the planets round the sun. We propose to give a brief sketch of what is known respecting this planet, the only member of the solar system, or rather of the better known part of that scheme,-which chances, at the present time, to be well placed for observation. Much has been discovered during the last few years,―nay, even during the last few months,-to render such a sketch interesting.

We must, in the first place, dispossess ourselves of the notion, not uncommonly entertained, that Jupiter is one of a family of orbs, nearly equal in dignity and importance, and comprising the Earth and Venus, Mars and Mercury, among its members. This idea still prevails, because in our books on astronomy we commonly see a set of concentric circles at regularly increasing distances, assigned as the paths of the several planets of the solar system. And besides, there yet remains in the modern teaching of astronomy a perceptible trace of the ancient astronomical systems, in which Saturn and Jupiter, Mars, Venus,

and Mercury, played parts of equal importance.

Let it be carefully remembered, then, that the four planets which circle nearest to the sun,-the family of which our earth is a member,-differ in all their characteristics from the outer family (also consisting of four planets) to which Jupiter belongs. The whole of the inner family-the whole of the space within which its members travel-could be placed between the paths of Jupiter and his next neighbor Saturn, with a clear space many millions of miles wide on either side. The actual area between the paths of Jupiter and Saturn exceeds nearly thirty times the whole area within which the four lesser planets pursue their paths. And when we consider the dimensions of the four inner planets we find a like disproportion. Four circles representing these orbs can be inclosed within a circle representing Uranus, the smallest of the four outer planets; yet even this circumstance does not adequately represent the enormous disparity between the two families of planets; for, in fact, the volume of Uranus exceeds the combined volume of all the inner planets upwards of thirty times. We might adduce many other illustrations of the complete dissimilarity between the inner and outer families of planets; but what has been already stated will suffice for our present purpose. It will be evident that in considering the members of one or other family, we must be prepared to meet with relations which dif

fer not merely in degree, but in kind. We may thus, at the outset, dismiss from our thoughts the idea that the planet Jupiter is necessarily to be regarded as an inhabited world merely because the only planet we are actually acquainted with is inhabited. The latter circumstance may be an excellent reason for regarding Mars or Venus as the abode of life; but the analogy can no more be extended to Jupiter than to the fixed stars, which certainly are not inhabited worlds. We must, in fact, consider the physical habitudes of Jupiter independently of all conceptions based upon terrestrial analogies. Studied thus, he will be found, as we conceive, to hold a position in the scheme of creation differing considerably from that which has been assigned to him, until of late, in treatises on astronomy.

It is necessary briefly to state the dimensions, mass, and general characteristics of the planet, before proceeding to discuss its probable physical condition.

Jupiter has a diameter exceeding the earth's rather more than ten times, and a volume exceeding hers 1230 times. It is not far from the truth to say that Jupiter's dimensions exceed the earth's in very nearly the same degree that those of the sun exceed Jupiter's. But his mass, though gigantic compared with the earth's, does not altogether correspond to his bulk, for it exceeds the mass of the earth only three hundred times. So that, if the disk our astronomers see and measure, actually represents the true globe of the planet, his substance must be, on the average, much less dense than that of the earth. In fact, while the earth's density is nearly six times as great as that of water, the density of Jupiter (thus judged) would exceed that of water by barely one third. This vast globe rotates in less than ten hours on an axis nearly upright or square to the level in which the planet travels. This rapidity of rotation,-so great that points on the planet's equator travel twenty-seven times as fast as points on the terrestrial equator, -results in a considerable flattening of the planet's globe; insomuch that the polar diameter is less than the equatorial by about a twelfth part, or by fully 7,000 miles. And it may be remarked in passing, that this circumstance—the fact, namely, that the poles of the planet are drawn in, as it were, 3500 miles as compared with the equatorial regions, or 1750 miles as

compared with the mid-latitudes in either hemisphere,-affords a striking illustration of the enormous amount of energy really represented by the rotation of Jupiter. It may also be added that the velocity with which points on Jupiter's equatorial zone are carried round, exceeds the corresponding velocity in the case of all the planets in the solar system, and is nearly six times greater than the equatorial velocity of the sun himself. It amounts, in fact, to about 7 miles per second!

We do not propose to consider here at any length the system of satellites over which Jupiter bears sway; but this preliminary sketch would be incomplete without a few words on the subject. It is worthy of notice that although our earth in some sort resembles the outer planets in being accompanied by a satellite, yet the relation which our moon bears to the earth is altogether different from that which the satellites of the outer planets bear to their respective primaries. Our moon is by no means a minute body by comparison with the earth, and compared with Mars or Mercury she may be regarded as having very respectable dimensions. We may, indeed, look upon the moon as a fifth member of the inner family of planets,—a member inferior to the rest, doubtless, but still not so far inferior to Mercury as Mercury is inferior to the earth. In the case of the outer planets, however, and especially in Jupiter's case, moons hold an utterly subordinate position. Taking the accepted measurements, we find the largest of Jupiter's moons less than the 16,000th part of its primary as respects bulk, while its mass or weight is less than the 11,000th part of Jupiter's. So that these orbs may fairly be regarded as bearing the same relation to their primary that Jupiter himself bears to his primary, the sun. It will be seen presently that this consideration is an important one.

But the great interest of the study of Jupiter resides in the fact that being the nearest of the outer family of planets, the

It is not uncommonly stated in our textbooks of astronomy, that the density of Jupiter's moons is far less than Jupiter's density; and Lardner goes so far as to say that "the density of the matter composing these satellites is much smaller than that of any other body of the system whose density is known." But this is a mistake. All the satellites, save one, are of greater density than Jupiter, and that one-the innermost-is denser than Saturn, Uranus or Neptune.

aspect of his globe supplies the best available means for determining the condition of the giant orbs constituting that family. The first feature which strikes us in the telescopic aspect of the planet is the presence of a series of belts, lying parallel to the planet's equator. Usually the equatorial regions are occupied by a broad bright belt, of a creamy white color, and bordered on the north and south by copper-colored belts. Beyond these, again, lie alternate bright and dark belts, the dark belts growing more and more blueish in hue as the pole is approached, while the poles themselves are usually of a somewhat decided blue color in telescopes adapted to display such features to advantage. There are commonly two dark belts on each hemisphere.

Now, before inquiring into the peculiarities presented by these belts, and into the remarkable changes which have been noted in their general aspect, it may be well for us to consider briefly what such belts seem to imply. That they are due to peculiarities in the planet's atmosphere is admitted on all hands. And it has been usual to compare them with the tradewind zones, and the great equatorial calm zone on our earth. The bright belts, according to this view, are regarded as zones where for the time clouds are prevalent, the dark belts being regions where the comparatively dark hues of the planet's surface are brought to view. And then it has been deemed sufficient to point out, that the parallelism of the zones is due to the extreme rapidity of the planet's rota

tion.

But setting aside the fact that the tradewind zones and the great equatorial calm zone on our earth are, in reality, little better than meteorological myths, it must be regarded as a remarkable fact that, in the case of a planet so far away from the sun as Jupiter is, there should be a supply of clouds so abundant as to form belts discernible from the earth. Jupiter is rather more than five times farther from the sun than the earth is, and receives from him about one twenty-seventh part of the light and heat which falls upon the earth, (equal surface for equal surface.) Making every allowance for the possibility pointed out by Professor Tyndall, that some quality in Jupiter's atmosphere may prevent the solar heat from escaping, and so cause the climate of the planet to be not very differ

ent from the earth's, yet the direct heat falling on the planet's oceans can not be increased in this way-nay, it must be rather diminished. It chances, indeed, that the very quality by which the earth's atmosphere retains the solar heat is unquestionably possessed by Jupiter's atmosphere. When our air is full of aqueous vapor (invisible to the eye) the escape of heat is prevented, as Tyndall has shown, and thus the nights are warmer than where the air is dry. Now in Jupiter's atmosphere there is much water, for observers armed with that wonderful instrument, the spectroscope, have recognized the very same dark bands upon the spectrum of the planet which appear in the solar spectrum when the sun is low down, and therefore shining through the lower and denser atmospheric strata. The spectroscopist knows that these bands are due to the aqueous vapor in the air, because Janssen saw the very same bands when he examined the spectrum of a powerful light shining through tubes filled with steam. So that there is the vapor of water-and that, too, in enormous quantities-in the atmosphere of Jupiter. But though we thus recognize the very quality necessary for an atmosphere which is to retain the solar heat, our difficulty is not a whit lessened; for it is as difficult how to understand how the invisible aqueous vapor finds its way thus into the planet's atmosphere, as to understand how the great cloud-masses are formed.

Aqueous vapor in the atmosphere, whether its presence is rendered sensible to the sight or not, implies the action of heat. Other things being equal, the greater the heat the greater the quantity of watery vapor in the air. In the summer, for instancethough many imagine the contrary-there is much more of such vapor in the air than there is in winter, the greater heat of the air enabling it to keep a greater quantity of the vapor in the invisible form. In winter, clouds are more common, and the air seems moister; yet, in reality, the quantity of aqueous vapor is reduced. Now it can not but be regarded as a remarkable circumstance that, though the sun supplies Jupiter with only one twentyseventh part of the heat which we receive, there should yet be raised from the oceans of Jupiter such masses of clouds as to form veritable zones; and that, moreover, above these clouds there should be so large a

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