on another he is stirred by the scorn in the "Anger of the
Bronze," or by the hate in "Napoleon III. after Sedan":

_Cet homme a pour prison l'ignominic immense,
On pouvait le tuer, mais on fut sans clemence._

The city whose praise Victor Hugo never tires of sounding, and that has
adored and lampooned him for almost half a century, breaks out in a
prolonged concord of eulogy for these old-age strains, which recall no
little of the force, fire, and finish of twenty, forty years ago. Well
may the Parisians laud this man of mingled ruggedness and delicacy,
whose imagination has not yet lost its boldness with age, nor the heart
its warmth--the bard, in mockery of whom, nevertheless, they were lately
repeating with gusto the comical parody of a local wit:

_Oh, huho, Hugo! ou huchera-t-on ton nom
Justice encore rendue que ne t'a-t-on?
Et quand sera-ce qu'au corps qu' Academique on nomme,
Grimperas-tu de roc en roc, rare homme?_

EVOLUTIONARY HINTS FOR NOVELISTS.

We have Sheridan's authority that an oyster may be crossed in love--in
fact, Miss Zimmern has written a story about an oyster that actually was
a prey to the tender passion; we have Shakespeare's authority that a
hind will die of it, if she unfortunately seeks to be mated with a lion;
while it is a regular thing in the land of the cypress and myrtle (if
Lord Byron can be trusted) for the rage of the vulture to madden to
crime.

Still it was reserved for Darwin himself to give the great modern cue
to novelists in their study of human nature, by his "Descent of Man,"
where he says that "injurious characters tend to reappear through
reversion, such as blackness in sheep; and with mankind some of the
worst dispositions which occasionally without any assignable cause make
their reappearance in families, _may perhaps he reversions to a savage
state_ from which we are not removed by many generations. _This view
seems recognized in the common expression that such men are the 'black
sheep of the family.'_"

Now, whatever we may think of the odd logic of this passage, it clearly
stakes out a ground and preempts a claim for evolution as applied to
romantic literature. None of us could really blame the modern lover if,
in making a woful ballad to his mistress's eyebrow, he should slyly but
anxiously examine whether that eyebrow contained "a few hairs larger
than the rest, corresponding to the vibrissae of the lower animals." This
does occur