emphasis and position of illative particles, adverbs, and qualifying or limiting terms, are too frequent. There is space for but one trifling illustration. Hartmann (I., 238) says, in a certain connection, that a brief consideration of creative phantasy, and hence of phantasy or imagination generally (der Phantasie oder Einbildungskraft überhaupt), seems indispensable. In the translation (I., 275) this is rendered: "A short consideration of the creative fancy, and consequently of fancy or imagination, seems in general indispensable." But it is time to turn from the translation to the work itself, and to give the reader the few hints for its intelligent comprehension that may be compressed into this brief space. occur to us which no association of ideas seems to explain; we are elated or depressed in mood without knowing why. To fill these gaps, we assume intermediate links of thought and feeling which do not fall within the series of consciousness, and to obtain positive evidence for them we resort to the other or physical series. Following the analogies of relation between known conscious states and physical conditions, the physiologist tells us that the despondent mood may be caused by the incubation of a disease in the system-the sudden flash of thought may be struck out from a number of unconscious ideas corresponding to a fevered state of the brain. The only object of all this is to enable us to predict and deal with the states of the conscious series by observation of physical facts. To interpolate unconscious ideas as correlative of the physical series, is to employ a purely imaginary if convenient formula. As a formula, however, it has proved very useful. The most convenient way of stating the relations and analogies between many physiological facts not obviously connected with our conscious ideas and other facts that are so connected, is to declare them the correlates of unconscious ideas or volitions. Beginning with the human brain, this method descends to the reflex actions of lower nerve centers, and to the involuntary functions of animal and vegetative life. Thence the transition to animals is easy. The instincts. of the higher animals, exaggerated by scientific credulity, afford abundant opportunity for the interpolation of unconscious ideas between conscious states whose causal connection is not clear; the divisible vitality of some lower forms of animal existence seems to prove that the consciousness or unconsciousness of its feel An unconscious idea is, as Locke's good sense pointed out, a contradiction in terms. His own consciousness is for every man the Protagorean measure of all things, and the language we employ can have no meaning for us except in terms of consciousness. When we speak of When we speak of unconscious ideas, the real facts involved are certain contingencies, or certain modifications of ourselves more or less probable and thinkable, which we believe would involve the interpolation in the series that makes up consciousness of other ideas than those we actually have. But, unless they actually are so interpolated, they have no psychologic reality whatsoever, except as conscious ideas about possible ideas. It has often been pointed out, however, that enlargements of the use of received terminology, even to the extent of apparent self-contradiction, are justifiable in proportion as they provide useful formulas, or enable us to detect and classify valuable analogies. Addition to the ordinary consciousness implies increase, and an addition that diminishes would seem to be a contradiction in terms. In algebra, how-ings is a mere accident in the life of an aniever, it is often found convenient to speak of adding minus ten rather than of subtracting ten. The term "multiplication" has been given a similar paradoxical extension of meaning in the new mathematical doctrine of quaternions. It is in this way that the formula "unconscious idea" has justified itself to some extent by its convenience in physiological psychology. Man presents himself under two aspects a series of states of consciousness and a series of grouped physical states. These two series, Taine, assuming their perfect parallelism in every member, compares to a text and its translation. The object of the physiological and psychological sciences is to read consecutively both texts, supplying the blurred, indistinct passages of each by means of the other. Now the series of conscious states presents gaps and breaches of causal continuity which no ingenuity of psychologic analysis has been able to bridge. Thoughts mal. The two parts of a divided Australian ant, it is said, immediately engage in a death struggle, and the animal seems to have acquired two consciousnesses. The method shows itself of equally wide application in the domains of psychology, history and sociology. Sir William Hamilton, whose priority is insufficiently recognized by Hartmann, employs unconscious ideas, or, as he prefers to phrase it, unconscious mental modification, to explain latent memory, subtle association of ideas, and acquired dexterities and habits. Hartmann, however, after ample illustration of this phase of the question, passes on to the larger life of communities and of mankind, and whenever the actions of one, or the combined action of a number, issue in results not contemplated by the individual, whether in sexual love, in the formation of languages, or in the historical movements of nations, he declares the result achieved to have been willed in advance by an unconscious volition, and represented by an unconscious idea. Such is the fundamental conception which had deeply impressed itself upon the mind of Von Hartmann, when, at the age of twentyseven, he published his work; and his great but sole merit is that he popularized this idea and illustrated it by a wide if somewhat superficial array of facts from the desmesnes of physiology, psychology, and the historic and aesthetic sciences. Had Hartmann contented himself with this, he would have been known as an estimable and suggestive writer in certain de. partments of psychology and physiology. He, however, worked his idea up into a colossal metaphysical system, manufactured out of Kant, Hegel, and Schopenhauer, and set off by a ridiculous parody of the Schopenhauerian pessimism, and awoke one morning to find himself famous. Taking the negative concept, the Unconscious, abstracted from all these analogies, he erected it into an Absolute answering to Kant's Ding an sich, Spinoza's Substance, Schopenhauer's Will, and, for that matter, to Herbert Spencer's Unknowable, or to any other abstraction positive or negative that the philosophers have chosen to set up as a symbol for things in general. This "reality" he put through all the evolutions that no self-respecting German Absolute can be without. Being a large-minded eclectic, however, he was determined to conciliate all opposing tendencies, and to omit nothing suggested by previous philosophers. Since Kant, the Germans had been busy trying to attach knowable attributes to Kant's Unknowable Ding an sich. Fichte called it the Me, Schelling the identity of Subject and Object, Schopenhauer the Will, Hegel the Absolute Idea which goes into otherness and returns upon itself. Starting from Schopenhauer, Hartmann found it easy to work these all in. Schopenhauer, with what significance it is not necessary to explain here, had pronounced the essential identity of the forces of nature and our own Will as revealed to us in pleasure and pain. Upon this, Hartmann argues that, just as every conscious volition is accompanied by a conscious idea of the thing willed, so, when we extend the analogy of will to other forces, we must couple with it the unconscious idea. If the gravitating stone is drawn to the earth by its desire, it must be guided by an idea of the exact spot it wishes to strike. Literally, and against Schopenhauer, this argument holds good; but the enlargement of neither term is valid literally, and the justification of the extension is the use made of it. That use in Schopenhauer, in spite of some errors, is fundamentally sound; in Hartmann, essentially misleading and sophistical. The path of scientific progress, as Lange has well stated, lies in the assumption of the perfect parallelism of the mental and physical series, in the assumption that every psychical event, whatever its inherent substantial nature, is theoretically capable of being formulated in terms of definitely picturable physical conditions. Now, had Hartmann merely insisted that by extending the analogies of consciousness we may regard every physical state in the universe as on its obverse side an indissoluble union of a definite unconscious volition with a definite unconscious idea, he would have been indulging in a very harmless amusement. But in his eagerness to dower his Unconscious with the Hegelian logic as well as with the Schopenhauerian force and feeling, he has repeatedly separated his unconscious ideas, purposes, and designs, from all relation to definite members of the physical series, and either left them in a state of aimless pervasion, like disembodied ghosts, or gathered them all up together in a ubiquitous Unconscious that serves as a Deus ex machina to explain everything, from cockand-bull stories about animal instinct to "telepathy" and kinds of "gain giving" that would puzzle a woman. The worst of it is that he attempts to support this method by a ridiculous bit of mathematical charlatanry, wherein, after positing a finite number of physical conditions instead of an infinite one, and after assuming that these conditions do not explain the phenomenon to be accounted for, he makes a show of estimating by the calculus of probabilities how far short the explanation comes on certain further quantitative assumptions. On this topic, Lange has said the last word. When the South Sea Islanders are puzzled by something not dreamed of in their philosophy, they vociferate vigorously "Devil, Devil." The Unconscious is Hartmann's "Devil, Devil.” 66 In conclusion a word must be said about the evolutions of Hartmann's Absolute, and about the famous or infamous pessimism. The world must be essentially evil, as in Schopenhauer, and must be the product of a deeply laid logical plot, as in Hegel. A designing Unconscious must have a design. The awful poet of Mr. Edgar Fawcett's "Rutherford" startles us with the scheme of a grotesquely blasphemous poem on the theme, God has committed suicide." This is just what Hartmann's God the Unconscious Universe proposes to do with the aid of civilized man, or whatsoever higher product the ons may evolve. Hartmann destroys all the poetic beauty of Schopenhauer's magnificent statements of the spirit of ascetic pessimism, based on the essential negativity and hollowness of all human desire and delight, and substitutes a demonstration of his own, consisting of a pedantic enumeration of all the ills that flesh is heir to and of all the depravi ties of inanimate objects. From these evils there is no escape for the Unconscious and its conscious manifestations until the latter have come, with Artemas Ward's Jefferson Davis, to a realizing sense of the fact that it would have been ten dollars in their pockets if they had never been born. The development of this conviction is the object of the process of the suns. When the thoughts of men shall have been widened to perceive "dass alles was entsteht ist werth dass es zu Grunde geht," when the populous and highly developed civilizations of this or some other planet shall have accumulated in themselves a preponderant majority of the will and intelligence of the universe, they will take counsel together, and, communicating by telephone, telegraphy, or telepathy, will at a given instant suddenly decree the destruction of this universe by nitro-glycerine, vril, esoteric Buddhist will-power, or whatsoever engine more dire still science may then have placed in their hands. Like Omar Khayyám and his love, they are to "grasp this sorry scheme of things entire," and "shatter it to bits." Since, like Samson, they will be involved in the ruin they have wrought, they will presumably be unable to "re-mould it nearer to the heart's desire." In the meantime, as Benedict saith, "the world must be peopled." Pending the arrival of the cosmic hari-kari, the pessimist will marry, bring up a family of children, and do all in his power by energetic living to help on the process. This may be a very sensible conclusion, but there is certainly some lack of intellectual seriousness in a mind that can assign such reasons for it. Nevertheless, I would not take leave of Hartmann with a sneer. Compared with the poetry of a great creative system like Schopenhauer's Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, born of the travail and anguish of a mighty spirit, this philosophy of the Unconscious seems indeed a sorry if ingenious piece of patchwork. But in itself the book is replete with interesting information, and as an instructive repertory of German thought on a variety of topics, is perhaps of even more value to the English reader than to the German, who can more readily consult its authorities. PAUL SHOREY. MELVILLE'S STORY OF THE "LENA DELTA." * If there is anywhere a feeling that the race is degenerating; that there are no more heroes *IN THE LENA DELTA. A narrative of the search for LieutCommander DeLong and his companions. Followed by an account of the Greely Relief Expedition, and a Proposed Method of reaching the North Pole. By George W. Melville, Chief Engineer, U. S. N. Edited by Melville Philips. With Maps and Illustrations. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Company. in the world; that the deeds of Theseus and Hercules are a baseless legend; that prodigies of valor, of endurance, of painful, protracted, unboastful, sublime achievement, are impossible to this cultivated, emasculated age, let the story of George W. Melville's exploits "In the Lena Delta" be perused. It will still every complaint that culture is enfeebling mankind, and transform fears of the influence of science and independent inquiry into a stirring enthusiasm for the gallant, unflinching, unselfish, unending sacrifices of which the men of to-day are capable in advancing the various grand causes that promise to serve humanity. Mr. Melville has made no bid for approbation in the recital of his adventures. It is as concise, unpretending and manly a narrative as was ever rehearsed by the actor in a great and harrowing tragedy. Without an effort to magnify his part in the enterprise, or to enlist personal sympathy, with even a playful, humorous tossing off of some of the most distressing incidents, he rehearses the scenes through which he and his brave comrades passed in the doomed voyage of the "Jeannette," and the subsequent search in the Siberian wilderness. It is an unparalleled chapter in the history of Polar exploration, depicting incredible trials of hardship and suffering in strong and graphic language. The account of the voyage of the "Jeannette" to the Arctic sea, and of its helpless drifting in the ice for twenty-two months prior to its final destruction, is condensed into a few pages, the record assuming completeness where at the separation of the three boats in the storm of September 12, 1881, Mr. Melville becomes the only authoritative narrator of the concluding tale. Yet the first swift sketch abounds in terse passages which spread the whole story of peril and suffering vividly be fore the reader. What a picture of pain nobly borne is dashed off in these brief lines referring, after the loss of the "Jeannette," to the laborious hauling of the boats and sleds over the ice on the road to the open sea, amid slush and wet up to the knees : "As far as our moccasins were concerned, there was not a man in the working force at the end of the first three weeks who wore a tight pair on his feet. Travelling in summer-time through the water and wet snow, the raw-hide softens to the consistency of fresh tripe, and then-what with hands on the drag-rope and the slipping of feet on the pointed ice-moccasins are soon gone. Many, many times after a day's march have I seen no less than six of my men standing with their bare feet on the ice, having worn off the very soles of their stockings. Many were the devices to which we resorted in order to keep our feet from off the ice. At first we made soles by sewing patch upon patch of 'oog-joog." Then we tried the leather of the oarlooms, but it was too slippery, as was also the sheetrubber, which some of the men had thrown away. We used canvas; sewed our knapsack-straps into little patches for our heels and the balls of our feet; platted rope-yarns, hemp, and manilla into a similar protec tion, with soles of wood; and platted whole mats the shape of our feet. A large number marched with their toes protruding through their moccasins; some with the uppers' full of holes, out of which the water and slush spurted at every step. Yet no one murmured so long as his feet were clear of the ice, and I have here to say that no ship's company ever endured such severe toil with such little complaint. Another crew, perhaps, may be found to do as well; but better-never!" The passage across the open sea from the ice fields to the first possible landing in the Lena delta, occupied five days, during which the men in Mr. Melville's boat, cramped in the confined space, were exposed to the fury of a terrible storm and an incessant drenching by the waves. They were destitute of fresh water and had a scanty allowance of food. At last they moored the boat in a little cove, and, diseinbarking, attempted to stretch their limbs. "I say attempted," writes Mr. Melville, "for most of us were powerless to control them. As for feeling in feet and legs, we had none; and my fingers could not perceive the difference in size between a rope and a needle." Taking possession of a vacant hut, they crowded around the quickly-kindled fire, and were happy, despite the chinks in the tumble-down walls which were a scarcely better protection than "a rail fence." Then the wrecked party talked of the perils of the past and the terrors of the future, until the torturing pains in frozen hands, feet and legs made rest intolerable. Mr. Melville writes: 66 “Our legs, upon examination, presented a terribly swollen appearance, being frozen from the knees down; and those places where they had previously been so frozen and puffed as to burst such moccasins as were not already in tatters, or force the seams into gaps corresponding to the cracks in our bleeding hands and feet, were now in a frightful condition. The blisters and sores had run together, and our flesh become as sodden and spongy to the touch as though we were afflicted with the scurvy. To move caused us the most excrutiating agony. Packed closely together in the hut, crippled, and nearly blinded by the smoke, it was no wonder that in staggering about we trod unintentionally upon each other's feet. I had removed my moccasins, and one of the men, in re-entering, planted his whole weight upon my left foot; the skin gave way from the ankle down, and shot my friend (or enemy for the time being) off to one side, like a ship slipped from its greased launching way." The record is one long chronicle of similar miseries, borne apparently without a murmur or a groan. After the landing described above, weeks ensued of helpless detention in this frozen, pathless wilderness. The thin, worn clothing of the men, their terrible privation of food and necessaries of every sort, the condition of their frozen limbs which compelled them often to crawl on their hands and knees, and the terrible inclemency of the weather, rendered futile all efforts of succor for themselves or of On search for survivors of the "Jeannette.” receipt of the first clue to the fate of Captain De Long, Mr. Melville started to fight his way to the spot where his commander was last heard from. It was the 30th of October, and the plight in which the resolute leader set out on the blind expedition is thus described : "I took with me the remains of what clothing I had saved from the retreat, consisting of the shreds of an undershirt and pair of drawers which had done duty since June; a pair of thin cassimere trousers which I had not only used for months after leaving the ship, but had also worn in China during my cruise previous to joining the 'Jeannette,' and the legs of which were now lopped off below the knees to furnish material for patching and quilting that portion of a man's nether garment soonest inclined to decay; footless stockings, seal-skin moccasins, a blue flannel shirt which I had worn for a year, and my old seal-skin coat, shrunk, shriveled, full of holes and devoid of lining. These with a fur cap and a pair of canvas mittens completed my costume." His rations comprised "perhaps five pounds of bread, some tea, a pound of pemmican," and a lot of frozen fish. The thermometer ranged from 10° to 20° below zero, and his first journey was to extend over several days. He Many of the experiences which Melville went through during that appalling winter make even the reader shrink. How mortal man could endure the strain is a surprise. braved every hardship: remorseless weather, frozen members, sleepless nights, laborious days, the pangs of hunger, the life of a savage in a Siberian desert, often alone and unsupported save by his indomitable spirit, and never pausing until the remains of Captain De Long and his party were recovered. Melville's companions nobly supported their part of the ordeal, and everywhere he testifies generously to their high-hearted conduct; but as the leader of a desperate enterprise, work and responsibility devolved on him which could not be shared. It is not my purpose to follow the narrative of Mr. Melville. I aim merely to give some glimpses of his severe trials and unyielding fortitude. The nights which he passed encamped in the snow were accompanied by incidents such as here described : "For an hour or two we slept fairly well, but long before daylight we were so chilled that, for my part, felt as though I could never stretch myself again. Indeed, as was often my experience, when I first lay down I was very cold, but with my blood flowing freely and the heat of my body confined within the bag, I soon became quite warm and comfortable, save at the feet, where, to be sure, I never succeeded in inducing much heat. And so in a little while, overcome by the genial glow of my body, I fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of long, weary marches; and as the snow sifted into the rents of my old battered sleeping-bag and thawed upon my neck or face, I brushed it off as though troubled by a persistent mosquito. But in the course of five or six hours, when camping thus, the limbs of the sleeper begin to cramp, his body is chilled, the snow has drifted up the sleeves and around the collar of his jacket, he grows restless, and finally awakes with a jump as though branded with a hot iron. For the snow has melted under his jacket, the bag and body are about freezing, the wet sleeve has indeed frozen fast to his bare wrists, and in his haste to remove the burning jacket from his irritated flesh, he tears off the blistered skin, leaving a raw spot to scab and fester and fill up with reindeer 'feathers' (hairs)." Mr. Melville returned from the disastrous expedition of the "Jeannette" in the autumn of 1882. The history he has here published of the events in which he was the chief figure, was in progress during the opening months of the present year, but the final chapters were written on board the "Thetis," for the daring explorer had again volunteered to encounter the dangers of an Arctic voyage. This time his mission was the relief of the party under Lieutenant Greely, which proved to be as ill fated as the one with whose fortunes he had so lately been identified. An account of the Greely Relief Expedition is appropriately annexed by him to the sorrowful tale of the "Jeannette," and adds one more story of brilliant enterprise and tragic defeat out. to the annals of scientific and nautical investigation in the frozen seas. Still not content with his arduous experiences in Arctic exploration, Mr. Melville proposes a new plan for reaching the north pole which he believes to be feasible and which he is determined to carry There will very probably be found the men and means for equipping the desired expedition, for the craving to wrest the last secrets from the possession of nature is insatiate in the human heart. No man is better fitted to conduct explorations in the northern zone than Chief Engineer Melville; and though we may deprecate the suffering and loss of life they entail, such voyages are not an utter waste so long as they leave behind records of a dauntless, deathless valor, that exalts our whole race. SARA A. HUBBARD. CAPTAIN BOURKE'S NARRATIVE OF THE MOQUIS INDIANS.* It is a matter of congratulation, in the scientific study of primitive institutions, that the "Village Indians" of New Mexico and Arizona have remained to this day comparatively untouched by the disintegrating influences of *THE SNAKE-DANCE OF THE MOQUIS OF ARIZONA: Being a Narrative of a Journey from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to the Villages of the Moquis Indians of Arizona. With a description of this peculiar People, and especially of the revolting religious rite, the Snake-Dance; to which is added a brief dissertation upon Serpent-Worship in general, with an account of the TabletDance of the Pueblo of Santo Domingo, New Mexico, etc. By John G. Bourke, Captain Third U. S. Cavalry. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. civilization, and are now essentially the same that they were when Coronado first made them familiar with the faces of white men. A unique phase of civilization is to be studied here, and we cannot be too thankful for the deserts, the rugged mountains, the barren plains, the frontier wilderness, that have preserved it for us. It is a piece of good fortune, too, that, just at the time that these secluded tribes were made accessible, before the scramble of emigration could begin, there should be found just the right men to undertake their study, and that these competent students should be backed by a sufficiency of means and by well-administered organizations. Even Mr. Bandelier and Mr. Cushing would have been unable to accomplish so brilliant results but for the aid of the Smithsonian Institution, the American Institute of Archæology, and the Peabody Museum. Never was money better invested and more judiciously expended in the endowment of research. Captain Bourke has shown himself a worthy coadjutor of these able investigators; he, too, being backed by a powerful and well administered organization, the United States army for the army is very potent upon the frontier, and it appears more than once that his success in seeing things that no white man ever saw before was due to the belief that he was sent by the Great Father at Washington (see especially pages 182-183). He has written a book of remarkable interest, as well as value. He has not Mr. Cushing's picturesque style, nor Mr. Bandelier's profound scholarship; but he has excellent powers of observation, enjoyed exceptional opportunities, and tells his story with animation and humor. We have called this a unique phase of society. It is, in truth, a melancholy remains of a very remarkable civilization, which extended from Arizona to Peru, and which elsewhere was ruthlessly trampled out by the savage bigotry of the Spanish conquerors. Of course there are other parts of the world which are in this same "Middle Status of Barbarism," as Mr. Morgan calls it. But, in the first place, all other communities of this class have been so long exposed to the influences of civilization that they have moved much further from purity of type than is the case with the Village Indishows, the western continent presents a remarkans; and, in the next place, as Mr. Morgan able divergence from the eastern at just this point of social progress, owing to the possession of maize, a cereal much better adapted than any other to promote rapid progress in civilization. While, therefore, the nations of the eastern continent at this stage became herdsmen and nomads-through their possession of the animals best adapted for domestication -the natives of Central America be came |