gift, a conception subsequent to that of property and transfer and wholly inapplicable to the origin of the process of perception. I can perceive no difference at all between the combined action of light, touch, taste, and smell, which makes us aware of an orange, and the combined action of light, touch, and what has been called the muscular sense, which makes us aware of space, nor have I ever been able to see what you add to the assertion that the geometrical amount of space is true by the assertion that its truths are necessary. A necessary truth has always appeared to me to be no more than a common truth encumbered with an unnecessary and almost unmeaning epithet. When it is said that food is necessary to life or an eye to sight I clearly understand what is meant, namely that if a man have no eyes he cannot see, and that if he has no food he cannot live. If all that is meant by a necessary truth is a truth the knowledge of which is necessary to other knowledge, I admit that the truths about space, time, and the categories are necessary truths; but this is not the sense in which the word is used by Mr. Max Müller. If I understand him aright he means by a necessary truth a truth of which the negation is inconceivable.12

This appears to me to be open to an objection which may be thrown into many forms and illustrated in many different ways, but which can be very shortly stated. It makes mankind judges not only of what is, but of what might have been, and thus appears to me to exaggerate the human powers. If we ascribe the origin of space to God, how can we possibly say what God could have done? If we do not see our way to ascribing it to anything or anybody, what more can we possibly say of it than that it is? The proposition 'Whatever is is' is useless. The proposition 'Whatever is' (except A, B, C, and D) might have been something else appears to me to be doubtful in the extreme, incapable of being proved, and highly objectionable because it affords to uncandid persons an opportunity to dispense with the proof that common and popular opinions are true by calling them necessary truths' which require no proof.13 There is one more of Mr. Max Müller's utterances about Kant

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12 Dr Whewell's real position was that an à priori, or better a necessary, truth is a proposition the negation of which is not only false but inconceivable' (p. 585). This position Mr. Max Müller appears to accept. He gives a more elaborate account of the matter (pp. 597-601) which is not so shortly summed up, but which appears to me to involve Dr. Whewell's principle.

13 The late Professor Clifford denied the absolute truth of geometry, with unquestionable sincerity, but on grounds which I do not pretend to explain. I think he held that space had a definite shape, such as not to admit of the existence of ideally straight lines. Whether he thought there was any place where space stopped, and how, if he did, he conceived of it, I do not pretend to know, but it is easy to imagine a limit beyond which there was no object capable of being perceived, no light, no electricity, no air. Between such a space and no space at all (for space is known to us only by its contents) I do not profess to distinguish, neither does Mr. Max Müller, though on grounds from which I think I differ (see pp. 614, 615).

914

on which I will say a word. Some expressions in the Science of Thought seem to show that in one cardinal point Mr. Max Müller differs from him, I think rightly. According to him, one great object of Kant's Critique is to solve the problem approached by Locke, Hume, and Berkeley, and, as he considered, not solved by them, of the nature of human knowledge, or, what was to him much the same, of reason, pure and simple.' With this solution, Mr. Max Müller professes himself to be perfectly satisfied, and yet he uses language which to me at least conveys the impression that he differs from it in an essential particular. Kant, he says, admitted that the raw material of our sensations and thoughts is given to us from without, not from within." He maintained in consequence that our sensations must have a substantial cause which was from without, in the shape of substances of which our sensations are supposed to tell us the attributes.' In a word he held with what is sometimes called common sense,' against Berkeley, and in order to do so he appealed to what he called transcendental considerations, that is to say, considerations which, though made manifest by and in sensation, are independent of and antecedent to it. This view seems to me to involve the admission that a necessary truth may assert contradictory nonsense, for to assert that sensation is the foundation of all thought, and that our sensations necessitate us to believe that they are caused by a thing,' of which they tell us absolutely nothing, seems to me contradictory, while the expressions substance' and the like appear to me either to be nonsense, sounds without meaning, or at least to be the names of things which do not exist invented in order to satisfy the imagination-in Mr. Max Müller's phrase, if they are not nonsense they are mere mythology.

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I think that Mr. Max Müller ought to agree in this, for the following reason. He says (p. 133) that Kant was much more successful against Locke and Hume than against Berkeley.'

This must be a delicate way of saying that Kant was successful against Locke and Hume and not against Berkeley, for the sort of contest in which they were engaged is one in which there are no degrees in success and no medium between success and failure.

Again he says (p. 448), 'We cannot enter here on the question whether there is such a thing as a substance different from its attributes. Language does not take cognisance of these refinements, but follows the vulgus;' and after a reference to Berkeley he proceeds: Philosophically there is much to be said for this,' &c. This is a similar admission.

Again, his remarks on 'fundamental metaphor' (pp. 327, 495, &c.) do not exactly say, but distinctly suggest, that as we attribute unity to external objects by thinking of them more or less as living, so

14 P. 132.

we attribute substance to groups of sensations—I will call them percepts as a little peace-offering-merely for our own convenience.

In a word, I suspect Mr. Max Müller of being a Berkeleyan, like myself, on this particular matter.15

(To be concluded.)

J. F. STEPHEN.

15 The word substance' seems to me to have two meanings: (1) Anything regarded as independent of other things (and as capable of being touched). (2) The parts of anything which are important for the purpose for which it is used or applied as distinguished from what is immaterial' (a most expressive word), as when we speak of the substance' of a book or of an argument; so you might speak of a German mark as being substantially equal in value to an English shilling, because the difference in small sums is unimportant, being a fraction of a farthing, the price of 13 grain of silver.

ONE DAY'S SPORT IN INDIA.

NOT in the feverish jungles of the Terai or the Central Provinces, not in the hot and steamy lowlands of Bengal, but on the grassy and undulating slopes of the Nilgiris, at an elevation of eight thousand feet in a climate where, if you toil all day and get nothing, you may yet say at nightfall, Appone lucro, 'I have lived to-day.' It is commonly believed, I think, that only in the hottest weather, in the hottest places in India, can you see a tiger and have a fair chance of making a bag including the royal animal and other heads of big game. In fact it is the case that almost everywhere the pursuit of big game and of health are incompatible, and that the one is generally obtained at the expense of the other. Hence I think a brief account of one day's sport in a locality where you can pursue both may not be without interest.

In the last days of 1887, or of any other year, there should be a bright warm sun all day and a mean temperature of 60° on the Nilgiri Hills, distant about forty miles from the western and 250 miles from the eastern coast, and accessible from both sides by rail to within forty-five miles of the place where I was shooting, at which an excellent bungalow awaits the traveller, in the charge of an ancient Hindulady; who, like Catullus,' bids you sup well, if you bring with you your salt, wine, and supper.

However, the climate is of that variable character dear to the Atlantic islander before he took to wintering at Cannes, and during the whole of my stay of one week rain fell at intervals, sun shone now and again, and thick clouds settled over grass and forest, and shrouded the heights where the ibex live in impenetrable gloom. You could only wait till the clouds rolled by, and as they did they disclosed bare hillside or thick forest and a gleam of wintry sun.

On the morning of one of the last days of the year I sent a shikari to carry my rifle, and another to carry my gun, a few miles on ahead, up a steep ascent whence on the other side grassy plains

descend sometimes abruptly, and sometimes gradually, to the ordinary level of the hills, i.e. some seven thousand feet above the sea. I must pause to explain and to admire the Hindustani word shikárí, which has no English equivalent. It means a hunter in the sense in which we use the word, in the sense in which our American cousins use it, in the sense in which a Red Indian is called a hunter, and in any other sense connected directly or indirectly with guns or horses, shooting or riding, or sport in any shape or form whatsoever. Ere long a cloud settled down upon the hillside, and I had to dismount and lead my pony, who took the opportunity to seize me by the shoulder and shake it as a dog does a rat. Strange horses in India are not to be trusted. I could not find the men with the guns. Driving rain soon wetted me through: I could not see my hand in front of me, and it was impossible not to think regretfully of a warm fire which in the morning the best of companions had blown into a blaze through the barrels of his gun, and at which he had toasted the bread for breakfast with the help of a special arrangement of forks made to screw into his cleaning rod. It is astonishing what a useful domestic utensil a gun can be turned into by a resourceful sports

man.

Little by little, as the lifting cloud allowed, I crept along the hillside, in some fear of the cliffs in front and in much more of the pony behind. At last a junction was effected with the rest of my party, and then all three cowered on the hillside, in thick cloud and occasional rain, for two hours by the clock. At last in despair a move was made to pastures new and situated lower down, where haply it might be finer, and on the way little brakes were passed where on previous days jungle fowl and woodcock had been bagged, and swamps which can be counted on to provide a snipe or two for the larder. The weather not improving, we sat down by the side of a deserted mund, or wicker oven-like house, in which the mysterious inhabitants of these hills make their dwelling-places, and there we proceeded to derive cold comfort from pieces of cold meat and draughts of cold water.

It was but little encouragement to see on the soft bare ground around the deserted dwelling the marks of two or more tigers, who had obviously been fighting or playing at our luncheon ground not many hours before. It will happen so often to everyone who goes out shooting to see the tracks of big beasts that he never sees in the flesh, that he grows to look upon them as rather matter of aggravation than promise of success. During another half-mile walk a hare was kicked up within a little covert, and then suddenly the cloud lifted, revealing a long silent valley down which flowed a river that fertilises fields upon fields of rice in the low country before it is lost in the distant Bay of Bengal.

In every fold of the valley nestle compact and self-contained