Henceforward, then, instead of saying that a man is hard up, let us say that his organisation is at a low ebb, or, if we wish him well, let us hope that he will grow plenty of limbs. It must be remembered that we are dealing with physical organisations only. We do not say that the thousand-horse man is better than a one-horse man, we only say that he is more highly organised and should be recognised as being so by the scientific leaders of the period. A man’s will, truth, endurance, are part of him also, and may, as in the case of the late Mr. Cobden, have in themselves a power equivalent to all the horse-power which they can influence; but were we to go into this part of the question we should never have done, and we are compelled reluctantly to leave our dream in its present fragmentary condition. A Note on “The Tempest” Act III, Scene I _The following brief essay was contributed by Butler to a small miscellany entitled_ LITERARY FOUNDLINGS: VERSE AND PROSE, COLLECTED IN CANTERBURY, N.Z., _which was published at Christ Church on the occasion of a bazaar held there in March_, 1864, _in aid of the funds of the Christ Church Orphan Asylum_, _and offered for sale during the progress of the bazaar_. _The miscellany consisted entirely of the productions of Canterbury writers_, _and among the contributors were Dean Jacobs_, _Canon Cottrell_, _and James Edward FitzGerald_, _the founder of the_ PRESS. WHEN Prince Ferdinand was wrecked on the island Miranda was fifteen years old. We can hardly suppose that she had ever seen Ariel, and Caliban was a detestable object whom her father took good care to keep as much out of her way as possible. Caliban was like the man cook on a back-country run. “’Tis a villain, sir,” says Miranda. “I do not love to look on.” “But as ’tis,” returns Prospero, “we cannot miss him; he does make our fire, fetch in our wood, and serve in offices that profit us.” Hands were scarce, and Prospero was obliged to put up with Caliban in spite of the many drawbacks with which his services were attended; in fact, no one on the island could have liked him, for Ariel owed him a grudge on the score of the cruelty with which he had been treated by Sycorax, and we have already heard what Miranda and Prospero had to say about him. He may therefore pass for nobody. Prospero was an old man, or at any rate in all probability some forty years of age; therefore it is no wonder that when Miranda saw Prince Ferdinand she should have fallen violently in love with him. “Nothing ill,” according to her view, “could dwell in such a temple—if the ill Spirit have so fair an house, good things will strive to dwell with ’t.” A very natural sentiment for a girl in Miranda’s circumstances, but nevertheless one which betrayed a charming inexperience of the ways of the world and of the real value of good looks. What surprises us, however, is this, namely the remarkable celerity with which Miranda in a few hours became so thoroughly wide