progress of humanity, fighting in the cause of the great trinity of the true, the good, and the beautiful.” The work he had composed in four months at Rapallo, _The Wonders of Life_, was issued on his return. It has not had the stormy success of its predecessor. The fact is instructive. This work contains a fuller proof of the chief scientific positions of the _Riddle_. It is, therefore, more technical and more difficult to read. Amongst other matters, it contains a fine summary of those speculations on the mathematical forms of organisms and the idea of individuality of which Professor Bölsche has written so appreciatively. It must be recognised that Haeckel has fulfilled a duty in thus providing the general reader with a fuller biological proof of his theses. If that estimable person, the general reader, betrays less eagerness for the fuller proof, we must remember that for ages he has been taught to disregard such a thing as “proof.” It is the general reader that makes Haeckel didactic. It is Haeckel’s opponents who made the general reader. However, the great bulk of _The Wonders of Life_ is true to its title. It is an intensely interesting summary of biological facts. For the rest, if it contains speculations that run beyond the evidence (though based on it) who is better qualified to open up these new paths than men with the enormous range of knowledge that Haeckel has? “I agree with you,” one of the first biologists in England wrote to me recently, “that Haeckel is one of the first living biologists. There are not any others who have the same wide knowledge and experience and consequent ‘point of view.’ He knows his zoology, botany, physiology, and pathology, also geology, and has travelled, and has a keen interest in and knowledge of no small degree of philology, archæology, and ethnography.” Haeckel was in Italy once more in the autumn of 1904, and although he did little quiet travel and no fishing for radiolaria it is probable that no visit to the country ever afforded him such satisfaction. One great shadow lay over the beautiful land and its genial race whenever he visited it—a gross and almost impenetrable superstition. Turn off the great routes of Italy, with their splendid cathedrals, and visit the small towns and villages. See the scum of Naples tearing the clothes from each other to kiss the “blood of St. Januarius.” Peer into the abysses of vice and grossness that are covered effectually by this formal and unlovely practice of religion. Haeckel had seen all that with sad eyes for many a year.