to the minds of most; and, however well such a theory may lend itself to mathematical treatment and its consequences be borne out by experiment, we still feel that we have not solved the problem until we have traced out the hidden mechanism. The pull of the bell-rope is followed by the tinkling of the distant bell, but the young philosopher is not satisfied with such knowledge, but must learn "what is the particular go of that." This universal desire found its exponent in Faraday, whose imagination beheld "lines" or "tubes of force" connecting every body with every other body on which it acted. To his mind these lines or tubes had just as real an existence as the bell-wire, and were far better adapted to their special purposes. Maxwell, as we have seen, not only showed that Faraday's system admitted of the same rigorous mathematical treatment as the older theory, and stood the test as well, but he gave reality to Faraday's views by picturing a mechanism capable of doing all that Faraday required of it, and of transmitting light as well. Thus the problem of electric, magnetic, and electro-magnetic actions was reduced to that of strains and stresses in a medium the constitution of which was pictured to the imagination. Were this theory verified, we might say that we know at least as much about these actions as we know about the transmission of pressure or tension through a solid. With regard to the _nature_ of electricity, it must be admitted that our knowledge is chiefly negative; but, before deploring this, it is worth while to inquire what we mean by saying that we know what a thing is. A definition describes a thing in terms of other things simpler, or more familiar to us, than itself. If, for instance, we say that heat is a form of energy, we know at once its relationship to matter and to motion, and are content; we have described the constitution of heat in terms of simpler things, which are more familiar to us, and of which we _think_ we know the nature. But if we ask what _matter_ is, we are unable to define it in terms of anything simpler than itself, and can only trust to daily experience to teach us more and more of its properties; unless, indeed, we accept the theory of the vortex atoms of Thomson and Helmholtz. This theory, which has recently been considerably extended by Professor J. J. Thomson, the present occupier of Clerk Maxwell's chair in the University of Cambridge, supposes the existence of a perfect fluid, filling all space, in which minute whirlpools, or vortices, which in a perfect fluid can be created or destroyed only by superhuman agency, form material atoms. These are _atoms_, that is to say, they defy any attempts to sever them, not because they are infinitely hard, but because they have an infinite capacity for _wriggling_, and thus avoid direct contact with any other atoms that come in their way. Perhaps a theory of electricity consistent with this theory of matter may be