stance with which we are acquainted. The old saying, that "all cats are black in the dark," is really a profound philosophical truth, which is not only true of cats but of the reddest rose that ever grew in a garden, the bluest violet that ever was plucked, the prettiest girl that ever was kissed under the mistletoe. It is a sad thing to think of, that when we put the candle out, and step into bed, we become blacker than the blackest negro that was ever emancipated. But without light there can be no colour, for there is no material, so to speak, from which to manufacture it. White light, as we have said before, is made up of red, blue, and yellow, and it is by the absorption of one or all of these that all tints are formed. The surface of a poppy leaf has the power of absorbing all the blue and a little of the yellow, reflecting the whole of the red and the remainder of the yellow, the mixture of the two forming scarlet. The surface of a marigold acts differently; all the blue is absorbed, as in the case of the poppy, and a good deal of the red with it, leaving just a little to brighten up the yellow which is reflected with it. Some substances, white marble for instance, have no power of splitting the light into colours, absorbing some and reflecting others, but reflect the whole of it in its integrity. Others again, like black velvet, absorb nearly the whole, just reflecting sufficient to enable us to see its surface.
We began this chapter by speculating on the probability of our seeing different colours to our neighbours, and we shall now proceed to show that our speculations in that direction are not so absurd as they appear to be at first sight.
The phenomenon of colour blindness, or the insensibility of the eye to certain colours, has been for many years past a puzzle both to the physiologist and the philosopher. Perhaps the most remarkable case of the
