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[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL

OF

POPULAR

LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.

Fourth Series

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.


NO. 691.      SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1877.      PRICE 1½_d._]




NAMES.


There might be much amusement in tracing the origin of family names.
Long ago--say about six or seven hundred years since--there were no
family names at all. People had Christian names and nothing more, and
of course there was often considerable difficulty in distinguishing
individuals. Such at present is the case in Turkey, where the old
eastern practice of using but a single name continues to be followed.
Surnames were not introduced into England until after the Conquest.
The fashion of using two names came to us from France, but for a time
was confined to families of distinction, and extended slowly over the
country. One thing is said to have promoted its use. Young ladies of
aspiring tastes declined to marry gentlemen who had only a Christian
name, such as John or Thomas, for they would necessarily have still
to be called by their own name, Mary, Elizabeth, or whatever it was.
Spinsters accordingly thought it to be a grand thing to form an
alliance with a person possessing the distinction of a family name, by
which they should ever after be called.

Curiously enough, so difficult is it to alter old usages, that until
very lately surnames were scarcely used among the humbler classes
of people in some parts of Great Britain remote from centres of
civilisation. In these places, a creditor would enter the name of
his debtor in his books as John the son of Thomas, just as you see
genealogies in the Old Testament. Only now, from improved communication
with the outer world, have practices of this kind gone out of use.
We can easily understand how the names ending in _son_, as Johnson,
Thomson, Manson (abbreviation of Magnusson), originated; and it is
equally easy to conjecture how names from professions, such as Smith,
Miller, or Cooper came into existence. It is equally obvious that
many family names are derived from the nature of the complexion of
individuals, as Black, Brown, and White.

At first sight, there is a mystery as regards the different ways in
which certain names are spelled. Smith is sometimes written Smyth;
and in some instances Brown has an _e_ at the end of it. We see the
name Reid spelled as Reade, Reed, and Rede. We see Long, Lang, and
Laing, all variations of one name. The same thing can be said of
Strong, Strang, and Strange; of Little and Liddle; of Home and Hume;
of Chambers and Chalmers; and so on with a host of surnames in daily
use. The mystery which hangs over various spellings is cleared up on a
consideration of the indifferent scholarship which prevailed until even
the middle of the eighteenth century. Names in old legal documents and
in the inscriptions on the blank leaves of family Bibles, are written
in all sorts of ways. A man seldom wrote his name twice in succession
the same way. Each member of a family followed the spelling suggested
by his own fancy, and added to or altered letters in his name with
perfect indifference. Eccentricities of this kind are still far from
uncommon in the signatures of imperfectly educated persons. There is,
in fact, a constant growth of new names, springing from ignorance and
carelessness, though also in some cases from a sense of refinement.

Perhaps there is a still more vigorous growth of names from foundlings.
Driven to their wits' end to invent names for the anonymous infants
thrown on their bounty, parish authorities are apt to cut the matter
short by conferring names that are suggested by the localities where
the poor children were picked up. A child found at a door will be
called Door, and so on with Street, Place, Steps, Basket, Turnstyle,
or anything else. Hundreds of droll names are said to have begun in
this way. Possibly it was from such origin as this that a respectable
citizen of Dublin, mentioned by Cosmo Innes in his small book on
Surnames, derived the name of Halfpenny. Mr Halfpenny, it is stated,
'throve in trade, and his children prevailed on him in his latter
years to change the name which they thought undignified; and this he
did chiefly by dropping the last letter. He died and was buried as Mr
Halpen. The fortune of the family did not recede, and the son of our
citizen thought proper to renounce retail dealing, and at the same
time looked about for a euphonious change of name. He made no scruple
of dropping the unnecessary _h_; and that being done, it was easy to
go into the Celtic rage, which Sir Walter Scott and the _Lady of the
Lake_ had just raised to a great height; and he who had run the streets
as little Kenny Halfpenny came out at the levées of the day as Kenneth
MacAlpin, the descendant of a hundred kings.'

The assumed name of MacAlpin brings us to the whole order of Macs, now
spread out in all directions. Mac is the Gaelic equivalent for son,
and accordingly Mr MacAlpin would in an English dress be Mr Alpinson.
There happen to be two distinct classes of Macs, those with a Highland
origin, such as Mackay, Macpherson, Macgregor, Macneil, Macfarlane,
Macleod, and Macdonald--all great clans in the olden time; and the Macs
of Galloway, where Gaelic is now extinct, and the races are somewhat
different from the Highland septs--perhaps with a little Manx and Irish
blood in them. Among the Galloway Macs are found the names Maclumpha,
Macletchie, and MacCandlish, which evidently do not sound with the true
Highland ring. The Irish have likewise their form of expression for
son. They use the single letter O, as O'Connell and O'Donell. The O,
however, signifies grandson, as it continues to do in the old Lowland
vernacular in Scotland, where an aged woman in humble life may be heard
saying of her grandchild, 'That is my O.' Prefixes or terminations for
son are common among names in every civilised country in Europe.

As is well known, the Norman Conquest gave a new character to English
names. From that time many of the most notable of our surnames are to
be dated, not only in England, where the Conquest made itself cruelly
felt, but in Scotland, where families of Norman origin gradually
effected a settlement by invitation and otherwise. Names traceable
to the Norman families are very commonly derived from heritable
possessions, and till this day bear a certain aristocratic air, though
altered in various ways. Doubtless in the lists of those 'who came over
with the Conqueror,' there are innumerable shams; but there are also
descendants of veritable invaders. We might, for example, instance the
late Sir Francis Burdett (father of the Baroness Burdett Coutts), who
traced his origin by a clear genealogical line to Hugh de Burdett, one
of the Norman soldiers who fought at Hastings in 1066. That gives a
pretty considerable antiquity to an existing family without change of
name. On the Scottish side of the Border, we could point to a family,
Horsbrugh of that Ilk, as being not less than eight hundred years old,
and always occupying the same lands and possessions. Wallace, Bruce,
Dundas, Fraser, Stewart, or to use its French form Stuart, are also
Scottish surnames of great antiquity. To these we might add two names
now ennobled, the Scotts, Dukes of Buccleuch, and the Kers, Dukes of
Roxburghe. We find these various names meandering through history for
six or seven hundred years.

On the original names borne by noted Norman families in England and
Scotland, time has effected conspicuous changes. The prefix _de_, which
was once held in high esteem, has been generally dropped. There has
likewise, in various cases, been what might be called a vulgarising of
the names. De Vesci is transformed into Veitch, De l'Isle into Lyle,
and De Vere into Weir. Through various changes De Montalt has become
Mowat, De Montfitchet sinks into Mushet, De Moravie into Murray, and
Grossetête into Grosart. We cannot speak with too much contempt of
the mythic fables invented to explain the origin of the names Forbes,
Guthrie, Dalyell, Douglas, Naesmyth, and Napier--grand old names, which
existed ages before the imaginary incidents that have been clumsily
assigned as their commencement.

Any one disposed to investigate the historical origin of British
surnames, would find not a little to amuse and instruct by making a
leisurely survey along the east coast from Shetland to the English
Channel. Every here and there he would alight upon patches of
population, whose descent from Norwegians, Danes, Jutes, Angles, and
other continental settlers in early times would be unmistakingly
revealed in their surnames, the colour of their eyes, their complexion,
and in their spoken dialect--the very pronunciation of certain letters;
for the lapse of centuries and innumerable vicissitudes have failed to
obliterate the normal peculiarities of their origin. Strange, indeed,
is the persistency of race. We have heard it stated as a curious
and little known fact, that on the west coast of Scotland there are
families descended from the wrecked crews of the Spanish Armada,
who scrambled ashore now nearly three hundred years ago. Herein, as
we imagine, lies a mine of ethnographic lore, which in the cause of
science and history would be not unworthy of exploration. A stretch
within the Scottish Border would likewise not be unproductive. On the
eastern and middle marches will still be found the descendants of the
Eliots and Armstrongs who are renowned in the _Border Minstrelsy_ of
Scott; the Grahams in the Debatable Land; and on the west the Johnstons
(with their cognisance of the winged spur), the Jardines, and the
Maxwells. Are not these living memorials demonstrative of the truth of
history and tradition?

The surnames common to Great Britain and Ireland received an immense
accession by those religious persecutions in Flanders in the
sixteenth, and in France in the seventeenth century, by which hosts
of intelligent and industrious foreigners were forced to flee for
their lives. The prodigious immigration from this cause, and to which
has to be attributed much of our manufacturing prosperity, has seldom
been seriously thought of. A painstaking account of this interesting
invasion of Flemish and French artisans has lately been written by Mr
Smiles,[1] which may be advantageously consulted on the subject. We
do not go into the religious part of the question, further than to say
that the expulsion of so many skilled labourers in the useful arts was
a terrible blunder, which we can imagine has been long since repented
of. Our concern being principally with the names of the refugees, we
shall run over a few items, taking Mr Smiles as our authority. Speaking
of the lace-manufacturing towns in the west of England, which had been
enriched by the ingenuity of Flemish settlers, he says: 'Such names
as Raymond, Spiller, Brock, Stocker, Groot, Rochett, and Kettel are
still common; and the same trades have been continued in some of their
families for generations.' Some Walloon refugees, cloth-makers, named
Goupés, settled in Wiltshire three hundred years ago, and there their
descendants are still, but with the name changed to Guppys. From the
De Grotes, or Groots, a Netherlandish family, sprung the late George
Grote, the eminent historian of Greece. The Houblons, who gave the Bank
of England its first governor, the Van Sittarts, Jansens, Courtens, Van
Milderts, Deckers, Hostes, and Tyssens, were all descendants of Flemish
refugees. 'Among artists, architects, and engineers of Flemish descent,
we find,' says our author, 'Grinling Gibbons, the wood-sculptor; Mark
Gerard, the portrait-painter; Sir John Vanbrugh, the architect and
play-writer; Richard Cosway, the miniature-painter; and Vermuyden and
Westerdyke, the engineers employed to reclaim the drained land of the
Fens. The Tradescants, the celebrated antiquarians, were of the same
origin.'

Driven from the Netherlands by the intolerant policy of the Spanish
authorities, who had possession of the country in 1555, the Flemish
refugees with their descendants had been residing in England for
several generations, when there occurred a fresh accession of
immigrants on the score of religion. These were the families who, under
prodigious difficulties, felt themselves obliged to flee from France in
consequence of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. in
1685. These unhappy people escaping across the Channel in open boats,
or anyhow, arrived on the coast of England and Ireland to the number
of fifty thousand. They brought no money with them; but animated by
an immense spirit of industry and independence, their presence was
more valuable than untold gold. Settling in London and other quarters,
there are till this day innumerable traces of their names in the
general population. We might instance the names Baringer, Fourdrinier,
Poupart, Fonblanque, Delaine, Payne, Paget, Lefanu, La Touche, Layard,
Maturin, Roget, D'Olier, Martineau, Romilly, Saurin, Barbauld,
Labouchere, and Garrick, whose real name was Garrigue--all of Huguenot
origin. The names of French refugees who introduced silk-weaving into
England are now to be seen in Spitalfields, where also a few of their
mulberry trees still survive. The town of Portarlington, in Ireland,
was entirely peopled by French exiles, and continues to bear traces
of the original names. We are informed that a taste for cultivating
flowers was spread through a number of the English towns by the French
refugees. Silks, ribbons, lace, gloves, hats, glass, clocks, watches,
telescopes (by Dollond), and paper were among the manufactures which
they introduced. By the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, France
appears to have lost all its hatters. Previously, England imported hats
from France, but now the French had to import all their hats, at least
those of a finer kind, from England.

The original French names were not always preserved by the refugees
and their descendants. Becoming Anglicised, their names in several
instances assumed an English form, which was not always an improvement.
Mr Smiles gives us some examples: 'L'Oiseau became Bird; Le Jeune,
Young; Du Bois, Wood; Le Blanc, White; Le Noir, Black; Le Maur, Brown;
Le Roy, King; Lacroix, Cross; Tonnelier, Cooper; Le Maitre, Masters;
Dulau, Waters; Sauvage, Savage and Wild. Some of the Lefevres changed
their name to the English equivalent of Smith, as was the case with the
ancestor of Sir Culling Eardley Smith, Bart., a French refugee whose
original name was Lefevre. Many names were strangely altered in their
conversion from French into English. Jolifemme was freely translated
into Pretyman; Momerie became Mummery, a common name at Dover; and
Planche became Plank, of which there are still instances at Canterbury
and Southampton. At Oxford, the name of Williamise was traced back
to Villebois; Taillebois became Talboys; Le Coq, Laycock; Bouchier,
Butcher or Boxer; Boyer, Bower; Bois, Boys; Mesurier, Measure; Mahieu,
Mayhew; Drouet, Drewitt; D'Aeth, Death; D'Orleans, Dorling; De Preux,
Diprose; De Moulins, Mullins; Pelletier, Pelter; Huyghens, Huggens or
Higgins; and Beaufoy, Boffy.' Some other conversions are mentioned,
such as Letellier into Taylor; De Laine into Dillon; Dieudoun into
Dudney; Renalls into Reynolds; Saveroy into Savery; and Levereau into
Lever. While such havoc has been played in England with French names,
a similar change, though on a less extensive scale, has been made on
English and Scotch names in France--witness only Colbert, a minister of
Louis XIV., descended from a Scotsman named Cuthbert; and Le Brun, an
eminent artist, sprung from plain Mr Brown.

When William Prince of Orange arrived in England in 1688, he brought
with him a number of trusty Dutchmen, who in civil and military life
so distinguished themselves as to rise to eminence. Among these were
William Bentinck, created Earl of Portland, whose son was raised to
a dukedom; General Ginkell, who fought manfully at the Boyne, was
created Earl of Athlone; and Arnold-Joost Van Keppel, was created Earl
of Albemarle, whose descendant now enjoys the title. With George I.
there began a number of German names which are now lost in the general
population. Far greater additions, however, have been made by the
progress of industrial settlement within the last fifty years.

A good feature in the more intelligent classes in England is, that
entertaining no grudge at the immigration of foreigners who desire to
pursue an honest calling, they receive them hospitably, and willingly
hail them as naturalised subjects; for them and their descendants are
indeed opened up according to merit the higher offices in the state.
As a token of this liberality of dealing, we have only to glance
over street directories and see the vast number of names of persons
of German, Dutch, French, Swiss, Greek, and Italian origin. We could
specify many estimable persons of these nationalities. But the topic
would branch out sufficiently to fill a volume; and the more it is
investigated the clearer is the view to be obtained of the manifold
changes that have taken place in the tastes and conditions of society.
Thanking Mr Smiles in the meantime for the ingenious contribution to
the history of surnames, to which we have called attention, the subject
is little more than touched on, and we should like to see it treated if
possible in a thoroughly comprehensive spirit.

    W. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _The Huguenots: their Settlements, Churches, and Industries in
England and Ireland._ By Samuel Smiles. New and Revised Edition.
Murray, London, 1876.




THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.

CHAPTER XV.--ROBERT WENTWORTH'S NEWS.


'Do you really think that I ought not to tell Arthur yet, Mary?'
whispered Lilian to me later in the day, when she was about to
accompany her lover into the garden.

'I should certainly advise you not to do so until we know whether or
not the discovery is of any importance,' I replied in the same tone.

'I would so much prefer telling him,' she murmured anxiously.

'I can understand that, dear Lilian.'

'And still you think it best not to tell him?'

'I am only afraid that he might not hold the same views as you do
yourself upon the point; and it would only lead to painful discussion,
which it is as well to avoid; at anyrate, until you know for certain
whether the document is genuine or not.'

Her respect for my opinion proved to be stronger than her respect for
his; perhaps because I tried to appeal to her reason as well as to her
feelings, and she did _not_ tell him.

The next day passed, and the next, slowly enough to me, in the
miserable state of uncertainty I was in, no sign being made by Robert
Wentworth. But when another day went by, and then another, the truth
began to dawn upon me. He had gone to Scotland to make inquiries on the
spot, which proved that what he had learned from Mrs Pratt rendered it
necessary so to do; and that everything now depended upon the validity
of Mr Farrar's marriage with Marian's mother. Then I saw that it was
not right to allow Lilian to go on without some sort of preparation for
the blow, which might fall at any moment. It was now my duty to prepare
her in some degree for what she had not the slightest suspicion of. If
Robert Wentworth's inquiries had brought out the fact that Marian's
mother died before Lilian's was married to Mr Farrar, there would not
have been the slightest necessity for the journey to Scotland; and
his setting forth without delay shewed me that he had grave grounds
for believing the document to be a legal one. It was evident that
everything now depended upon the legality of that marriage.

'Well, Mary, what is it? news--good news?' asked Lilian, as she entered
my room. I had sent a message begging her to come to me after dinner,
knowing we should be secure from intrusion there.

'Dear Lilian, what would you consider to be good news?'

'The legality of the marriage being proved, of course,' she answered
promptly.

'I have no news, dear Lilian; but--I want to talk the matter over with
you a little. I am beginning to get very anxious about not hearing from
Mr Wentworth. He must have seen the necessity for going to Scotland;
and if the marriage is proved to be a _bonâ fide_ one, I fear'----

'What do you fear, Mary?'

'Dear Lilian, I foresee something which it is extremely painful to
think of--something which has not, I think, occurred to you.'

'What is that?' she asked wonderingly.

'I do not like to even suggest it, because all may yet be well. Still
it is my duty to warn you that there may be a consequence which you
have not anticipated with reference to the'---- Some one was tapping at
the door, which I had locked, and on opening it, I saw Becky.

'Mr Wentworth has just come, and he wishes to see you by yourself,
please, Miss.'

'Where is he, Becky?'

'In the drawing-room, Miss; and I'll see that nobody shall disturb
you,' mysteriously whispered Becky, who had, I suppose, received a hint
from him that he desired to see me privately.

'Say that I will come immediately;' adding to Lilian, as I hurriedly
made my way towards the door again: 'Will you wait for me here a few
minutes, Lilian?'

But I had said enough to arouse her fears, though she was still in
ignorance as to the cause, and she gravely replied: 'No, Mary; I will
go with you. I know now that you are trying to spare me in some way----
O Mary! why do you look at me like that?--I _will_ go with you and hear
the worst!'

Well I knew that he would be as careful in telling her as I could
be. And if there was indeed bad news, I should be very glad of his
assistance in breaking it to her. We went down together; and one glance
at his face, as we entered the room, warned me to expect the worst.
His grave words, 'I wished to see you alone for a few moments, Miss
Haddon,' confirmed my fears.

'I wished to come--I would come, Mr Wentworth,' said Lilian, slipping
her hand into mine; 'and you must please to let me stay, if what
you have to say concerns me. You have come to tell us what you have
ascertained about the paper I found; have you not?'

I put my arm round her, with a look towards him. She looked from one to
the other of us in some surprise.

'Yes,' he hesitatingly replied; 'I have been to Scotland.'

'Then why do you look at me like that? Why are you both so strange?
Mary, _you_ ought to know there is nothing I should be more rejoiced to
hear than that the marriage was a legal one.'

'It is not that, Lilian.--I have guessed aright; you have been proving
the genuineness of the marriage during your absence; have you not, Mr
Wentworth?' I asked.

'I grieve to say that there was no difficulty in proving it, Miss
Haddon.'

'Grieve! grieve!--when it proves Papa to have acted like an honourable
gentleman, instead of---- O Mary, you too!' turning from him to me,
with a wounded look.

He saw now that the one thing had not yet occurred to her, and turned
silently away. He could not strike the blow.

I drew her to a couch by my side, and said with faltering lips: 'I fear
that it has not occurred to you that, though it might be better for
Marian that her mother's marriage should be proved, it would be worse
for you.'

'Worse for me? Is it possible that you can for one moment be thinking
about the money? Can you suppose that my father's good name is not more
to me than such'----

'Dear Lilian, I was not thinking about the money,' I slowly replied,
with a miserable sickening of the heart as I suddenly realised that the
property also was lost. She would be penniless as well as nameless. I
glanced towards him again. No; there was no hope!

'Then how can it be worse for me? How can it possibly be worse for me
that Papa did right instead of wrong. Please tell me at once what you
mean.'

Alas! the more she dwelt upon the honour, the more she was shewing us
how terribly she would feel the dishonour! My eyes appealed once more
to him for help. But he gravely said: 'Miss Haddon knows what there is
to tell, and it will come best from her.'

So it was left to me. I, who loved her most, had to strike the blow. I
only put one last question to him: 'Is what I most feared realised, Mr
Wentworth?'

He bowed his head in assent, and walked towards the window as I went on:

'Lilian, dear sister--you promised to let me call you that--there _is_
something to be suffered; and though I know you will bear it more
bravely than many would, it will be very hard to bear. In your anxiety
to do justice to Marian, you did not perceive that--it might bring
suffering upon yourself.'

'Doing justice need not bring suffering, Mary.'

'It sometimes may, Lilian. The reward of right doing is not always
reaped at the moment.'

'You are not talking like yourself, Mary. What do you and I care about
getting rewards! Please tell me at once what I have to bear. I know now
that it is something bad; and I know that you are both very sorry for
me.'

'The bad news is the date of Marian's mother's death, Lilian. She died
when you were about two years old.'

She saw; rose to her feet, and stood for a moment with her hands
extended, as though to ward off a blow, and then fell back into my arms.

'Lock the door, please, and help me. She must not be seen by others in
her weakness,' I said, placing her amongst the pillows. 'She will soon
be herself again.' Then I bade him throw open the windows, whilst I
gently fanned her.

In a few moments she opened her eyes, and struggled to her feet.

'Was it a dream--was it?' she ejaculated, looking eagerly into my
face. 'Ah, no!' She was powerless again for a few moments. But she was
gaining strength, and presently insisted upon hearing the whole truth
from Robert Wentworth's own lips.

He saw that it would be more merciful to comply now; and did so
unreservedly. He had been too much interested to leave a stone
unturned, although every step he took more plainly revealed what it was
so painful to discover. He had taken Counsel's advice upon it, and his
own judgment was confirmed: Mr Farrar's marriage with Marian's mother
was a legal one, and Lilian's mother had been no wife in the eye of the
law.

I may as well state here that Mr Farrar received the paper with his
letters to Lucy Reed from Mrs Pratt, after her sister's death, just as
they had been found. I thought that it was not at all probable Marian's
mother had ever realised her position, or she would have taken steps
to secure it. Most probably, Mr Farrar persuaded her that the document
was in some way informal. There is just the possibility that he did not
believe in it himself; and had gone through the ceremony to satisfy
Lucy Reed, whilst she was with him during a tour in Scotland.

Why he did not at once destroy the evidence against himself, when
it came into his possession, since he never could have meant to
acknowledge the marriage, is difficult to understand in a man of Mr
Farrar's calibre--as puzzling as a murderer keeping the evidence of his
crime about him. We only know that such things are not uncommon. It
might have been that Mr Farrar kept the paper to remind him of Marian's
claims upon him, though he never meant them to interfere with Lilian's.
The latter's mother was a gentlewoman, young and beautiful. He had
gratified both love and ambition in marrying her; and after her death,
his love for her child engrossed his whole being. After a few moments'
reflection, I said:

'They will be looking after us presently, Lilian. Would you like Mr
Wentworth to explain to Mr Trafford?'

'Yes,' she whispered; her trembling hands clinging closer about me.
Then, loyal and true to him, she added: 'But remember that I do him the
justice to say that the loss of the---- Only my shame will trouble him.
He has so often wished I had not a penny.'

I could only gather her to my heart, with a look towards him.

His was the hardest task after all! He and I knew that now. He left us
alone; and my Lilian and I tried to find strength for what was to come,
as only such strength can be found. But Lilian would never be the same
again. Her love to her father had been wounded unto death; and I saw
that it was her mother--her cruelly wronged mother--who had all her
sympathy now. I shall never forget the agony expressed in the whispered
words, 'Mother! mother!'

We were not left very long alone. Robert Wentworth could barely have
had time to tell the story, when Arthur Trafford came striding in by
the open window.

'Good heavens, Lilian! what is this?' he ejaculated impetuously;
adding, before she could reply: 'Wentworth tells me that--that you take
this absurd affair seriously!'

'Seriously, Arthur?' she repeated, turning her eyes wonderingly upon
him.

'I mean: he says you mean to act as though that ridiculous paper were
genuine; but surely that is too absurd!'

'Is it not genuine, then?' she eagerly asked, her face for a moment
brightening with hope, as she turned towards me: 'Is there any doubt
about it, Mary?'

'I am sorry to say that I think there is not, Lilian,' I replied;
feeling that it was less cruel to kill her hope at once, than indulge
it. 'Mr Wentworth said he had taken Counsel's advice, you know.'

'Oh, I suppose it may be genuine enough for the kind of thing!' he
said, with an effort to speak lightly. 'But of course, none in their
senses would for a moment dream of acting upon it. At the very best, it
would be only a very doubtful marriage, arranged, I daresay, to satisfy
a not too scrupulous girl's vanity. The thing is done every day; and I
am sure, on reflection, you will not be so Quixotic as to'----

'If the paper is legal, I must do what is right--Arthur,' she murmured
in a low broken tone.

'Do you think it would be right to blacken your mother's good name and
give up the---- All your father wished you to have? The truth is, you
have not reflected upon what your acknowledgment of that paper will
involve, Lilian. You cannot have given any thought to the misery which
would follow. Any _true_ friend of yours would have recommended you to
at once put that paper into the fire.--Is that it?' he added, catching
sight of the paper which Robert Wentworth had put down on the table
before me whilst he was speaking, and which I had neglected to take up.
'Yes, by Jove, and that settles the matter!' catching it up and tearing
it into shreds.--'I am your best friend, Lilian.'

'No, no, no! O Arthur, the shame of it!'

'Do not be distressed, dear Lilian; you forget that is only my copy of
the original,' I said; 'Mr Trafford is spared.'

He tried to laugh. 'Of course I was only in jest, Lilian. But,
seriously now, you should remember that Marian Reed has been brought up
to consider herself what she is. But you---- It cannot be possible that
you would commit an act which would brand your own mother with shame!'
He was quick to see what weapon struck deepest, and did not hesitate to
avail himself of it.

She shrank under his words, with a low cry. Seeing that he was so blind
as to imagine that she would yield through suffering, I sternly said:
'Cannot you see that you are wounding her to no purpose, Mr Trafford?
Lilian will do what she believes to be right, come what may.'

'Not if there is no interference--not if she is allowed to use her own
judgment, Miss Haddon;' turning fiercely upon me. 'Unfortunately, she
has chosen bad advisers!'

'O Arthur!'

'Come out with me, Lilian! I am sure I shall be able to shew you the
folly of this,' he pleaded.

'No, no; I cannot change!--Do not leave me, Mary,' she entreated,
holding fast to me.

'Dear sister,' I whispered, 'I think it will be better for me to leave
you for a few moments. It will be sooner over, and you will find me
in the garden presently.' And gently unclasping her hands, I left her
alone with Arthur Trafford.




UNDERGROUND JERUSALEM.


As is pretty well known, Jerusalem, the City of David, rendered
glorious by the Temple of Solomon, has undergone extraordinary
vicissitudes; has been sacked and burned several times, the last of
its dire misfortunes being its destruction by Titus in the year 70
of our era, when there was a thorough dispersion of the Jewish race.
This ancient city, however, which is invested with so many sacred
memories, always revived somehow after being laid waste, but in a
style very different from the original. As it now stands, Jerusalem
is a comparatively modern town, built out of ruins, and only by
difficult and patient explorations can portions of its ancient remains
be identified. Of the old memorials the most remarkable are those
underground; that is to say, in vaults and obscure places only to be
reached by excavation.

The notification of this fact brings us to a brief but we hope not
uninteresting account of what in very recent times has been done,
and is now doing by the Palestine Exploration Society, by means of
extensive excavations, of which a carefully written description is
given in Captain Warren's _Underground Jerusalem_.

In February 1867, Captain (then Lieutenant) Warren started for
Palestine with three corporals of Engineers, and on the 17th arrived at
Jerusalem after a prosperous and uneventful journey. The city does not
seem to have struck him as being either picturesque or beautiful. 'It
is a city of facts,' he says, 'and but little imagination is required
to describe it.' Yet when viewed from the Mount of Olives, with the
hills of Judah stretching to the south, and the rich valley of the
Jordan glowing like a many-hued gem beneath the vivid sunlight, and
the mountains of Moab cleaving with their purple beauty the soft clear
blue of the Syrian sky, he does not deny to it a certain charm; but his
heart was in his work, and his work lay in the old walls, particularly
those which marked the almost obliterated inclosure of the Temple.

This edifice in the latter days of its glory, after it had been
partially rebuilt by Herod the Great, was a splendid building. To
enable us to realise its gigantic proportions, Captain Warren tells us
that the southern face of the wall is at present nearly the length of
the Crystal Palace, and the height of the transept. The area within
its walls was more extensive than Lincoln's Inn Fields or Grosvenor
Square, and the south wall offered a larger frontage and far greater
height than Chelsea Hospital. It was built of hard white stone, and was
enriched with a variety of coloured marbles, with graceful columns,
with splendid gates overlaid with gold and silver, with gilded roofs,
and with all the gorgeous detail of costly arabesque and carving. So
rich was it in its dazzling magnificence, that it aroused the envy and
cupidity of all the nations around, and finally fell with the city
it adorned before the conquering arms of Titus. The Roman general
tried in vain to save it; fired in the wild fury of the onslaught,
it was consumed to ashes; and its very foundations so obliterated
by the superincumbent rubbish, that for ages its precise site has
been unknown. In fact the only sites in Jerusalem which were known
with absolute certainty were the Mount of Olives and Mount Moriah.
Now, in consequence of the discoveries made during the course of his
excavations, Captain Warren has been able to identify the walls of
the Temple and to make a plan of its courts. He has also found the
spot where the little Hill of Zion formerly stood, the Valley of the
Kidron, and the true position of the Vale of Hinnom; but to accomplish
all this he has had many difficulties to contend with, quite apart
from the necessary labour attending the excavations. The civil and
military pachas did all in their power to hinder him, and would not
allow him to begin to dig at all until a firman from the Sultan arrived
authorising his operations. In the interval of enforced leisure,
before the Vizieral permission arrived, he paid some necessary visits
in Jerusalem, and then made arrangements for a tour in the lonely
wilderness country which stretches to the east of the city.

A camp-life, we are told, is at once the most healthy and the most
enjoyable in the East. In summer, the domed houses of Jerusalem are
intolerable from heat and unpleasant odours; but out on the wide
open upland, with a good horse, galloping along the dewy plains in
the fresh exhilarating morning breeze; or stretched at night on a
carpet of wild-flowers, lazily watching the pitching of the tent; or
following with idle glance the myriads of bright-hued birds that dart
like rainbow-tinted jewels from branch to branch of the fragrant wild
myrtle--there is no land like Palestine for enjoyment. Look where you
will, the view is interesting; that village nestling on the hill-side
is Nain--the Fair; that picturesque rounded hill clothed to the summit
with wood is Tabor; yonder dazzling snow-crowned mountain is Hermon;
and far off in the hollow of the plain, silent and still, you may see
gleaming in the sunshine the sullen waves of that mysterious Sea that
ages ago ingulfed the guilty Cities of the Plain. Around you, too near
sometimes to be pleasant, are the black tents of the Bedouin, true
sons of the desert, whose wild life has a zest unknown to the courts
of kings: greedy of bakshish, arrant thieves, and utterly reckless of
human life, the Bedouins can be very unpleasant neighbours; and Captain
Warren conceived, probably with truth, that the Bedouin encamped near
him had all the will to be troublesome, but fortunately lacked the
power.

Having examined the aqueducts which anciently brought water to the
Pools of Solomon, Captain Warren visited and explored a curious cave at
Khureitûn, or rather a series of four caves opening into each other,
which appeared to him to be the veritable Cave of Adullam, where David
and his band of malcontents found refuge.

Permission from the Grand Vizier having arrived, and the necessary
interview with Izzet Pacha being over, the excavations were at once
begun, and then the magnitude of the proposed operations was for the
first time fully realised by Captain Warren. He had heard vaguely that
modern Jerusalem was built upon sixty feet of rubbish; but he found
that the layers of accumulated debris extended to one hundred and
thirty, and sometimes two hundred feet in depth. For workmen, he had
the peasantry around, who were unaccustomed to the use of the spade
and barrow. They worked only with the mattock, and used rush-baskets
for carrying out the earth. Another obstacle to progress was the want
of wood; not a plank was to be obtained except at a fabulous price. In
spite of all these difficulties, however, he discovered in the first
four months a portion of the ancient city wall; he identified the real
Kidron Valley, which runs into the present one, and is choked up with
rubbish to the depth of one hundred and fifty feet; and ascertained
that the present brook Kidron runs one hundred feet to the east of, and
forty feet above the true bottom of the stream. Thus it would seem that
the desolate inclosures of modern Jerusalem, its paltry and yet crowded
bazaars, and its gloomy narrow streets, entomb with the beauty and
glory and hallowed memories of the past, even those landmarks of nature
which we are accustomed to consider most changeless and imperishable.
Beneath its wastes lie forgotten valleys and hills, streams which have
ceased to flow, and fountains which have long been empty and sealed.

Having obtained the necessary apparatus from England, Captain Warren
sunk shafts into the mounds of ruin near Jericho; but found only a few
jars of ancient pottery, which crumbled into dust whenever they were
exposed to the air.

It was now April, the loveliest month in the Syrian year, and the
valley of the Jordan, which a few more weeks would transform into a
parched brown desert, was in all the flush and glory of its green
luxuriance. The wide plain glowed in the tender flush of the dawn like
one vast emerald, while countless flowers unfolded their dewy petals,
rich with rainbow tints of beauty, as if Iris were about to weave a
gorgeous mantle for the departing summer; while hurrying onward to its
dark mysterious Sea rushed the rapid river, its waters gleaming like
crystal through the flowering branches of oleander which fringed its
banks.

When out on this expedition, Captain Warren made the acquaintance of
the Samaritans at Nâblus, and saw them hold their Passover in front of
their ruined temple on Mount Gerizim. It was a striking scene, such as
the gloomy brush of a Rembrandt might have loved to paint. As night
darkened down over the landscape, it lent to the rugged wildness of the
surrounding scenery a dim indistinctness, which gave vastness to its
savage outlines; while in the foreground, tall ghoul-like figures in
long white robes flitted about from one reeking oven-mouth to another,
watching the sacred Passover lambs as they were in process of being
roasted or rather charred with fire; while the moonlight straggling
through the mist mingled with the smoky glare of the torches, and lit
up from time to time the dark keen wily faces of the worshippers,
crafty and yet fierce, expressive of the mingled courage and guile with
which, although few in number, despised and demoralised, they have yet
held and still hold their own.

The portions of the plain of Jordan at present under cultivation are
very limited, and the crops raised consist of wheat, cucumbers, and
tobacco.

During this tour Captain Warren had for guide or guard a certain Sheik
Salah, who he says 'was really a good fellow; and if he had not talked
so complacently of marrying an English wife, I should have felt quite
friendly to him. This was his hobby. He had a great desire to go to
England for this purpose; evidently supposing that he had only to
appear there to take his choice of the first in the land.'

After three months of wandering through the country, Captain Warren
returned to Jerusalem, to find fresh difficulties staring him in the
face. The Turks did not keep faith with him; and he was obliged to
prosecute the dragoman of the English Consulate, who had imposed upon
him.

On the 10th of September his right-hand man, Sergeant Brattles, was
taken into custody; and concluding, like the Apostle Paul, that he was
a citizen of no mean nation, he refused to walk out of prison, when
asked to do so, until the charges against him were investigated. This
ended in his speedy release; and the works went on, resulting in the
discovery of the gymnasium gardens built by Antiochus Epiphanes, the
pier of the great arch destroyed by Titus, and a very ancient rock
aqueduct, which was found to be cut in two by the wall of Herod's
Temple. An old arch was also discovered, which Captain Warren conceives
to be a portion of a bridge connecting Solomon's palace with the
eastern side of the valley. Extending their researches by means of the
rock-cut aqueduct, they were so fortunate as to find also an old drain,
through which they crawled, and examined the whole wall as far as that
well-known portion of it commonly designated 'The Jews' Wailing-place.'
This aqueduct was so large that a man mounted on horseback might have
ridden through it, and proved of great service to the exploring party
until they found it cut through by the foundations of a house. During
this month also they discovered the great south wall of the Temple. It
has two entrances, known as the Double and Triple Gate; and besides
these a single gate with a pointed arch was discovered leading to the
vaults called Solomon's Stables. These vaults are of comparatively
recent date (of the time of Justinian); but it struck Captain Warren
that this single gate being at a place where the vaults were widest,
was probably over some ancient entrance. He sunk a shaft beside it, and
after much labour succeeded in clearing out an ancient passage lined
with beautifully cut stones, with a groove at the bottom cut for liquid
to flow along. This he concluded was the channel for the blood of the
beasts slain in sacrifice, and he wished to push forward straight to
the altar and ascertain its position, but was forced to desist by the
opposition of the Turks. To this was added money difficulties, from
which he was soon happily relieved, and enabled with a light heart to
begin excavations within the area of the Temple. On the south-west side
there is a double tunnel called the Double Passage, which is one of the
most sacred of the Moslem praying-places. With great difficulty and
only by a ruse, this hallowed spot was at last examined; but nothing of
importance was obtained from it. The same may be said of a remarkable
expedition into a sewer, which was certainly plucky, even heroic, but
barren of any great result.

Aqueducts appear to be the order of the day in underground Jerusalem.
Near a curious double rock-cut pool, which Captain Warren conceives
to be the Pool of Bethesda, a rock-cut passage was noticed by Major
Wilson filled with moist sewage. It was four feet wide, and had five
or six feet of sewage in it when Captain Warren and Sergeant Brattles
examined it. They accomplished their perilous voyage by means of three
doors, taking up the hindmost as they advanced; and being everywhere
obliged to exercise the greatest caution, as a single false step might
have precipitated them into the Stygian stream below, which would
have proved to them a veritable Styx; for once in, nothing could have
rescued them from its slimy abyss. Fortunately, no accident occurred;
but they discovered nothing beyond the fact that it was one of the
aqueducts which had brought water to the Temple from the north.

About this time the Jews began to take a great interest in the
excavations. There are on an average about ten thousand of them in
Jerusalem, gathered out of every nation under heaven; but the bulk
of them are either Ashkenazim (German Jews) or Sephardim (Jews from
Morocco). The Sephardim are a dark robust race, with the traditional
hooked nose of the Jews; the Ashkenazim are more fragile; and their
women are often very beautiful--tall and stately as Sir Walter Scott's
Rebecca, with lustrous almond-shaped eyes, black glossy hair, a
delicate complexion, and a bloom so vivid that it puts to shame the
blush of the damask rose.

It is the custom for all the Jews in Jerusalem to assemble every Friday
at their Place of Wailing, under the west wall of the Temple court,
there to lament aloud the calamities which have befallen their nation.
It is a striking sight to see them at this mournful place of meeting.
Differing in nationality, in dress, in language, in intelligence, in
rank, they are united only by the curse, which has preserved them
through centuries of persecution and exile, a separate and distinct
people among the teeming myriads of the earth. There they lie before
the curious gazer, old men and youth, matron and maid, prone on their
faces on the pavement, or rocking themselves back and forward in
their anguish; while the air resounds with their bitter wailing and
lamentation, on which sometimes breaks harshly the loud laugh of the
careless Frank, or the cold sneer of the haughty Moslem.

In January 1869 Captain Warren received a letter of instructions,
directing him to abandon those portions of the work which did not
promise immediate results. He had discovered in the Temple inclosure
the north wall of Herod's Temple, but found it impossible to follow it
up. He also came upon the old wall of Ophel, a portion of the first
wall of the city. On stones in this wall were found characters which
the most competent judges declared to be Phœnician; and also incised
marks, such as are found on the old walls of Damascus and Baalbec.

About this time Lady Burdett Coutts offered to give twenty-five
thousand pounds to supply Jerusalem with water, of which there is
a great scarcity during the summer season; but the proposal ended
in nothing, because the Turkish authorities shrewdly concluded that
they would have to pay in the long-run for keeping in good order the
aqueducts she restored. The want of water is one of the principal
reasons why Palestine is at the present day so sterile and unhealthy.
And this want of water is (as in other districts where woods are
demolished) caused in a great degree by the destruction of the
forests, and especially of the groves and vineyards which grew on the
terraces along the hill-sides. The system of terracing, according to
Captain Warren, has the effect of retaining the rain, which falls
plentifully at certain seasons of the year, in its natural reservoirs
about the roots of the trees and in the hollows of the rocks, instead
of allowing it to tumble in wild torrents down the bare hill-sides, and
rush headlong to the sea, wasting instead of dispensing all the rich
blessings which water alone can give in a dry and thirsty land.

What is wanted, Captain Warren says, to make Palestine again a rich
and fruitful country, 'is a good government, a large population, an
energetic people, and a sufficient capital.'

Wheat grows luxuriantly in Palestine; and the grapes on the Sandstone
formation are as highly flavoured as those of Muscadel, producing in
the hill country of Lebanon an excellent wine. Very fine raisins are
also dried in the east of Palestine; and the whole country abounds with
sheep, goats, camels, horses, and mules. The mutton of Palestine is
very poor, owing to under-feeding and to the accumulation of the whole
fat of the animal in its enormous tail.

Patches of tobacco are grown; and figs, oranges, lemons, and apricots
flourish when they are carefully tended.

Jerusalem is not entirely without the industrial arts: there are
seven soap factories; and a considerable traffic in grain, which is
altogether in the hands of the Moslems. There are also five potteries,
and many people work as stone-cutters and indigo-dyers.

Captain Warren's last work at Jerusalem was excavating an old wall near
the large reservoir called Birket Israil. Here he came upon a slit
about eighteen inches wide and four inches high, and was naturally very
much excited at something so unusual. At last he was upon the eve of
some great discovery. This small aperture might perhaps give access
to some secret chamber, in which the Ark and utensils hidden from the
plundering Romans had lain undisturbed for ages. Here, favoured by
fortune, he might perchance find the famous golden vine, which once
with its shining clusters twined in gorgeous splendour around the
entrance to the Temple. Vain dream! That rich fruitage was gathered
hundreds of years ago by the hand of some bold legionary. After
infinite trouble, the slit was enlarged so as to give access to the
apartment, or rather passage below; and then Captain Warren found one
of the most frequent facts--'in his city of facts'--an aqueduct!

Much as he has accomplished as the agent of the Palestine Exploration
Society, a great deal yet remains to be done before the Holy City of
the past can be disentombed from her sepulchre of centuries. That the
work interrupted for the present will be continued at some future
time, no one can doubt. Forlorn wasted Jerusalem, although no longer
the prize for which rival races contend, is as truly hallowed still by
solemn recollections to every thoughtful heart, as she was in the days
when mailed Crusader and turbaned Turk fought beneath her walls for the
mastery of the Holy Sepulchre. No spot on earth thrills the stranger
with such mingled emotion as fills the breast of him who, standing on
the Mount of Olives, marks its ancient gnarled trees, and remembers
that there, on the sward beneath their hoary boughs, has echoed and
re-echoed often in the mysterious past the footfall of the Saviour of
the World.




THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN.

IN TWO CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER II.


When Earle arrived at the De Lacys' house next day at eleven o'clock
by appointment, he was shewn into the library, where he found Miss
Stirling alone, busy at needlework. She looked so particularly feminine
both in occupation and expression, that Earle fancied the soft gray
homespun and crimson ribbon more becoming even than her evening attire.
Both were slightly embarrassed as she rose and gave him her hand.

'Where is my sitter?' Earle asked, retaining the slim hand in his a
moment longer than necessary.

'Oh! you might as easily catch quicksilver as Mrs De Lacy,' said
Silvia, smiling. 'She is in and out fifty times an hour. I believe she
went to get ready for you.'

'Meantime, I want to ask you a favour,' Earle said, busy with his
apparatus. 'I want you to be so very good as to let me have a sitting
from _you_ too. I have a board on purpose.'

'But how will you get time?' said Silvia, her colour deepening.

'Oh, I shall have plenty, I fancy, while my legitimate sitter is
running in and out. I will keep one beside the other on the easel.'

'I do not wish it kept secret from her,' said Silvia, with the proud
honesty of her nature.

'Certainly not; but I want to have your face, if you will let me. I
will copy it--for your mother, if I may. Will you give me permission?'

'O yes,' she answered confusedly, 'if you care.'

'I _do_ care,' he said in a low voice; and at that moment the little
lady darted in, the _tête-à-tête_ was broken, and Earle, with a sigh,
resigned himself to his unpalatable task.

He painted as steadily as the volatile nature of his model permitted,
though it is not an easy thing to make a picture, worthy the name,
of a once pretty meaningless face that has lost the charm of youth
without gaining the dignity of matronhood. But he was rewarded for his
penance, for after a while Mrs De Lacy was summoned to some _protégée_;
and then, with a delightful sense of relief, he put the unsatisfactory
labour on one side, and placed instead a clean canvas on the easel.

'Now, Miss Stirling, if you will be so kind, will you take that seat
and reward me for the tedious hour I have passed?'

Silvia complied with his request quietly, without any affectation.

The artist became soon deeply absorbed in trying to produce a faithful
likeness of the face before him. It was not only the shape of the
features, but the expression of the whole, he wished to catch--as much
as it could be caught upon canvas.

'I cannot get the mouth to my mind,' said he, dreamily thinking aloud,
as artists do. 'What gives it at once that expression, sweet, arch,
firm?'

Silvia started up indignantly. 'Mr Earle! if I am to sit here, at least
spare me that sort of remark. Do you think any woman in the world could
sit still and bear to hear her face analysed?'

'Do forgive me,' he cried, really distressed. 'Indeed, I did not mean
to be impertinent, but I feel I was. We get so in the habit of ignoring
the _personality_ of the faces before us, through having those stolid
paid models to paint from. Please look like yourself again, and forgive
me.'

'Well, so I do,' said the 'subject,' with a return of her usual frank
sweetness. 'I daresay you think I ought to have got hardened; but I am
only a woman, after all, you know.'

'You are indeed,' murmured the artist, as he tenderly touched the curve
of the upper lip.

       *       *       *       *       *

So sped the days Earle spent at the De Lacys', the mistress of the
house fondly imagining that he was bent on doing her portrait the
fullest justice. At last Earle could not pretend that Mrs De Lacy's
portrait required many more touches. One day he said sadly enough, as
he and Silvia were alone together: 'It's no use; this must come to an
end. I can't keep up the delusion that I want more sittings; so I must
bring to a close the happiest hours I ever spent in my life.'

'I am going home to-morrow,' Silvia observed, with her eyes down.

'Going home! are you? And you said I might call; do you remember? Will
you ask me again?'

'To be sure you may come; why not?' Miss Stirling answered.

'I will try and look forward to that then, for I do feel dreadfully
down in the mouth, I confess, at having come to the last of these
pleasant hours--pleasant to _me_, I mean. I can't hope _you_ have found
so much to enjoy in them.'

'O yes,' said Silvia, speaking with frank friendliness; 'we have had a
great deal of very interesting talk--when poor Mrs De Lacy was out of
the room,' she added with a mischievous smile.

'It is like you and no other woman I ever knew to say so!' he said
warmly. 'I want to ask you--I know you will tell me exactly the
truth--do you feel now as if I could be a friend of yours?'

'If you care to have a friend in a woman who acts constantly in
opposition to your cherished ideas.'

'I have altered many of my ideas since I knew you,' Earle said gravely;
'many, but not all. Still you are better, even when you are doing what
I disapprove, than any woman I ever knew.'

'I am glad you tell me the truth,' said Silvia. 'It is the best
preparation for friendship. But tell me, what do you disapprove of in
me?'

Her face was so gentle and winning as she spoke that he was on the
point of saying: 'Nothing in the whole world; only be just yourself;'
but Mrs De Lacy came in at that moment, and the words were not spoken.

Wilfred left the house feeling more depressed than there was any reason
for. 'What have I made up my mind to do?' he thought. 'I can no longer
conceal from myself that I love this woman, who is almost the opposite
of all I ever thought to love; and yet I feel a sort of dread in
letting this lead me on. Shall we be happy together if she loves me?
That is the question I cannot answer. I will wait to see her _at home_;
and then, I suppose I must let "the great river bear me to the main,"
and take my chance of happiness with the rest.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs Stirling and three daughters--of whom our friend Silvia was the
eldest--lived in a pleasant terrace about a mile from the De Lacys.
They were well to do, though not rich, and lived a happy busy life;
each having interests both separate and in common. They had many
friends, and it was a pleasant sociable house to visit at. Mrs Stirling
was still young in mind, and entered into all her daughters' pursuits
and interests with active sympathy. One afternoon they were all
together in the drawing-room--except the youngest daughter Marian, who
had a studio near where she painted every day--when a double-knock was
heard; by no means an uncommon sound, and yet somehow, lately, every
knock seemed to startle Silvia and bring rather a vivid colour to her
face. The servant brought in a card inscribed 'Mr Earle;' and that
gentleman followed, with an outward appearance of great coolness, but
some inward trepidation.

'Mother,' said Silvia quietly, rising and giving him a cordial hand,
'this is my friend, Mr Earle, of whom I spoke.'

'We are very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Earle,' said Mrs
Stirling, in the same cordial natural way, making room by the fire.
'Silvia told us what a successful portrait you made of her.'

Earle's glance round the room pleased his fastidious taste thoroughly.
It was emphatically a _lady's_ room, filled with pretty feminine
things; and without being in the least untidy, was evidently a room to
be lived in and to have 'good times,' as Silvia's compatriots say. Mrs
Stirling too, whose tall elegant figure and frank manner were repeated
in her daughter's, was a woman of marked refinement and culture. He
found out this much in five minutes.

They had plenty to say to each other; the Stirlings seemed to read
everything, and to have thought about most things; but there was
nothing in the slightest degree pedantic or 'blue-stocking' in their
talk. So the chat went on merrily--for Wilfred too was a man who could
think--but without much help from Silvia, who was unusually silent. Tea
was brought in presently; and as she took her place at the tray, Earle
found his eyes constantly straying that way and watching her pretty
graceful movements. The mother's keen eyes soon discovered the secret,
and she turned her head to conceal an amused smile.

'I was nearly forgetting one of the objects of my call,' said the
artist, after paying an unconscionably long visit. 'I brought a copy of
Miss Stirling's portrait to offer for your acceptance. Shall I fetch
it? I left it in the hall.'

The picture was brought in; and Mrs Stirling regarded it with exceeding
interest.

'It is indeed beautifully done--beautifully!' she said. 'How Marian
will enjoy it! It is only much too good for me. You have idealised my
Silvia, Mr Earle.'

'Yes; it is shamefully flattered,' said Silvia.

'I don't think so at all!' Earle cried eagerly. 'I am sure it is
not in the very least! One tries always of course to catch the best
expression, the happiest moment.'

'Well, you must have caught it at a _very_ happy moment,' said Mrs
Stirling; and then she was vexed with herself, for she saw that her
daughter was vexed. To change the subject, she observed: 'Silvia is
going to another Suffrage Meeting on Monday, in ----'

This did very effectually change the subject. Earle felt a revulsion of
feeling that was painful to a degree. 'Indeed,' he responded coldly.
'Will you be at home on Sunday?'

This question, uttered under a sudden impulse, took them all by
surprise. He addressed the question directly to Silvia, whose confusion
made her stammer out some half-formed words; but Wilfred was quite
calm and master of the situation. 'I was going to ask--if Mrs Stirling
allows Sunday visitors--if I might call on that day. I particularly
want to see you before you go to ----. May I come on Sunday afternoon?'

Silvia had never before felt so utterly at a loss for a reply; but her
mother came to the rescue with some polite words; and the artist almost
immediately took leave.

'Well, my darling,' said the mother, breaking the pause his departure
left. 'What do you think of all this?'

'Mother,' said Silvia with gentle decision, 'I want to ask you, to
please me, not to allude to this again till after Sunday.'

On Sunday afternoon--a dull, cold, foggy day enough--Wilfred found his
way again to Eaglemore Gardens. His mind was made up; and his handsome
face looked a little set and stern as he paused at the door and asked
quietly this time for _Miss_ Stirling. The American custom seemed to
him at that moment to be a most respectable one. What an amount of
management and finessing it saved, for of course every one knew it was
Silvia, and Silvia only, he wanted to see.

He was shewn into a small study; and in a few moments heard a dress
rustle down the stair and rather a timid touch on the door-handle. As
Silvia came in, Earle's face by the dull light looked to her hard and
strange, which did not tend to quiet her nerves. She was very pale,
and there was an appealing wistfulness in her eyes as she lifted them
to his which went straight to his heart; but he gave no sign. He took
her hand, pressed it, and gently placed her in an armchair, while he
remained standing by the mantelpiece with his head down. Neither had
yet spoken; both felt they were touching upon a period of their lives
with which common forms had nothing to do. Silvia heard her heart
thump, and the clock tick, with painful distinctness: she seemed all
ear. All around seemed oppressive silence. At last Earle broke the
silence: his voice had a deeper tone in it than usual, a resolutely
suppressed passion vibrated in it.

'Silvia,' he said, 'I am going to speak the very truth to you--as
one speaks not often in one's life--you have taken possession of
me--against my will almost--I love you as I never loved woman before--I
scarcely know myself how deeply. Speak the truth to me as I have done
to you. Whether you love me or love me not, I shall never offer to any
living woman what I offer to you, for mine is no boy's love. Speak to
me, Silvia.'

'I _will_ tell you nothing but the truth,' she said, forcing her voice
to be steady. 'I do return your love, I believe I do--though I hardly
seem to have shaped it out to myself yet--but'----

'Yes; there is a "but"--I know it. What is your doubt, Silvia? Do not I
care for you enough?'

'I believe you do,' she answered softly. 'I believe you must love me
very much, because I know it is against your own judgment. But my doubt
is--shall we be happy? I know I am not the woman you would deliberately
choose for a wife.'

Earle half laughed, though he was terribly in earnest. 'What man in
love ever "deliberately chose" a woman for his wife?'

'But should I, could I indeed make you happy?' she said.

'Yes, darling,' he answered, melting into tenderness, and sinking by
her chair. 'If you can love me enough to make some sacrifices for me.'

'I should never hesitate to sacrifice anything but duty to one I love,'
she said, as he drew her to him.

'Ah, but people have mistaken ideas of duty, often! I want you now,
this minute, to give up something I believe you think your duty.'

'What is that?' she asked, drawing away from him.

'I cannot bear to have the woman I love standing up in public to speak
before a crowd of vulgar strangers,' he cried, almost fiercely. 'If you
love me, Silvia, give this up for me!'

'You mean on future occasions, after we are--are'----

'No; I mean now, to-morrow: give up this meeting for me, to-morrow!'

'Impossible! I cannot. They are reckoning upon me, and I have
promised'----

'You could easily excuse yourself.'

'I will make no false excuses,' cried Silvia with warmth. 'I admit
my love for you--but I will never bind myself to what you may choose
to demand. If we married, you might trust me to consider your wishes
before my own, before everything but conscience; but I will not give
way to this exaction--now. I cannot break my promise, and do what I
feel to be wrong and cowardly; no, not to be the happiest woman upon
earth! And do you think a marriage begun like _that_ would be a happy
one? No, no; better be sorry now than then.'

He got up and stood apart from her, gloomily. 'Then you will not? A
woman like you is too advanced for the dear old traditions of love!'

'I will never marry a man who is ashamed of what his wife has done,'
answered Silvia very low, but calmly.

'My old prejudice was a just one, after all,' said he, with a sigh.
'Good-bye.'

'Need we part so bitterly?' she said tremulously. 'May we not even be
friends again?'

'Friends! It is the idlest folly talking of friendship, when one's
heart is on fire with love. I could more easily hate you, Silvia, than
only be your friend! Good-bye. God bless you, though you have tortured
me. God bless you, Silvia.'

In another instant the front-door closed, and Silvia Stirling was alone
with a breaking heart.

True to her word, she determined on going to ---- the next day. She
was looking and feeling wretchedly ill, but she would not give it up,
and only stipulated that none but a maid should go with her to the
station. It was Silvia's way to suffer in silence and alone. She took
her ticket, and sank into a corner of an empty carriage with a heart
aching to positive physical pain. To her annoyance a gentleman followed
her in, and the train moved out of the station. She raised her listless
mournful eyes and saw--Wilfred! She turned so white that he threw
himself beside her, and in an instant had his arm about her.

'Why, why have you come?' she murmured with dry trembling lips. 'Cruel
of you to torture me again!'

'My darling, it is not now to torture you that I have come--only for
this--I can't live without you. I thought I could, but I can't. I have
been so vexed with myself ever since we parted. Do you think you can
forgive me, my sweet! and trust me with yourself after all?'

'Then you will let me--let me'----

'Let you be your own dear self? Yes, Silvia; I ask for nothing better.
As long as we know and trust each other, what does it matter what all
the world says? I _will_ trust you, dear one. Can you trust me?'

For answer, Silvia put up her lips and met his in a first kiss. Nothing
more was needed.

'I am going to shew you,' he said, after a delicious pause, 'that I
can be superior even to my prejudices. I have come to take you to this
meeting, and to steel myself, for your sake, to what I dislike as much
as ever. I could not bear the thought of you alone and sad. I knew you
would be.'

'This shall be the last time I do what you dislike,' she murmured
softly.

'Don't promise anything,' he interrupted. 'I leave you absolutely free.
We will work together and be, as you said, true friends as well as
lovers. Are you happy now?'

The honest tender eyes answered the question for her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some months after, Mr Roberts received the following note from his old
friend Wilfred Earle:

    'DEAR JACK--I want you to come and dine with Benedict the
    married man next Tuesday, and see how happy his "strong-minded
    woman" makes him. You were right, old fellow! The clever women
    _do_ make the best wives after all. That was a blessed day
    for me that I went, under protest, to hear my Silvia "spout
    in public." The spouting days are over now; but I am not
    ashamed of anything she has done or said. You may laugh at
    my inconsistency as much as you like; I can afford to laugh
    too, as I have won something worth winning. Come and judge for
    yourself, and see your old friend in Elysium, and then go and
    do the same thing yourself. I can tell you, my wife knows how
    to welcome my friends; and I hope you will think she makes her
    house and mine a pleasant one. _Au revoir_, Jack; and between
    ourselves--she does not at all object to smoking.

        W. E.'




LIME-JUICE.


The subject of lime-juice has suddenly become one of great public
interest. When the chief outlines of the proceedings and experiences
of the recent Arctic Expedition appeared in print, much surprise and
concern were felt at the sad prostration of so many of the crew by
scurvy, the most terrible of all the diseases of maritime life. A
Committee of experienced men, old Arctic heroes and medical officers,
has been appointed by the Admiralty to investigate the whole subject.
We shall of course abstain from all comment or speculation here as to
the result; but our readers will not be unwilling to learn something
concerning the wonderful effects of _lime-juice_, by contrasting the
state of affairs before and since the introduction of that beverage (or
rather medicament) as a regular item on shipboard.

Scurvy is a disease concerning which medical men are a little divided
in opinion. The relative values of pure air, fresh water, vegetable
food, and general cleanliness have not been precisely ascertained.
The disease sometimes attacks landsmen under varied circumstances.
Martin, who visited the Shetlands early in the last century, found
that the inhabitants suffered much from scurvy, which he attributed
to the too great use of salt fish. Brand, near about the same period,
learned that the Orkney Islanders were often unable to obtain any kind
of bread whatever; as a consequence, this dire disease was rife among
them. In Von Troil's account of Iceland in the same century, he found
that the people lived much upon stale fish, fish livers and roes,
fat and train-oil of whales and seals, and sour milk; their clothes
were often wet, and the poor folks were constantly exposed to all the
hardships of poverty. Such persons supplied the greater number of cases
of scurvy in Iceland; those inhabitants who took less fish, sour whey,
&c., and ate Iceland moss and other vegetables, were less affected. A
singular remedy, or supposed remedy, for those attacked was to bind
earth-worms over the blotches, &c. produced by the disease, renewing
them as fast as they dried up. The Faröe Islanders suffered much from
this affliction at one time; but when the fishing declined and the
people began to grow corn, the general health improved. Coming down to
more recent times, Ireland suffered from scurvy during the famine years
1846-7; potatoes were almost unattainable, and other kinds of food high
in price. Devon and Cornwall were at one time much afflicted in this
way during the winter, the disease disappearing when vegetable food
became abundant and cheap in spring and summer.

Soldiers and besieged cities have suffered terrible ordeals in this
way. When Louis IX. led his crusaders against the Saracens in 1260,
the French were much stricken with scurvy, owing to scarcity of food
and water and the malarious state of the air. At the siege of Breda in
1625, and at that of Thorn in 1703; in the Hungarian campaign of the
Austrians and Turks in 1720; at the siege of Quebec in 1760--the same
calamity had to be borne. Towards the close of the last century, when
Bonaparte crossed the Alps into Italy, his troops suffered greatly from
this infliction. So did the British troops at the Cape in 1836. The
armies on both sides were much afflicted with the malady during the
Crimean War of 1854-5.

But it is in maritime life that this dreadful scourge used to be
most appalling. It carried off more sailors than all other causes
combined--nearly eighty thousand during the Seven Years' War alone.
Salt food, absence of vegetables, foul or deficient water, defective
cleanliness, mental depression, over-fatigue--some or other of these
agencies were always at work. Vasco da Gama had full reason to know the
effects of scurvy on his crew during his voyage to the East in 1497.
Pigafetta, during a voyage near Cape Horn in 1519, was exposed to the
evils of biscuit worm-eaten and reduced to repulsive mouldy dust, and
scarcely any other kind of food; his crew were attacked with scurvy
severely; their gums swelled so as to hide the teeth, and the upper and
lower jaws were so diseased that mastication was nearly impossible.
All our famous old navigators--Drake, Davis, Cavendish, Dampier,
Hawkins--had mournful reason to know how great were the ravages
produced on their crews by this distemper.

Perhaps the most sadly celebrated of all voyages, in regard to this
particular visitation, was that of Captain (afterwards Lord) Anson.
He was placed in command of a squadron bound for the South Seas to
act against French and Spanish vessels and settlements. The narrative
of his voyage was afterwards drawn up from his papers by Mr Walter,
chaplain of the _Centurion_. Setting forth in 1740, his sojourn in
foreign regions was a prolonged one. After the squadron had rounded
Cape Horn and entered the Pacific, scurvy began to make its appearance
among the crews; their long continuance at sea, the fatigues they had
undergone, and various disappointments that had had to be endured,
all contributed to the spread of the disease. There were few on board
the _Centurion_ who were free from its attacks. In the month of April
forty-three men died. Anson hoped that, as they advanced north, the
spread would be checked; but the death-rate was nearly doubled in May.
As the ship did not reach port till the middle of June, and as the
mortality went on increasing, the deaths reached a number exceeding two
hundred; even among the remainder of the crew they could not muster at
last more than six foremast-men in a watch fit for duty. To sum up: in
the first two years of a five years' voyage, Anson lost no less than
two-fifths of the original crew.

Anson's experience shewed that the scurvy was not driven back even when
the conditions might seem to have been moderately favourable. 'It has
been generally assumed that plenty of fresh provisions and water are
effectual preventives. But it happened that in the present instance we
had a considerable stock of fresh provisions on board, such as hogs
and fowls, which were taken in at Paita; besides which we almost every
day caught great abundance of bonitos, dolphins, and albicores. The
unsettled season, which deprived us of the benefit of the trade-wind,
proved extremely rainy; we were enabled to fill up our water-casks
about as fast as they were emptied; and each man had five pints of
water per day. Notwithstanding all this, the sick were not relieved,
nor the spread of the disease retarded. The ventilation too was good,
the decks and cabins well attended to, and ports left open as much as
possible.' Another passage in the narrative tends to shew that the
officers were much impressed with this failure of many preventives
which are usually regarded as very important. 'All I have aimed at is
only to shew that in some instances the cure and prevention of the
disease are alike impossible by any management, or by the application
of any remedies which can be made use of at sea. Indeed I am myself
fully persuaded that when it has once got to a certain head, there are
no other means in nature for relieving the diseased but carrying them
on shore, or at least bringing them into the neighbourhood of land.'

Thus wrote an observant man in the days when the remarkable qualities
of lime-juice were little known. Later in the same century, Captain
Cook, owing either to better management or to being exposed to less
unfavourable circumstances, or to both causes combined, fared better
than Lord Anson. Although he had a little lime-juice, he reserved
that for medical cases. He gave his men sweet malt-wort; another
article administered was sowens, obtained by long steeping oatmeal
in water until the liquid becomes a little sour; and sour-kraut,
consisting of slices of cabbage salted, pressed down, fermented, and
barrelled--without vinegar. Cook lost only one man from scurvy out of
a hundred and eighteen, during voyages that lasted three years, and
in oceans that ranged over so much as a hundred and twenty degrees in
latitude. Quite at the close of the century, Péron during a voyage of
discovery suffered greatly; but everything was against him. Putrefying
meat, worm-eaten biscuit, foul water--all tended to produce such a
state of matters that not a soul on board was exempt from scurvy; only
four, including officers of the watch, were able to remain on deck.
The second surgeon M. Taillefer, behaved heroically. Although himself
affected, he was employed at all hours in attendance on the rest--at
once their physician, comforter, and friend.

And now we come to the subject of lime-juice, a liquid which, on the
concurrent testimony of all competent persons, possesses a remarkable
power, both in preventing attacks of scurvy, and in curing the disease
when the symptoms have already made themselves manifest.

How the discovery arose, no one can now say; probably the fact grew
upon men's attention by degrees, without any special discovery at
any particular date. That vegetables and fruits are acceptable when
scurvy has made its appearance, has been known for centuries past. The
potato, for instance, has often been purposely adopted as an article
of diet in prisons, on the occurrence of this disease, with good
effect--a few pounds of this root being added to the weekly rations.
Countries in which oranges and lemons are abundant and cheap have not
been much affected with the malady. In 1564 a Dutch ship, bringing a
cargo of oranges and lemons from Spain, was attacked with scurvy; the
men were supplied plentifully with the fruit, and recovered. Other
varieties of the same genus, such as the lime, citron, and shaddock,
gradually became recognised as possessing much value in cases of this
malady. In 1636 Mr Woodall, a medical officer in the navy, published
his _Surgeon's Assistant_, in which he dwelt forcibly on the great
importance of employing fruits of this class. He expressed an opinion
that oranges, lemons, and the like, come well to maturity in the
intertropical zone where scurvy is most rife, and in a humble thankful
spirit commented thus on the fact: 'I have often found it true that
where a disease most reigneth, even there God hath appointed the best
remedies for the same, if it be His will they should be discovered and
used.' It was more than a century later that Dr Lind wrote especially
on this subject, emphatically pronouncing that the juice of oranges and
lemons is a better remedy for scurvy than any other known medicament.
Lord Anson's disastrous experience had drawn public attention to the
subject, and more attention was paid to Lind than had been bestowed on
Woodall.

Nevertheless, the eighteenth century nearly closed before the English
government were roused to action in the matter. To Sir Gilbert Blane
is due the honour of inducing the Admiralty to furnish a supply of
lime-juice to all ships of the royal navy, especially those starting
on long voyages. The effect was wonderful. The records of the Royal
Naval Hospital at Haslar, near Gosport, shewed that one thousand four
hundred and fifty-seven cases of scurvy were admitted in 1780, whereas
in 1806 there was only one single case; the introduction of lime-juice
as a regular item in ships' supplies having taken place in the
intervening period. Scurvy became quite a rare disease on shipboard;
and many ships' surgeons are said to have advanced towards middle life
without having seen an instance of it. When Captain Parry organised his
expeditions to the icy regions, he was sedulously attentive to this as
well as to all other matters connected with the health and well-being
of his crews. As he found that some of his men occasionally shirked the
lime-juice given out to them, he adopted the plan of mustering them
every day, and seeing that every one drank off his due allowance.

When the juice has been obtained by the aid of a screw-press or any
other means, it is heavy, cloudy, and sour. A proportion of ten per
cent. of spirit is added to preserve the juice from being too much
affected by tropical heats, and also to modify the possible effect
of too great acidity. The mixture is carefully bottled for sea-use;
and the sailors and marines begin to drink it about a fortnight after
leaving port. About an ounce a day per man is the usual allowance,
often mixed with sugar in their grog; the quantity is increased if any
symptoms of scurvy make their appearance. Lime-juice may be preserved
in the same way as ripe fruits by placing the bottles containing it in
water, boiling for half an hour, gradually cooling, and hermetically
sealing. Dr Leach, consulted by the Board of Trade, strongly
recommended the use of lime-juice in all emigrant and other passenger
ships, and drew up a dietary scale for this purpose. An act of
parliament had before that date been passed, directing the adoption of
this medicament in the mercantile marine; but the lime-juice supplied
by contractors was found to be frequently so grossly adulterated that
scurvy began to appear. Whereupon a further statute ordered that all
lime-juice should be officially inspected before being placed on
shipboard. One ounce daily per head is now a pretty general allowance
in all ships alike. The better class of passenger-ship owners, such as
Messrs Wigram, had long before adopted the system, without waiting for
any official pressure.

It is now, to sum up, admitted beyond doubt or cavil, that lime-juice
is the most valuable of all known agents for warding off scurvy, or for
curing when the disease has made its appearance.

In an earlier paragraph we briefly adverted to the fact that a
Committee is officially examining into the circumstances connected
with the outbreak of scurvy in the _Alert_ and _Discovery_. Of
course no attempt will be made here to anticipate the result, nor
to pronounce an opinion on the question involved. But Captain Sir
George Nares has himself made public some remarkable observations on
the matter, revealing facts never before so fully known to those who
are most directly interested in the subject. In a speech delivered
at Guildhall, the gallant officer said: 'No sledge-party employed in
the Arctic regions in the cold month of April has ever been able to
issue a regular ration of lime-juice. Every commander has desired to
continue the daily issue while travelling, as recommended by medical
authorities; but all have failed in doing so during the cold weather.
In addition to the extra weight to be dragged that its carriage would
entail, there is the more serious consideration of the time and fuel
necessary to melt it.... After the middle of May, when the weather
is warmer, lime-juice can be (and was) used as a ration. Of course
hereafter lime-juice in some shape or other must be carried in all
sledging-journeys; and I earnestly trust that some means will be
found to make it into a lozenge; for as a fluid, there is and always
will be extreme difficulty in using it in cold weather, unless Arctic
travelling is considerably curtailed. Owing to the thaw which sets
in before the return of the sledges, in its present state it must be
carried in bottles; but up to the middle of May it remains frozen as
solid as a rock. If the bottles have not already been broken by the
jolting of the sledge or the freezing of the contents, they have to be
broken on purpose before chipping off a piece of the frozen lime-juice,
as if it were a piece of stone.' Cannot our pharmaceutical chemists
come to the rescue, and devise some mode of making lime-juice into
small convenient lozenges or dry confections?




'BELL-ANIMALCULES.'


As we write, we look upon a prospect which excites our wonder and
interest. The eye sees a variety of form and structure presenting a
combination of grace and delicacy hardly to be matched in the whole
of Nature's domain. Within the compass of a small round disc or
circle, we behold numerous beings, each consisting of a bell-shaped
head mounted on a delicate flexible stalk. The margins of the bells
are fringed with minute processes, resembling miniature eyelashes,
and hence named _cilia_; and these processes wave to and fro with
an incessant motion, by means of which particles of solid matter
suspended in the water around are swept into the mouth of the bells.
Suddenly some impulse moves the beings we are gazing upon to contract
themselves, and as if by magic, and more quickly than the eye can
follow them, the bell-shaped bodies shrink up almost into nothingness
by the contracting power of their stalks. Soon, however, as the alarm
disappears, the beings once more uncoil themselves, the stalks assume
their wonted and straight appearance, the little cilia or filaments
once again resume their waving movements, and the current of life
proceeds as before.

The spectacle we have been describing is not by any means a rare
or uncommon one, to the microscopist at least. We have merely been
examining a tiny fragment of pond-weed and its inhabitants, floating
in a thin film of stagnant water. Attached to the weed is a colony of
those peculiar animalcules known popularly as 'bell-animalcules,' and
to the naturalist as _Vorticellæ_. Yet common as the sight may be to
the naturalist, it affords one example of the many undreamt-of wonders
which lie literally at the feet, and encompass the steps of ordinary
observers; and it also exemplifies the deep interest and instruction
which may be derived from even a moderate acquaintance with natural
history, together with the use of a microscope of ordinary powers.

The bell-animalcules are readily procured for examination. Their
colonies and those of neighbour-animalcules may be detected by the
naked eye existing on the surface of pond-weeds as a delicate white
nap, looking like some lower vegetable growth. And when a portion of
the weed is placed under the object-glass of the microscope, numerous
animalcules are to be seen waving backwards and forwards in all their
vital activity. The general appearance of each animalcule has already
been described. The bell-shaped structure which, with its mouth turned
uppermost, exists at the top of each stem or stalk, is the body. The
stalk is never branched in these animalcules; and except in certain
instances to be presently alluded to, each stalk bears a single head
only. The structure of the stalk is worthy of special mention. The
higher powers of the microscope shew us that within the soft substance
or _protoplasm_, of which not only the stalk but the body also is
composed, a delicate muscular fibre is contained. This fibre possesses
the power of contracting under stimulation, just as the muscles of
higher animals contract or shorten themselves. And by means of this
structure therefore, the bell-animalcules, when danger threatens them,
are enabled to contract themselves with great rapidity, the stalk
itself shrinking up into a spiral form. The operation reminds one
forcibly of some sensitive plant shrinking when rudely touched. The
lower extremity of the stalk forms a kind of 'root,' by means of which
the animalcules attach themselves to fixed objects, such as pond-weeds,
&c.

The bell-shaped body is sometimes named the _calyx_, from its
resemblance to the structure of that name in flowers. The edge of
the bell possesses a very prominent rim, and within this we find the
fringe of filaments or cilia, which in reality form a spiral line
leading to the edge of the bell, where at one point is situated the
mouth, represented by an aperture or break in the rim of the body. We
have seen that the cilia create miniature maëlstroms or whirlpools in
the surrounding water, which have the effect of drawing particles of
food towards the mouth. The study of the bell-animalcules affords an
excellent example of the gaps which yet remain to be filled up in our
knowledge of the structure even of the lowest and commonest forms of
life. No structures are more frequently met with in the animal world
than the delicate vibratile filaments or cilia, so well seen in the
bell-animalcules. The microscopist meets with them in almost every
group of animals he can examine. They are seen alike in the gills of
the mussel and in the windpipe of man; and wherever currents of air or
fluid require to be maintained and produced. Yet when the physiologist
is asked to explain how and why it is that little microscopic
filaments--each not exceeding in many cases the five-thousandth part of
an inch in length, and destitute of all visible structure--are enabled
to carry on incessant and independent movements, his answer is, that
science is unable, at the present time, to give any distinct reply to
the query. No trace of muscles is found in these filaments, and their
movements are alike independent of the will and nervous system; for
when removed uninjured from the body of the animal of which they form
part, their movements may continue for days and weeks together. What
a field for future inquiry may thus be shewn to exist, even within
the compass of a bell-animalcule's history--these animalcules being
themselves of minute size, and even when massed together in colonies,
barely perceptible to the unassisted sight!

A very simple and ingenious plan of demonstrating the uses of the cilia
in sweeping food-particles into the mouths of the animalcules, was
devised by Ehrenberg, the great German naturalist. This plan consists
in strewing in the water in which the animalcules exist, some fragments
of coloured matter, such as indigo or carmine, in a very fine state
of division. These coloured particles can readily be traced in their
movements, and accordingly we see them tossed about and whirled about
by the ciliary currents, and finally swept into the mouths of the
animalcules, which appear always to be on the outlook, if one may so
term it, for nutritive matter. Sometimes when we may be unable to see
the cilia themselves, on account of the delicate structure, we may
assure ourselves of their presence by noting the currents they create.

The structure of the bell-animalcules is of very simple and primitive
kind. The body consists of a mass of soft protoplasm--as the substance
of the lower animals and plants is named; but this matter is capable
of itself of constituting a distinct and complete animal form, and of
making up for its want of structure by a literally amazing fertility
of functions. Thus it can digest food; for in the bell-animalcules
and their neighbours, the food-particles swept into the mouth are
dissolved amid the soft matter of the body in which they are imbedded.
Although the animalcules possess no digestive system, the protoplasm of
the body serves them in lieu of that apparently necessary apparatus,
and prepares and elaborates the food for nourishing the body. Then we
have seen that the animalcules contract when irritated or alarmed. A
tap on the slide of glass on which they are placed for microscopic
examination, initiates a literal reign of terror in the miniature
state; for each animalcule shrinks up as if literally alarmed at the
unwonted innovation in its existence. This proceeding suggests forcibly
to us that they are sensitive--if not in the sense in which higher
animals exhibit sensation, at least in much the same degree and fashion
as a sensitive plant. And where sensation exists, analogy would lead
us to believe that some form of apparatus resembling or corresponding
to nerves exercising the function of feeling, must be developed in the
animalcules. Yet the closest scrutiny of the bell-animalcules, as well
as of many much higher forms, fails to detect any traces of a nervous
system. And hence naturalists fall back upon the supposition that this
curious protoplasm or body-substance of these and other lower animals
and plants, possesses the power of receiving and conveying impressions;
just as in the absence of a stomach, it can digest food.

The last feature in the organisation and history of the
bell-animalcules that we may allude to in the present instance is that
of their development. If we watch the entire life-history of these
animalcules, we shall observe the bell-shaped heads of various members
of the colony to become broadened, and to increase disproportionately
in size. Soon a groove or division appears in this enlarged head; and
as time passes, the head appears to divide into two parts or halves,
which for a time are borne by the one stalk. This state of matters,
however, does not continue; and shortly one of the halves breaks
away from the stalk, leaving the other to represent the head of the
animalcule. This wandering half or head is now seen to be provided
at each end with cilia, and by means of these filaments swims freely
throughout the surrounding water. After a time, however, it settles
down, develops a stalk from what was originally its mouth extremity;
whilst the opposite or lower extremity with its fringe of cilia comes
to represent the mouth of the new animalcule. We thus note that new
bell-animalcules may be produced by the division of the original body
into two halves. They also increase by a process of _budding_. New buds
grow out from the body near the attachment of the stalk; these buds in
due time appearing as young Vorticellæ, which detach themselves from
their parent and seek a lodgment of their own.

These briefly sketched details may serve to interest readers in a
comparatively unknown field of observation, accessible to every one who
cares to know something of one of the many life-histories with which
our universe teems, but which from their very plenty are seldom thought
of or recognised. And the present subject is also not uninteresting
if we regard it in the light of a corrective to those too commonly
received notions, usually fostered by ignorance of our surroundings,
that there is nothing worth attention in the universe but humanity and
human affairs.




ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN.


In marrying make your own match: do not marry a man to get rid of him
or to save him. The man who would go to destruction without you would
as likely go with you, and perhaps bring you along. Do not marry in
haste, lest you repent at last. Do not let aunts, fathers, or mothers
sell you for money or position into bondage, tears, and life-long
misery, which you alone must endure. Do not place yourself habitually
in the society of any suitor until you have decided the question of
marriage; human wills are weak, and people often become bewildered,
and do not know their error until it is too late. Get away from their
influence, settle your head, and make up your mind alone. A promise
may be made in a moment of sympathy, or even half-delirious ecstasy,
which may have to be redeemed through years of sorrow, toil, and pain.
Do not trust your happiness to the keeping of one who has no heart,
no health. Beware of insane blood, and those who use ardent spirits;
shun the man who ever gets intoxicated. Do not rush thoughtlessly,
hastily, into wedded life, contrary to the counsels of your friends.
Love can wait; that which cannot wait is something of a very different
character.--_Newspaper paragraph._




LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS TYRIE,

A YOUNG EDINBURGH POET OF GREAT PROMISE.


    The fairest flowers that Summer wrings
      From grassy mound to scent the air--
      The leaves that sweetest beauty wear
    When from the skies on happy wings
      Spring flies to earth--in sad decay
      Are first to fall, and fade away.

    And like the garden rose that rears
      'Mongst lesser flowers its stately form,
      But droops and dies before the storm,
    When Winter's gloomy face appears--
      Yet leaves within Affection's heart
      A beauty, that can ne'er depart--

    A love, that Death may never claim,
      Nor mix with his forgetful gloom
      Amidst the stillness of the tomb;
    So Memory keeps _his_ honoured name
      Within the mind; there shall it be
      Till Time shall find Eternity.

    His life was like the snowy cloud
      That peaceful decks the evening sky,
      And fills with love the gazer's eye;
    But when the voice of thunder loud
      Commands, it finds an early doom,
      And disappears amongst the gloom.

    Or like the snowy-crested wave
      That sweeps along the sounding shore
      In sunshine, then is seen no more,
    Was his sweet life that early gave
      Its noble soul to Him who lives
      For aye, and takes but what He gives.

    Ne'er trod the earth a purer soul
      Than he, upon whose early bier
      I lay unworthy tribute here;
    Nor, while the stream of life shall roll,
      On earth at least I hope to find
      A youth of more exalted mind
      Than he, whom God hath called away
      To grace the loveful lands of never-dying day!

    D. R. W.

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

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_All Rights Reserved._

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[Transcriber's note--The following correctionhas been made to this
text: on page 189, "Pigafella" changed to "Pigafetta".]