before very long-for I, who know the evils, wish to know something of the cure proposed."

So saying, she bid Mr. Loxwood good night.

CHAPTER VI.

THE HOUSEKEEPER AND WILLIAM NORMAN.

It was the middle of September. Mrs. Burn had been staying a week at Mr. Wroxeter's country house; now returning, she invited William Norman to take tea with her, as she had brought home some country dainties, and wished to learn what he had been doing during her absence. So, as soon as Mr. Harlow was gone, and the offices closed, he went down-stairs into her neat little parlour.

She was a charming, motherly, old creature, quite a lady in her way, making the lad heartily welcome, by greatly sweetening his tea, and piling his plate with cake and fruit. Seeing him eat these dainties lingeringly, she bid him proceed, as there were more.

"If you please" he said, bashfully, "I would rather save them for Liddy than eat them. Because she has been in great trouble, and I should like to comfort her."

"In trouble," asked Mrs. Burn, "in what way she is yet a little girl."

"She's grown a great deal though since you saw her, the day father and mother came to London. But she has displeased my father very much, and he has been punishing her very severely, because she spoke rudely to my mother the other night; but more because he met her on her way from school with some old flowers stuck beneath her bonnet. He does not like her to wear finery of any kind; and his anger was the greater, because he found the flowers had been given to her by the French girls, who lodge with their mother on the groundfloor."

"Your father is quite right, William," replied Mrs. Burn, gravely; "there are many reasons for his care with respect to Liddy; besides, it is very wrong for children of any age to speak disrespectfully to parents."

"Yes! but then I don't think Liddy did it from her heart, but more because she had heard those French girls speak so to their mother. You can often hear them as you go up and down the staircase. She will, however, not do so again, I am sure, as

For

father, when he is angry, is so severe. two days Liddy was kept on bread and water, and sent to bed as soon as he came from work. But last night he forgave her, and she said her prayers by his knee; so I should like to take her home this cake and fruit, for I love her very much, and don't like to see her unhappy."

"You are a good boy, William," said Mrs. Burn," and I hope Liddy will not offend again. It seems to me a pity, however, that your father does not move from the house where such girls live." "Oh!” replied William, "all the rest of the people are very well. There are the tailoresses up-stairs, they are very quiet, and father likes them, though he doesn't the Yorks or Tadcasters. But I do. Sometimes of an evening I go in and see Mr. Tadcaster at work, for he's a jeweller; and whenever Mrs. Tadcaster asks me to carry up the Yorks a letter or paper, they always speak to me civilly, and ask me to take wine, or cake, or whatever may be on the table. For they are jolly sort of people, and seem to like good things."

"Still," remarked Mrs. Burn, gravely, "if your father does not like these people, I am sure it is not without excellent reasons, for, from what I saw of him, as well as hear, he seems to me to be a very superior man. So I should be careful, William. What is this Mr. York ?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think that anybody knows. But I suppose he is a writer or something of that sort, as he takes in a great many journals and newspapers, and at times has a great many letters come. Mrs. Tadcaster says he is very learned in languages, and has been a tutor."

"Well, take care," said Mrs. Burn, "there are learned knaves, as well as ignorant ones. Now, where does Liddy go to school?"

"In a street a little way from ours. The school is kept by a Miss Brooks, who rents the first floor. Father wished her to go to a Government inspected school, but as old Miss Newbud recommended Miss Brooks, and wished Liddy to go there, father did not like to refuse. So she goes twice a day, and learns reading and writing, geography and grammar, and all kinds of needlework that girls generally learn.”

"Well, I hope the governess and your mother will take care of her, for Liddy seemed sweet little a creature. When

Christmas comes, she and Tom shall spend an evening with me.

"She will like that," replied William, "and so will father. For Liddy, though naughty the other night, is the dearest little creature. She is so generous that she would give the last thing she had to any one who wanted it, and so trusting and innocent as never to believe evil of, or to suspect it in, anybody. She was naughty, I think, more because she thought it like a woman to speak so, and because mother lets her have her way in everything whilst father is out."

"That is a pity," said Mrs. Burn, " particularly in a house where there are so many strangers."

"Father says so. In a place enclosed to ourselves, it would not so much matter. But mother always gave way to Liddyindeed to us all-and as her health hasn't been good since she has been in London, she does this the more. So those French girls, or Mrs. Tadcaster, will stop and talk to Liddy, and mother is not by to prevent it." "I would move, then," said Mrs. Burn, determinately; "my children should not be corrupted against my will."

"But that isn't easy," said William, "lodgings at the price father must have them at are so scarce. Besides, all the men in his shop tell him that he may be considered fortunate to have got such as he has, and that most probably if he went further he would fare worse. Then father has painted and papered the rooms, and got the furniture to-rights, and it seems hard to move.

Mrs. Burn shook her head.

"But Liddy," continued William, "won't let them talk to her any more. For father has spoken to her very gravely, and she has cried bitterly, and promised to be a good child, as I am sure she will, for she is the dearest and best of little creatures in the world, and was never naughty in all her life till she came to London."

The tears gathered in Mrs. Burn's eyes at this proof of the boy's deep love for his little sister. So when tea was over, which was shortly the case, she looked for a goodsized basket, and filled it as full as it could hold with fruit and cakes, and such other dainties as she had brought from her master's country house. Thus laden, and the bearer of kind messages, William set off homewards with as light a heart as a boy could have.

As he closed the heavy hall door behind him—which at night was thus kept shuttwo men who had been watching in a courtway nearly opposite, came forth and followed the lad. As far as hats, coats, and other garments went, they were well-dressed men, but their gloveless, dirty hands, their sharp, cunning features, something in their whole appearance, betrayed their connexion with a questionable class of society. They were too well dressed for mechanics in their everyday garb, and yet there were no signs of gentlemen about them.

Eagerly intent upon one object, as it seemed, they followed the lad. If he stopped, they stopped; if he turned up a street or court, they turned too; if for a moment he was lost in the crowd, they sought him out with the avidity and quickness of men trained to pursuit; so on, all the way from the city to Marylebone, they followed in the steps of the lad.

One point attracted them, and elicited, more than once, a remark in an under tone. There was scarcely a pawnbroker's or jeweller's shop at which William did not stay to examine the watches, chains, rings, and other articles of decoration. An ordinary observer would have scarcely noticed this circumstance, or if he did, it would have been referred to mere boyish curiosity, or to the equally boyish aspiration to become possessor of a watch; but to these men it seemed, by their manner, a fact of much larger significance.

Reaching the street in which he lived, the boy looked up at the second-floor window to see if Liddy were watching for him -a thing she sometimes did; but she was not there, neither was Giddy, though his cage rested on its accustomed nail. Ringing the second-floor bell, therefore, William was soon admitted by his brother Tom.

On the opposite side of the street, was one of those quiet gin-shops, into which, the more secret, but not less guilty class of drunkards love to steal. Women who go their way to ruin with stealthy feet; men who thus strip wife and children of the common comforts of their home, yet hide the wrong; servants who let quarterns and half-quarterns absorb petty gains or honest wages. Entering, these two men crossed to a quiet part of the counter, called for something, and began to talk with a woman, that, by her dress and mien, seemed to be

the landlady. But, with all their art, they could elicit little from her.

"If you want, gentlemen," she said, at length, "to know the character of the neighbours, you must ask the police, I cannot inform you. All at the Tadcasters pay me honestly for what they have, and this is all I know of them, or wish to know."

Thus rebuffed, the men made their exit. But encountering at the door the potman, who was just then starting on his rounds, they commenced a conversation which was in some degree more successful.

66

Why, on the third floor," said the man, "lodge some tailoresses and their mother, on the ground floor is a widow person with daughters, that dance at the theatres, and the master of the house is a jeweller.'

"That isn't it," said the elder man, impatiently; "does not a boy lodge there, who goes night and morning into the city?"

"Yes, I forgot, the boy's name is William Norman, and the father works at Newbud and Stopp's, in Wimpole Street."

"And who lodges on the first floor?" asked the younger man.

The potman shook his head. "I don't know what they are," he said significantly; "but there they go, and can better tell you than I can." So saying, and pointing to Mr. and Mrs. York, who were just passing out of the opposite house, he went on his way without apology.

As though they took the hint, the men followed them with the same care that they had done the boy.

When William entered the sitting-room, his father, who was seated at the table making some little drawing or plan for his work on the morrow, turned and looked sternly at him, for the hour was beyond that on which the boy usually returned. But when an explanatory word gave him to understand that he had been taking tea with Mrs. Burn, and he saw the present brought home for his darling, his anger passed away, and for the next few minutes he sat leaning back in his chair, watching with delight his beautiful child unpack the basket and divide its treasures.

"These are for you, father," she said, coming towards him, with a piece of the cake and the richest plums, and expressing, by her hesitating step and drooping head, still remembered penitence for her childish faults. These given, she took the same portion to

"Yes I do, and you shall go to a better school just now, and be well taught."

"That's nice," she replied, joyfully; "and then may I learn music and drawing? I should like."

"You shall learn drawing; but music would be no use to you in your station. You are only a working-man's child, and must get your bread by work too."

"I should like to be a lady," said Liddy, "for then I could learn music, though I think I like drawing best. But please, father, what shall I work at ? I shouldn't like to be a servant, or a dressinaker."

"I've a thought in my head," said her father, "if you be a good girl and mind your book; it is to train you for a national schoolmistress. In that case you will learn to sing and draw, and to read and write well. Many schoolmistresses get placed in country villages, have a cottage and garden rent free and forty pounds a year."

"Oh what a deal of money!" cried Liddy," and what a nice thing to have a garden of my own with a great many flowers and fruit-trees in it. Father, that is what I'll be. And when you and mother get old, you shall come and live with me. Will you? Will you come and set me another white rose-bush ?"

Norman did not answer her innocent questions, only drew her beautiful face nearer his own.

They were questions he remembered in a sadder hour!

"Scientia obiter libata a Deo abducit, Profundius hausta ad eum seducit."

BACON OF VERULAM.

THE sun is reflected in the ocean as in the waterdrop, and in both are called into existence beings the most varied in size and form. We admire the myriads of creatures which inhabit the depths of the ocean, from the monstrous whale, to the tiniest specimen of the finny tribe. Their chequered existence and efforts; their fighting, striving, and disporting; their pains and pleasures; their various and wonderful construction; the mode and manner of their subsistence, all fill us with wonder, and we are awe-inspired while contemplating the infinite and manifold capacity with which the creating Power has stored the depths of the waters. But if the size, the power, and the variety of the denizens of the deep excite our admiration, how much more do we find ourselves carried away by that feeling, while looking into the water-drop?

Clear and transparent it lies before us, vainly our eye endeavours to discover the least evidence of life, or the smallest creature, in that which seems in itself too small to contain any living object; the breath of our mouth is strong enough to agitate it, and a few rays of the sun are sufficient to convert it into vapour. But we place this drop of water between two clean squares of glass, beneath the microscope, and, lo! what life suddenly presents itself ; we scarcely trust our senses. The little drop has expanded into a large plain, wonderful shapes rush backwards and forwards, drawing towards and repulsing each other, or resting placidly and rocking themselves, as if they were cradled on the waves of an extensive sea. These are no delusions; they are real living creatures, for they play with each other, they rush violently upon one another, they whirl round each other, they free and propel themselves, and run from one place in order to renew the same game with some other little creature, or madly they precipitate themselves upon one another, combat and struggle, until the one conquers and the other is subdued, or carelessly they swim, side by side, until playfulness or rapacity is awakened anew. One sees that these little creatures, which the sharpest eye can not

detect without the aid of the microscope, are susceptible of enjoyment and pain; in them lives an instinct which induces them to seek and enables them to find sustenance, which points out and leads them to avoid and to escape the enemy stronger than themselves. Here one tumbles about in mad career and drunken lust, it stretches out its feelers, beats about with its tail, tears its fellows, and is as frolicsome as if perfectly happy. It is gay, cheerful, hops and dances, rocks and bends about upon the little waves of the waterdrop.

There is another creature; it does not swim about remains upon the same spotbut it contracts itself convulsively, and then stretches itself palpitatingly out again. Who could not detect in these motions the throes of agony; and so it is; for only just now it has freed itself from the jaws of a stronger enemy. The utmost power has it exerted in order to get away, but he must have had a tight hold, severely wounded it, for only a few more throes, each becoming weaker and more faint, it draws itself together, stretches out its whole length once more, and sinks slowly to the bottom. It was a death struggle. It has expired.

On one spot a great creature lies, apparently quiet and indifferent. A smaller one passes carelessly by, and like a flash of lightning, the first dashes upon it. Vainly does the weaker seek to escape its more powerful enemy, he has already caught it, embraces it -the throws of the vanquished cease- -it has become a prey.

This is only a general glance at the life in a waterdrop, but how great does even this already show the small; how wonderously does everything shape itself within that, of which we had formerly not the least conception. These are creatures which nature nowhere presents to the eye, upon an enlarged scale, so marvellous, odd, and also again so beautiful, so merry, and happy in their whole life and movements; and although defective, and in some respects, only one step removed from vegetable life, they are yet animated and possessed of will and power. It would be impossible here to give a description of all, or even of a great part of the ephemerous world in all its varied aspects, but we propose to take a nearer

survey, of some few at least, in order to display the life which exists in a single drop of water taken from a pond.

Slowly and gracefully through the floods of this small drop of water, comes glidingly, swimming along, the little swan animalcule, turning and twisting its long, pliant neck, swaying itself comfortably and moving in every direction, sucking whatever nourishment or prey may present itself. This animaleule has its name from its likeness to the swan ; it carries its neck just as proudly and gracefully arched, only the head is wanting, for at the end there is a wide opening mouth, surrounded by innumerable beam-like lashes. The entire little creature is transparent, and it seems impossible that any species of nutriment could possibly pass through the thin throat, for even water seems too coarse and material for this small tube, but scarcely does one of the variously formed monades, which exist in all waters, and of which many thousands could move and tumble freely about in the hollow of a poppy seed, approach its mouth, ere it gulps them down, we see them gliding through the throat, and see the green, grey, or white monade laying in the little, but for this animalcule, great stomach. This monade is itself an animalcule, a living atom; and possibly, a still smaller animalcule serves for its nourishment; but the human eye has not yet penetrated thus far, possibly it may never do so, for the Creator bas hidden from the material vision of man the limits of his creating power, alike in the infinitely great as in the infinitesimally small.

Whirling along, comes swimming by the side of the swan animalcule, the Bell.

Here nature has still retained a form out of the vegetable kingdom, for the body of this animalcule is similar to the bell-shaped blossom of a May flower, fastened to a long stem; this stem, through which passes a spiral formed vein, a fine dark tube, is easily moveable; it closes itself, screw-like, together and stretches itself out again-this is the tail of the Bell animalcule; at the end there is a little knot, and soon this knot becomes attached to the bottom, or to a blade of grass, or to a piece of wood, and the little animalcule is like a ship at anchor in a bay or harbour; its tail extends and turns itself, and the body of the animalcule, the little bell, whose opening is at the top, begins to whirl itself round and round, and this movement is so quick and powerful that it creates, even in the billows

of the water-drop, a whirlpool, which keeps ever going round wilder and more violently; it grows to a Charybdis, which none of the little monads who are caught within it can escape; the whirlpool is too fierce, they get drawn into it, and find a grave in the jaws of the Bell animalcule. The Bell closes the tail, rolls together, but soon it stretches itself out again; the bell whirls, the whirlpool goes round, and in it many a quiet and thoughtless passing monad is drawn down. But the Bell animalcule is also about meeting its punishment; again it whirls its bell violently, the tail breaks from the body, and the bell floats without control hither and thither on the waves of the water-drop; but it knows how to help itself; nature has provided for such a catastrophe in its creation. The bell sinks to the bottom, and soon the missing tail grows again, and if death even comes, nature has been so liberal in the creation of this little world-new life and new creatures arise so quickly out of those which have passed away, and so great is their number-that the death of one is less than a drop in the ocean, or a grain of sand in the desert of Sahara.

The lives of innumerable animalcules pass away as a breath, but they rise into existence in equally infinite numbers. The animalcules multiply in every variety of way, but the most curious is that of dividing, and out of the severed parts, new animalcules are formed, which, in a few hours, again divide themselves into parts, forming new creatures; and this process of increase proceeds to infinity. Numbers alone are able in some measure to give an idea of this infinite increasing power. An animalcule requires for its parting process about five hours, after which time the new creatures stand then perfect, and these again require the same time for their increase. At this rate of increase one single animalcule would, by the process of separation, be increased to half-amillion in four days, and after a month it would be inconceivable where this innumerable quantity of animalcules, who are singly imperceptible to the naked eye, can possibly be placed. But nature has limited even this vast increasing power, and she freely sacrifices millions, in order to preserve their species always in their proper quantities. What are, compared with these numbers, the quantities of herrings, sprats, and other fish which crowd the seas in such mighty masses? They vanish into nothingness.