been vexed with her vulgar terrors, and for having listened, even involuntarily, to that hateful story, born of malice and superstition, respecting the corpse-candle. Nevertheless, her heart quaked within her when her husband summoned the old woman, lest she should blurt out her disbelief in it (as she had done to herself), under the impression that she (Maggie) had told it to her master. But all John had to ask was when the light in the toolhouse had been seen, and how often; to which Mrs Morden's answers were, for once, direct and short enough. It had been seen but thrice, and always about the same hour, between eleven and midnight; on the other hand, the situation of the spot was such as respected the house that it could only be seen from the kitchen and staircase windows,

It was evident John Milbank attached but little importance to the affair; and with the remark that he would have the tools brought within doors on the morrow, after which there would be nothing in the outhouse to be stolen save the stack of fuel for winter use, he seemed to dismiss the subject from his mind. Not so poor Maggie; the peace that she had fondly hoped was growing within her was by this paltry incident nipped as with sudden frost; or rather rank Calumny had grown so high as quite to stifle it; her thoughts returned to that forbidden channel of Richard's fate with redoubled force.

THE MONTH:

SCIENCE AND ARTS.

A VERY important physiological fact has been demonstrated by Professor Ferrier, of King's College, London, and in a paper read at a meeting of the Royal Society, he has described the experiments by which his demonstration was established-'that there is a localisation of function in special regions of the brain.' A former experimentalist had shewn that certain forms of epilepsy were occasioned by irritation or 'discharging lesions' of the substance known to anatomists as the 'gray matter' in a certain part of the brain, and Dr Ferrier not only confirms that theory, but has carried his investigation into a wider range of phenomena.

The animals experimented on included jackals, dogs, cats, monkeys, birds, and frogs, toads, and fishes. They were rendered partially insensible by means of an anaesthetic, the surface of the brain was then laid bare, and certain parts were touched, or irritated, by the conductor of a current of electricity; and in some instances a portion of the brain was cut away. Generally speaking, it was found that movements of the limbs are excited when certain parts of the side of the brain are touched; and it is remarkable in some instances, that on touching a second place, not more than an eighth of an inch from the first, an entirely different movement is produced. One touch, for example, may move the hind-leg; the other excites a muscle far away from the hind-leg; and these results are so invariable, that Dr Ferrier can tell beforehand what will be the effect of irritating any given spot. And that which is true of one animal, appears to be true of all the animals experimented

on.

From this we learn that the brain can be mapped out in certain definite areas, to each of which a different function could be assigned. Thus it is ascertained that the muscles of the face are excited

271

by irritation of the forepart of the brain, movements of the head and eyes are also produced, and the phenomena are so marked, that Dr Ferrier is led to believe the convolution known as the angular gyrus' to be 'the cerebral expansion of the optic nerve, and therefore the seat of visual perception.' In like manner he regards a neighbouring convolution, irritation of which excites movements of the ear, 'as the cerebral termination of the auditory nerve.' He also localises the sense of smell, and can indicate generally the locality connected with sensations of taste and touch.'

Such, briefly sketched, are the leading points in Dr Ferrier's paper. Of course the great question remains-In what way does irritation of the surface of the brain produce the effects described? To answer this question satisfactorily, will require a long course of research and observation. Meanwhile, we may content ourselves with the suggestion, that a scientific phrenology is possible.' Not the fallacious phrenology of a former generation; but a science based on anatomical investigation.

Readers who desire further information on this interesting subject will find it in the Proceedings of the Royal Society.

We have more than once mentioned the good work done by the Scottish Meteorological Society in their special vocation, and we gather from their last Report that the good work still goes on. They have appointed a Committee to discover, if possible, on what (and whether any) meteorological influences a good or bad herring-fishery may depend. Some fishermen think that a bad season means a cold season; others, that storms, and not temperature, keep away the herrings from their accustomed haunts. The question is an interesting one; and if intelligent fishermen can be got to co-operate in the needful observations, it may perhaps be solved. Another question which the Society are investigating is, How far does the sea-climate extend inland? They have two stations -a small island in the Shetlands, and a small island in the Hebrides-where land influence goes for nothing, and where, consequently, the seatemperature prevails; and these furnish data for determining the influence of land in lowering the winter, and raising the summer temperature. The Society have also had under notice a suggestion, that trap-dykes, by acting as good continuous conductors between the fused material in the centre of the earth and the outer air, might be expected to exercise considerably greater thermal influence than surrounding districts of stratified rocks, such as the coal formations.' This is a suggestion which may have important bearings on agriculture.

A rumour from Russia to the effect that the mammoth is not an extinct animal, has set naturalists on the alert; and should it prove true that living mammoths are now to be seen in the deep gorges of the Lena, in far Eastern Siberia, we may anticipate that expeditions will be sent out to capture a few of the huge animals for the zoological gardens of Europe. According to the rumour, the discovery was made by one of the convicts who had been transported to that distant region. That the mammoth once abounded in Siberia, is well known; for thousands of mammoths, whose tusks supply much of the ivory used in the arts, are there imbedded in the frozen ground.

It is well known to naturalists that the ancient

animals of Australia had peculiarities of structure, and that the peculiarities have prevailed down to the present day. Professor Owen's papers on the fossil mammals of Australia, published in the Philosophical Transactions, afford interesting evidence of the structure and habits of gigantic birds, kangaroos, and other creatures that lived in the early ages of the globe; and of this evidence in a fossil form the supply appears to be inexhaustible. An interesting example occurs in a report of an exploration in Queensland, published by the Royal Geographical Society. The exploring party had arrived on the banks of the river Walsh, and found in the cliffs, and among the boulders, fossils innumerable, including a few bones of the vertebræ of some large animal. "There they lie,' writes Mr Hann, the leader of the expedition, 'under the traveller's feet like pebbles on the seashore; they hang above his head ready to crush him if he be not careful; he cannot move without seeing them around him on all sides, of all sizes, and numbers among them beautifully perfect.' What a spot for a collector ! Shall we hear of 'a rush' to the fossil deposits on the Walsh? They might pay better even than auriferous quartz.

It has been a question whether any and what animals live in the lakes of the great alkali plains around Salt Lake City. From one of those pools a bottle of water containing swarms of animals resembling crustaceans was taken and brought to England, when, on examination, one specimen only was found surviving. It was a Cyclops somewhat like the common species.

Carbolic acid is found to be a better preservative of specimens intended for microscopic examination than creosote; but in preserving algae, it stands pre-eminent. Creosote, in process of time, deposits a crust which injures or obscures the object, while the acid solution remains always clear.

The air-brake invented by Mr Westinghouse, which we have before noticed, has been officially tested on the railway between Newcastle and Berwick, with complete success. The train running 50 miles an hour was stopped in 20 seconds within a distance of 260 yards; and in another instance, going down an incline of 1 in 190 at a speed of 45 miles, the stoppage was effected in 15 seconds, and in a distance of 210 yards. We may therefore believe that on all lines, but especially on those of frequent and complicated traffic, this new brake may be so applied as to prevent many a collision. The mode of working is simple. The guard turns a tap, and instantaneously the pressure of an aircushion bears on the wheel-blocks, and the train is brought to a stand-still without the heavy grinding and concussion produced by a non-elastic brake. Any means of safety should be welcomed in a country where punctuality is not considered an imperative duty, and where railway accidents. are described as unavoidable.

The famine in India imparts interest to an inquiry concerning the fresh-water fisheries of that country, which was commenced in 1867, by order of the Indian government. The rivers are numerous, and various in character, from mountain torrents and lazy shallows, to broad rolling streams in the hot sun-searched plains, and the fishes of one locality are rarely if ever met with in the other. The waste of fish, through greedy and indiscriminate capture, is enormous, and the principal object

of the inquiry was to prevent this waste, and thus multiply means of sustenance in a country where deficiency of animal food prevails. Reports from native and European functionaries in all parts of India and in Burmah have been obtained, and these are embodied in a book of more than four hundred pages, by Surgeon-major Day, published at the government printing-office, Calcutta. The interference of law in behalf of fish has been so beneficial in this country, that we can but wish success to any similar proceeding in India, where, when rice fails, the people die of famine; just as the Irish a few years ago died through trusting in potatoes. Mr Day's Report embraces the whole question, including a descriptive catalogue of the fish, with some mention of their habits. Among the latter, we find a curious instance. In a mountain torrent, fish are comparatively helpless; hence many of the species which inhabit the hill-streams are provided with an adhesive sucker behind the lower jaw or on the chest, and with this they hold on to the rocks, and thus save themselves from being washed away.

The water-supply of Calcutta is derived from the river Hooghly (or Húgli, as it is now spelt), and during the rainy season the water looks muddy when delivered in the houses. While the question of a remedy was under discussion, it was suggested that, by reason of the rains, the proportion of natural saline constituents was largely diminished, and that if the salts could be added artificially, the water would be as bright during the rainy season as at other times. The experiment was tried with carbonate of lime, carbonate of magnesia, and with sulphate of lime, and was in each case successful. The effect of these salts is officially described as to 'cause the very fine particles of clay to coalesce and aggregate into larger and denser ones, which, in the course of twenty-four to forty-eight hours, settle well, and the water can then be filtered easily. The clay has been said to be coagulated, and the term seems appropriate.' This is a fact worth consideration by all concerned in water-supply, especially when the source is a mountain stream. Marseilles, for example, is supplied from the Garonne, a river liable to muddy floods.

It may interest some readers to learn that a hot blast is now used in dentistry as well as in the manufacture of iron. There are some operations in which nothing will dry a cavity or the gum so effectually as a hot blast, and this is blown in by means of a syringe.

LOVE.

THE love that will soonest decay,
The love that is surest to die,
The love that will soon fly away,
Is the love

That is told by a sigh.

The love that is surest to last,

The love that a woman's heart needs,
The love that will ever be fast,
Is the love

That is spoken in deeds.

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

No. 540.

DENNY'S INTENTIONS.

IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.

SILVERBRIDGE is built on the slope of a hill, and its High Street is as steep as the side of a house. Looking down from the crest of the hill, you see a row of quaint old-fashioned houses on either hand; a gilt clock jutting out from the front of an ancient timber building, like the sign of an inn, its supports adorned with fancy scroll-work of iron, quaintly twisted and gilt. At the bottom of the street is the bridge, and a hill rises sharply up from the bridge, a broad 'down,' whose lower slope is covered with houses, but which crowns the houses with corn-fields, turnip-fields, and copses. Below the town, the river winds through an alluvial valley; and above are meadows and parkland, osier-beds and pastures, dotted with clumps of trees, tall elms, and home-loving poplars; but the town itself lies just in the gorge of the river, up one hill and down the other, with a few streets branching out laterally. There is a church at the top of the town, of warm red brick, ugly and comfortable; there is a church in the middle of the town, ancient and chill, with columns of chalk, and narrow Norman arches, and a choir like a crypt, vaulted, and groined, and banded with stone; there is a church at the bottom of the town, almost in the river's bed, brown, and squat, and ugly too, but with a certain air of fitness about it; and then, on the northern slope of the hill, above the river, is a great square Norman keep; and under the keep, astride of the stream, which flows through its inward parts, is the King's Mill, a large brick building, with flour oozing out of all its pores. Beyond the mill and the castle, where the river takes a sweep, turned by the invincible flank of the down, are chalk pits and caverns, with warm red brick cottages resting under the shade; and a road at the foot, that winds its way beneath an avenue of elms, with glimpses of the river, and the fat meadows and hills beyond, blue and ethereal.

Half-way up the High Street of Silverbridge, stands a house of red brick, with many twinkling

PRICE 1d.

windows. A double set of stone steps, protected by an iron railing, gives access to the front-door, on which a large brass plate bears the legend-' Mrs Coltfoot's Preparatory School.'

It is a bright sunny summer's day, and the chimes are celebrating the half-hour after noon in drowsy tinkling cadence; the door with Mrs Coltfoot's brass plate upon it swings open, and a boy in a suit of gray knickerbockers descends the flight of steps. He is about ten years old, and has a merry healthy face, rather smeared with ink, and somewhat overcast at present, as he has been kept in, and expects a lecture from his father when he gets home. With the idea of putting off the evil hour as long as possible, although with an uneasy consciousness that he is only intensifying its misery, he loiters on his way down the High Street, looking at all the shop-windows as he passes, and lingering a long while at the confectioner's, admiring the frosted cake, and the buns, yellow with saffron, and coated thick with sugar and spice. When he reaches the corner of the street, the cross street that runs under the castle and the quarries, he stops again to watch a carriage that is coming along the road. It was a somewhat peculiar vehicle, the like of which has not been built for many a long year. I fancy that in days gone by it would have been called a pony-chair, and was upon little wheels, the pair behind about as big round as Cheshire cheeses, another in front more like good-sized casters; a shaggy little pony was in the curved shafts, who was coming along at a pace something betwixt a walk and a shamble. The occupant of this carriage was an elderly man, with a thin hatchet face, keen small eyes, and with a little gray hair straggling about his cheeks. He wore a white beaver-hat, many sizes too large for him; a blue scarf wound several times round his neck, from which appeared two small points, that represented a latent collar; a faded brown overcoat shewed beneath an old-fashioned blue coat, adorned with brass buttons. He was incessantly twitching the reins; each twitch the pony acknowledged with his ears. Every now and then, he half rose from his seat, and lashed out at the

pony with a little whip. At the lash, the pony swished his tail, but did not quicken his pace. Perhaps, however, but for these constant stimulants, he would have come to a stand-still altogether.

Charlie Blake, the youthful hero of this story, stood with his mouth wide open, watching this curious equipage. He knew very well who the man was, and had often seen his turn-out; but it was a source of perpetual amusement and wonder to him. Old Denny, the man was called; and his pony's name was Bob; and the little fat spaniel, that was panting along half a mile behind, was Carlo; and they lived at the Manor farm; and Denny was said to be enormously rich-worth millions, according to the traditions of the boys.

Denny's keen eyes, searching everything he came across, espied the boy, standing, with eyes and mouth wide open, at the kerb by the corner.

"Hi, boy!' he cried, drawing up his little carriage to the side; when he ceased to twitch and lash, the pony came to a stand. Hi, boy! come here.'

Master Charlie was a little alarmed. Perhaps his conscience pricked him as to raids on old Denny's apples, or as to stones thrown at his pigs, and he dreaded some instant retribution. Anyhow, he looked rapidly around him, as if meditating flight, but he was fascinated by the old gentleman's eye, and felt himself glued to the pavement.

'Come here, boy!' cried Denny once more; and Charlie felt constrained to obey. 'How old are you, boy?'

'Ten; at least I am eleven next birthday?' 'Well, never mind. Have you had the measles?'

'Yes; me and Polly had them together

term.'

'Been vaccinated, hey?'

'Of course, I have!' said Charlie.

'What's your name, boy?'

'Charlie Nostrop Blake.'

'Hum! A long name for a little chap.

does your father live?'

last

Where

Oh, just over there,' said Charlie, pointing vaguely over the houses.

'Would you like a halfpenny, my boy?' 'Mother wouldn't like me to take it.' 'Hum! Good boy! Honour your father and your mother, eh? Gad, I think you'll do. Look here.' Denny pulled out a bright silver shilling, and held it up before the boy. Would you like a bright new shilling, eh ?'

Charlie's eyes glistened; he wasn't proof against that. Yes, I should,' he said.

'Ha! Go and knock at that door, and say that Mr Denny is waiting to see Mr Hutton.'

Charlie did as he was bid. It was a big door, with a big knocker, and it had a brass plate, on which was engraved, 'Hutton and Horton, Solicitors.' Charlie was astonished, when, in answer to his knock, the door started open a few inches, but nobody came.

'Push the door open, and go in,' cried Denny, from his chair.

Charlie felt that he was committing himself to some perilous adventure, and regretted that he hadn't taken to his heels, as his first impulse bade him. Nevertheless, he pushed open the door bravely, and found himself in a matted hall. A hat-stand faced him, and a flight of broad carpeted stairs, on each hand of him a door. Nobody came to him, and he didn't know what to do next. Then the door on his right opened, and a pretty little girl in a white frock, with a great blue sash, came out into the hall. She pulled to the door, and then stood with her back to it, looking with great brown eyes at the stranger.

Charlie was already susceptible to female charms, and desperately ashamed of his weakness. But the little girl in white was such a vision of delight, that he didn't know what to say or do ; he stood staring at her in blank admiration. Her long hair floated about her like a golden veil ; she had the most charming white stockings, and perfectly ravishing blue shoes.

'What do you want, little boy?' she said with calm superiority; being about half the age of Charlie.

'Mr Denny wants to see Mr Hutton.'

'Ah! some of the office people,' said the child with an air of dignity. Over there. Stay; I will shew you.'

The little fairy tripped across the hall, and opened the door: 'Marrables, here is somebody wants papa.'

'Oh, indeed, Miss Fanny,' said a young man who was sitting on a tall stool at a high desk.— 'Ha! is it you, young gentleman? Do you want to see Mr Hutton? Perhaps you'll give me your

card.'

'I don't want to see him,' replied Charlie colouring. 'It's Mr Denny.'

'Oh, ah!' said the clerk, going to the window, and peering over the wire-blind. 'Yes, there's old Denny. Ah! I'll mention it to the governor.' So saying; he knocked at the door of an inner office, and went in.

'Are you his little boy?' said Fanny, who had run to the window, pointing at the little ponychair outside.

'No; I should think not,' said Charlie scornfully. 'An old fright like that!'

'Well, you might be, you know,' said Fanny. 'Perhaps he 's somebody's papa.'

'I shouldn't think so,' replied Charlie.

'Hollo! mite, what are you doing here?' said a voice from the inner office, and Mr Hutton, a tall florid man of middle age, came forth.-' And who are you, my boy? Ah! young Blake, I see. Denny, where is he? Outside, eh? Well, I suppose I must go to him.'

And

Charlie thought now he'd better start off home; only, somehow, he didn't like to go out whilst old Denny was talking there to Mr Hutton; he hadn't got his shilling either; Mr Denny had forgotten it,

no doubt, and he couldn't very well ask for it when he was busy. He had a sort of vague hope, too, of further adventures.

'I know you now,' said Fanny; 'you go to school with Tommy-he's my brother-and you live in the Shipton Road. I know your papa too; such a big man! But he's very poor, isn't he?' 'No; he isn't,' said Charlie stoutly. 'He's got ever so much money?'

'Papa says he's poor. But it doesn't matter; I shall have plenty of money, and I will give you

some.'

Charlie said he meant to make his own fortune, and didn't want any of her money. And then he heard the voice of Denny calling: 'Hi, hi! boy; here.'

Charlie ran out, thinking that the shilling was coming now; but Mr Denny had apparently put that back into his pocket.

'He'll do, I think, Hutton, eh? Eleven years old-healthy, good constitution, honours his father and mother, vaccinated, and been through the measles. Yes, I think he'll do capital.'

"Certainly,' said Hutton, looking down at Charlie in an absorbed, thoughtful way. He'll do very well. Let's see; what's your Christian name, Blake?'

'Charles Nostrop Blake.'

Denny pulled out a note-book, and put it down. 'Age, next birthday, eleven, eh? Been vaccinated, had the measles, got his second teeth, good constitution, honours his father and mother.-Yes; he'll do very well, Hutton. Make it so, will you?'

Hutton nodded. 'That 'll do, my boy,' he said. Charlie looked doubtfully up and down. "There's the shilling?' he said at last.

'What shilling?' cried Denny. Have I dropped one, eh? Hutton, have I dropped a shilling?'

'It's the shilling you said you'd give me.' 'Did I say I'd give you a shilling? Come, come, my boy; remember Ananias and Sapphira. -Hutton, he won't do, after all, if he tells fibs.'

"The boy must have thought you said so.Here, Blake,' said Hutton, good-naturedly, putting his hand into his pocket, we'll see if we can't find you a shilling.'

'I won't have it now,' said Charlie independently. 'And as for fibs-I know who tells the most.' Saying which, he took to his heels, and didn't look back till he had got right over the bridge.

When he reached home, he found that he had kept dinner waiting, and that his father was very cross. After the atmosphere had cleared a little, he told his adventure, leaving out the part about the shilling, for, as he hadn't got it, he didn't feel inclined to be rebuked for not refusing it. Mrs Blake was pleasantly excited about the matter. 'O Dick!' she said to her husband, perhaps he means to make Charlie his heir! and people say he's worth no end of money!'

Polly clapped her hands; she was a couple of years younger than Charlie. How jolly that will be! Fancy Charlie with a fortune! You'll give me some-won't you?'

Charlie flushed to the temples: a hazy golden

275

Denny took a good deal of notice of Charlie after that, and often asked him to the Manor farm, never giving him better entertainment than a stale gingerbread nut, and a glass of sour beer, but putting him through his facings as to what would have shirked these visits, but for the canal he learned at school, with great assiduity. Charlie which ran through the farm, and was full of all kinds of fish-Jack-like young sharks, brilliant perch and bream as big as the kitchen bellows; and there he'd fish all day long whenever he got a holiday, and, lying under the shade of a tree by the canal bank, would watch his float, and dream of being a rich man and old Denny's heir.

The Manor farm didn't exactly belong to Mr It belonged to the cathedral of Bincaster, or to the Denny; but it was as good as his, everybody said. bishop, rather, and Denny held it under a leasea bishop's lease, as they called it about therepaying twenty-five pounds a year as rent. Holdings under these bishops' leases were always reckoned as good as freehold. It was one of the best farms in the county, this of Denny's, consisting of five hundred acres and more of excellent land; although a couple of hundred years ago it had been a range of barren sand-fields, producing nothing but a few firs and birch trees, and abounding only in rabbits. It had been let at a shilling an acre then, and was let at the same rate now, although the land might well be said to be worth forty shillings or more, in these days.

Denny drove Charlie over to Bincaster one day when he went to pay his rent, and they dined with a dignified old gentleman in a white cravat, who had something to do with the dean and chapter. He had a very fine garden, not by his house, which was in the cathedral precincts, but beyond the city walls-a garden kept in the extremity of neatness and good order. There was a summer-house there too, that was furnished as comfortably as a sitting-room; and here the two old gentlemen sipped their wine, whilst Charlie ran about the garden, strictly enjoined not to touch anything. It was a drowsy place, full of sunshine; the hum of insects, the clang of the old cathedral bells mellowed by distance, the sleepy sounds of the country, twittering of song-birds, cawing of rooks, a dog barking afar off, made a sort of soothing melody that overcame Charlie's senses with sleep. And yet he was conscious of what was going on about him, and heard everything that passed. He knew that the two old men had come out of the summer-house, and that they were standing looking at him as he lay asleep on the grass.

'You've made a very good selection,' said the bishop's man.

"Yes, I think I have. Good sound constitution there, eh? Just right age and everything.'

You are quite right to be careful; we never know what changes may happen; there'll be a wonderful upset of everything when the old bishop goes. In these days of ecclesiastical commissions and spoliation of the capitular endowments, one