restless-hearted grandmother of mine must | their usual bickerings and disputes augnow and then revisit, sitting in the same mented in fierceness. A decision having old chair, and wondering to find how far it has all receded from her - wondering also to think what a work she made, through her long and weary life, about things that look to her now such trifles.

I do not then transcribe any of the letters, but give, in a connected form, what seem to me the facts I gathered from them; not hesitating to present, where they are required, self-evident conclusions as if they were facts mentioned in them. I repeat that none of my names are real, although they all point at the real names.

at length been given in favour of the weaker party, the mortification of Sir Richard was unendurable to himself, and his wrath and unreasonableness in consequence, equally unendurable to his family. One may then imagine the paroxysm of rage with which he was seized when he discovered that, during the whole of the legal process, his son Wilfrid had been making love to Elizabeth Woodruffe, the only child of his enemy. In Wilfrid's letters, the part of the story which follows is fully detailed for Elizabeth's information, of which the reason is also plainthat the writer had spent such a brief period afterwards in Elizabeth's society, that he had not been able for very shame

No sooner had Sir Richard come to a knowledge of the hateful fact, evidently through one of his servants, than, suppressing the outburst of his rage for the moment, he sent for his son Wilfrid, and

Wilfrid Cumbermede was the second son of Richard and Mary Daryll of Moldwarp Hall. He was baptized Cumbermede from the desire to keep in memory the name of a celebrated ancestor, the to recount the particulars. owner in fact of the disputed sworditself alluded to in the letters, who had been more mindful of the supposed rights of his king than the next king was of the privations undergone for his sake, for Moldwarp Hall at least was never re-informed him, his lips quivering with supcovered from the roundhead branch of the family into whose possession it had drifted. In the change, however, which creeps on with new generations, there had been in the family a reaction of sentiment in favour of the more distinguished of its progenitors; and Richard Daryll, a man of fierce temper and overbearing disposition, had named his son after the cavalier. A tyrant in his family, at least in the judgment of the writers of those letters, he apparently found no trouble either with his wife or his eldest or youngest son; while, whether his own fault or not, it was very evident that from Wilfrid his annoyances had been numerous.

A legal feud had for some time existed between the Ahab of Moldwarp Hall and the Naboth of the Moat, the descendant of an ancient yeoman family of good blood, and indeed related to the Darylls themselves, of the name of Woodruffe. Sir Richard had cast covetous eyes upon the field surrounding Stephen's comparatively humble abode, which had at one time formed a part of the Moldwarp property. In searching through some old parchments, he had found, or rather, I suppose, persuaded himself he had found sufficient evidence that this part of the property of the Moat, then of considerable size, had been willed away in contempt of the entail which covered it, and belonged by right to himself and his heirs. He had therefore instituted proceedings to recover possession, during the progress of which

pressed passion, of the discovery he had made; accused him of having brought disgrace on the family, and of having been guilty of falsehood and treachery; and ordered him to go down on his knees and abjure the girl before heaven, or expect a father's vengeance.

But evidently Wilfrid was as little likely as any man to obey such a command. He boldly avowed his love for Elizabeth, and declared his intention of marrying her. His father, foaming with rage, ordered his servants to seize him. Overmastered in spite of his struggles, he bound him to a pillar, and taking a horse-whip, lashed him furiously; then, after his rage was thus in a measure appeased, ordered them to carry him to his bed. There he remained, hardly able to move, the whole of that night and the next day. On the following night, he made his escape from the Hall, and took refuge with a farmer-friend a few miles off in the neighbourhood, probably, of Umberden Church.

Here I would suggest a conjecture of my own —— - namely, that my ancestor's room was the same I had occupied, so- - fatally, shall I say? -to myself, on the only two occasions on which I had slept at the Hall; that he escaped by the stair to the roof, having first removed the tapestry from the door, as a memorial to himself and a sign to those he left; that he carried with him the sword and the volume - both probably lying in his room at the time, and the latter little valued by any oth

er. But all this, I repeat, is pure conjec

ture.

As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he communicated with Elizabeth, prevailed npon her to marry him at once at Umberden Church, and within a few days, as near as I could judge, left her to join, as a volunteer, the army of the Duke of Cumberland, then fighting the French in the Netherlands. Probably from a morbid fear lest the disgrace his father's brutality had inflicted should become known in his regiment, he dropped the surname of Daryll when he joined it; and for what precise reasons I cannot be certain-his wife evidently never called herself by any other name than Cumbermede. Very likely she kept her marriage a secret, save from her own family, until the birth of my grandfather, which certainly took place before her husband's return. Indeed I am almost sure that he never returned from that campaign, but died fighting, not unlikely at the battle of Laffeldt; and that my grannie's letters, which I found in the same packet, had been, by the kindness of some comrade, restored to the young widow.

to the copy, my ancestors were not married until the 15th of January, 1748. I must have made a blunder- and yet I could hardly believe I had, for I had reason to consider myself accurate. If there was no mistake, I should have to reconstruct my facts, and draw fresh conclusions.

By this time, however, I was getting tired and sleepy and cold; my lamp was nearly out; my fire was quite gone; and the first of a frosty dawn was beginning to break in the east. I rose and replaced the papers, reserving all further thought on the matter for a condition of circumstances more favourable to a correct judgment. I blew out the lamp, groped my way to bed in the dark, and was soon fast asleep, in despite of insult, mortification, perplexity, and loss.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

ONLY A LINK.

Ir may be said of the body in regard of sleep as well as in regard of death, "It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power." For me, the next morning, I could almost When I had finished reading the letters, have said, "I was sown in dishonour and and had again thrown myself back in the raised in glory." No one can deny the old chair, I began to wonder why nothing power of the wearied body to paralyze the of all this should ever have been told me. soul; but I have a correlate theory which That the whole history should have dropt I love, and which I expect to find true out of the knowledge of the family, would that, while the body wearies the mind, it have been natural enough, had my great- is the mind that restores vigour to the grandmother, as well as my great-grand- body, and then, like the man who has father, died in youth; but that she should built him a stately palace, rejoices to dwell have outlived her son, dying only after I, in it. I believe that, if there be a living, the representative of the fourth generation, conscious love at the heart of the universe, was a boy at school, and yet no whisper the mind, in the quiescence of its conhave reached me of these facts, appeared sciousness in sleep, comes into a less disstrange. A moment's reflection showed turbed contact with its origin, the heart me that the causes and the reasons of the of the creation; whence gifted with calmfact must have lain with my uncle. Iness and strength for itself, it grows able could not but remember how both he and my aunt had sought to prevent me from seeing my grannie alone, and how the last had complained of this in terms far more comprehensible to me now than they were then. But what could have been the reasons for this their obstruction of the natural flow of tradition? They remained wrapt in a mystery whieh the outburst from it of an occasional gleam of conjectural light only served to deepen.

The letters lying open on the table before me, my eyes rested upon one of the dates the third day of March, 1747. It struck me that this date involved a discrepancy with that of the copy I had made from the register. I referred to it, and found my suspicion correct. According

to impart comfort and restoration to the weary frame. The cessation of labour affords but the necessary occasion; makes it possible, as it were, for the occupant of an outlying station in the wilderness to return to his father's house for fresh supplies of all that is needful for life and energy. The child-soul goes home at night, and returns in the morning to the labours of the school. Mere physical rest could never of its own negative self build up the frame in such light and vigour as come through sleep.

It was from no blessed vision that I woke the next morning, but from a deep and dreamless sleep. Yet the moment I became aware of myself and the world, I felt strong and courageous, and I began at

read. I got up and wrote to him therefore, asking him to ride with me again to Umberden Church, as soon as he could make it convenient, and sent Styles off at once on the mare to carry the note to Minstercombe and bring me back an answer.

once to look my affairs in the face. Con- Coningham concerning the contents of cerning that which was first in conse- the letters which at his urgency I had now quence, I soon satisfied myself: I could not see that I had committed any serious fault in the whole affair. I was not at all sure that a lie in defence of the innocent, and to prevent the knowledge of what no one had any right to know, was wrong seeing such involves no injustice on the one side, and does justice on the other. I have seen reason since to change my mind, and count my liberty restricted to silence-not extending, that is, to the denial or assertion of what the will of God, inasmuch as it exists or does not exist, may have declared to be or not to be fact. I now think that to lie is, as it were, to snatch the reins out of God's hand.

At all events, however, I had done the Brothertons no wrong. "What matter then," I said to myself, "of what they believe me guilty, so long as before God and my own conscience I am clear and clean?"

As we sat over our breakfast, Charley said suddenly —

"Clara was regretting yesterday that she had not seen the Moat. She said yon had asked her once, but had never spoken of it again."

"And now I suppose she thinks, because I'm in disgrace with her friends at the Hall, that she mustn't come near me," I said with another bitterness than belonged to the words.

"Wilfrid!" he said reproachfully; "She didn't say anything of the sort. I will write and ask her if she couldn't contrive to come over. She might meet us at the park gates."

"No," I returned; "there isn't time. I mean to go back to London — perhaps tomorrow evening. It is like turning you out, Charley, but we shall be nearer each other in town than we were last time.”

"I am delighted to hear it," he said. "I had been thinking myself that I had better go back this evening. My father is expected home in a day or two, and it would be just like him to steal a march on my chambers. Yes, I think I shall go to night."

66

Next came the practical part:- What was I to do? To right myself either in respect of their opinion or in respect of my lost property, was more hopeless than important, and I hardly wasted two thoughts upon that. But I could not remain where I was, and soon came to the resolution to go with Charley to London at once, and taking lodgings in some obscure recess near the inns of court, there to give myself to work and work alone, in the foolish hope that one day fame might buttress reputation. In this resolution I Very well, old boy," I answered. was more influenced by the desire to be" That will make it all right. It's a pity near the brother of Mary Osborne, than we couldn't take the journey together, but the desire to be near my friend Charley, it doesn't matter much. I shall follow you strong as that was: I expected thus to as soon as I can." hear of her oftener, and even cherished the hope of coming to hear from her- of inducing her to honour me with a word or two of immediate communication. For I could see no reason why her opinions should prevent her from corresponding with one who, whatever might or might not seem to him true, yet cared for the truth, and must treat with respect every form in which he could descry its predominating presence.

I would have asked Charley to set out with me that very day but for the desire to clear up the discrepancy between the date of my ancestor's letters, all written within the same year, and that of the copy I had made of the registration of their marriage with which object I would compare the copy and the original. I wished also to have some talk with Mr.

66

Why can't you go with me?" he asked.

Thereupon I gave him a full report of my excursion with Mr. Coningham, and the after reading of the letters, with my reason for wishing to examine the register again; telling him that I had asked Mr. Coningham to ride with me once more to Umberden Church.

When Styles returned, he informed me that Mr. Coningham at first proposed to ride back with him, but probably bethinking himself that another sixteen miles would be too much for my mare, had changed his mind and sent me the message that he would be with me early the next day.

After Charley was gone, I spent the evening in a thorough search of the old bureau. I found in it several quaint orna

once belonged to the armoury of Moldwarp Hall. I took it with me when I left my grannie's room, and laid it in the portmanteau I was going to take to London.

ments besides those already mentioned, I must mention one thing more I found but only one thing which any relation to a long, sharp-pointed, straight-backed, my story, would justify specific mention snake-edged, Indian dagger, inlaid with of namely an ivory label, discoloured silver- — a fierce, dangerous, almost venomwith age, on which was traceable the very ous looking weapon, in a curious case of number Sir Giles had read from the scab-old green morocco. It also may have bard of Sir Wilfrid's sword. Clearly then my sword was the one mentioned in the book, and as clearly it had not been at Moldwarp Hall for a long time before I lost it there. If I were in any fear as to my reader's acceptance of my story, I should rejoice in the possession of that label more than in the restoration of sword or book; but amidst all my troubles, I have as yet been able to rely upon her justice and her knowledge of myself. Yes

My only difficulty was what to do with Lilith; but I resolved for the meantime to leave her, as before, in the care of Styles, who seemed almost as fond of her as I was myself.

night, when it was sealed in the small tubes. The results were examined twenty-four days after being heated. In this case, as in the sugar solution, life was observed in the solutions heated to 2009 and 300° Fabr., while in those heated to 400° and 500° Fahr. life was destroyed. In the solution not heated fungus matter was observed, while none appeared in any of the heated solutions. A solution of gelatine, of such strength that it remained liquid in cooling, was exposed to the atmosphere for twenty-four hours, and introduced into the small tubes, which were sealed and heated. The fluids were examined twenty-four days yfter being heated. The animalcules in this

"ACTION OF HEAT ON GERM LIFE," BY❘ and leaving it exposed to the atmosphere all DR. CRACE CALVERT. It has hitherto been assumed by the advocates of the theory of spontaneous generation that a temperature of 2129 Fahr., or the boiling point of the fluid operated on, was sufficient to destroy all protoplasmic life. To determine this point experiments were made with solution of sugar, hay, infusion, solution of gelatine, and water that had been in contact with putrid meat. To carry out these experiments, the author prepared a series of small tubes, made of very thick well annealed glass, each tube about 4 centimètres in length, and having a bore of 5 millimètres. The fluid to be operated upon was introduced into them, and left exposed to the atmosphere for a sufficient length of time for germ life to be largely devel-case were principally of a different class to those oped. Each tube was then hermetically sealed, observed in the two preceding cases, and this and wrapped in wire gauze. They were then class were injured at 100° Fahr.; at 212o a placed in an oil bath, and gradually heated considerable diminution in the amount had to the required temperature, at which they taken place; whilst at 300° all life was dewere maintained for half an hour. The sugar stroyed. Water was placed in an open vessel, solution was prepared by dissolving one part of and a piece of meat suspended in it until it besugar in ten parts of common water, and then came putrid. This fluid was placed in the usuexposed to the atmosphere all night, so that life al tubes, heated, and the contents examined might impregnate it, then placed in tubes and after twenty-four days. In this case life was allowed to stand five days. Some of the tubes still observed at 300° Fahr., while at 400° it were kept without being heated, others heated had disappeared, Parts of the putrid meat soto 200°, 300°, 400°, and 500°, Fahr. respect-lutions that had been heated were mixed with ively. After being kept twenty-four days, the contents of the tubes were microscopically examined. In the solution not heated much life was seen, at 212° a great portion of the life had disappeared, at 300° the sugar was slightly charred but the life not entirely destroyed, while at 400 and 500° the sugar was almost entirely charred, and no trace of life observed. A small black vibrio observed resists the high temperature and all chemical solutions. The hay infusion was made by macerating hay in common water for one hour, filtering the liquor,

albumen, to ascertain whether they still possessed the power of propagating life, the result being that up to 300° Fahr. life and its germs had not been destroyed, whilst at 400° they had. Putrid meat liquor was exposed for twenty hours to a temperature ranging from the freezing point to 17° below that point. Immediately after melting the ice the animalcules appeared languid and their power of locomotion was greatly decreased, but in two hours they appeared as energetic as before.

From The Cornhill Magazine.

A MAHOMETAN REVIVAL.

which (as Captain Burton has noticed) the wealthy family of the neighbourhood is MR. W. W. HUNTER, in his curious and sometimes allowed to occupy, almost invainteresting volume called Our Indian Mus-riably give the feeling that one has strayed sulmans; are they bound in conscience to into a "place of worship" not very far rebel against the Queen? - which, by the from one's own parish church. Moreover, way, as written by the author of the An- Mahometanism shares with the more popnals of Rural Bengal, scarcely requires the ularly governed Protestant sects a liabiladvertisement of its rather startling title ity to periodical revivals of religion. A - tells the story of what, under its reli- time comes when all the historical glosses gious aspect, must be called a Revival and interpretations which have incrusted among the Mahometans of India. The the sacred text seem to break away, and movement has a very serious political as- when all the compromises by which the pect, which we will notice presently: but principles of the faith have been reconciled it is primarily and pre-eminently religious, to existing facts, begin to excite repugand it has all the characteristics of the nance or horror. An enthusiasm, almost periodical outbursts of enthusiasm famil- invariably beginning with some one person, iar to the sects of Protestant Christians spreads like a contagion among believers; which are least under sacerdotal influence. and it is nearly invariably an enthusiasm There are certain vague general resem- for restoring the simple literal rule as it blances between the great religions of appears in the text of the Sacred Book. India and the great divisions of Western The radical difference between MahomeChristianity. It would be offensive and tanism and Christianity shows itself, not unjust to find any strong similarity be- in the process of recurrence to first printween Hindooism and Roman Catholicism; ciples, which is much the same in both yet the Hindoo system is not so very un-cases, but in the character of the principles like that debased Italian Christianity upon which Conyers Middleton fastened; there is the same inordinate ceremonialism, and the same unquestioning acceptance of the principle of vicarious mediation; and there are the same overwhelming proofs that the system has absorbed and assimilated to itself an older heathenism. The various local gods of the Hindoos are as obviously idols or fetishes of immemorial antiquity, taken up into the Hindoo religion by the simple expedient of calling them incarnations of Vishnu or Siva, as many of the local Italian saints are the Latin deities of the neighbourhood, cach baptized with the name of a Christian martyr. Nor can it be denied that Mahometanism has an air of Puritan Christianity. The entire absence of a priesthood; the simple forms of worship; the deference to the letter of the sacred volume; and, we may add, the strained interpretations of it indulged in by preacher and commentator, are all points of resemblance which cannot be passed over. Most English visitors to an Eastern mosque are conscious of a queer impression that they have seen something like it at home. In the more splendid edifices of the kind the marble carved into delicate lace-work destroys all associations with Ebenezer or Bethel; but in humbler buildings the pulpit or reading-desk, the pavement divided into squares reserved to the several worshippers, the stern suppression of symbolic ornament, the sort of pew

see

which it is sought to apply in their integrity. This may be illustrated by the example of Quakerism, the most thorough and famous, and nearly the oldest of Protestant Christian revivals. The peculiar dress of the Quakers, and the fashions of speech for which they found imperative directions in the Bible, have no more interest than the interdiction of tobacco, which the Mahometan Revivalists clearly written in certain texts of the Koran; but nothing can be more striking than the distinction between the great cardinal rule which the enthusiasts believed themselves in the two cases to have discovered in God's Word. However true it may have been that, as a matter of fact, Christianity was destined to bring into the world not peace, but a sword, nobody can wonder that the Quakers extracted from the text of the New Testament the principle of peace among men. It is quite as natural that the new Mahometan sect should have found among their authorities a positive exhortation to make war under certain circumstances. The absolute duty of sacred war of what Sir Herbert Edwardes taught Indian officials to call a Crescentade - is in fact the great article of the renovated Mahometan creed.

The contagious enthusiasm of religious revivals is almost always, as we have said, originally generated in some one individual. He is often a person whom it is nearly impossible to respect. It has been rather a trial to modern sentimental