I watched her as she marched to a corner of her garden, and stooped to dig up some little root there. Then, without a scrap of courage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in and stood beside her, touching her with my finger.

'If you please, ma'am,' I began.

She started, and looked up.

'If you please, aunt.'

'EH?' exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard approached.

'If you please aunt, I am your nephew.'

'Oh, Lord!' said my aunt, and sat flat down in the gardenpath.-Charles Dickens.

99. TRUTH IN SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH.

Whoever has once got knowledge from nature herself by truthful reasoning and experiment, must be dull indeed if he does not feel that he has acquired a new and noble power, and if he does not long to exercise it further, and make new conquests from the realm of darkness by the aid of known truths.

The habit of systematically searching for truth by the aid of known truths, and of testing the validity of each step by constant reference to nature, has now been practised for a sufficiently long time to enable us to judge of some of its results.

Every true idea of the order of nature is an instrument of thought. It can only be obtained by truthful investigation; and it can only be used effectively in obedience to the same laws. But the first idea which is formed of any thing occurring in nature affords only a partial representation of the actual reality, by recording what is seen of it from a particular point of view. By examining a thing from different points of view we get different ideas of it; and when we compare these ideas accurately with one another, recollecting how each one was obtained, we find that they really supplement each other.

Each onward step in the search for truth has made us stronger for the work; and when we look back upon what has been done by the efforts of so many workers simply but steadily directed by truth towards further truth, we see that they have achieved, for the benefit of the human race, the conquest of a

systematic body of truths which encourages men to similar efforts while affording them the most effectual aid and guidance.-A. W. Williamson.

100. THE ANTIQUARY.

Following the windings of the beach, Sir Arthur and his daughter passed one projecting point or headland of rock after another, and now found themselves under a huge and continued extent of precipices, by which that iron-bound coast is in most places defended. Long projecting reefs of rock, extending under water, and only evincing their existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, or by the breakers which foamed over those that were partially covered, rendered Knockwinnock Bay dreaded by pilots. The crags, which rose between the beach and the mainland, to the height of two or three hundred feet, afforded in their crevices shelter for unnumbered sea-fowl, in situations seemingly secured by their dizzy height from the rapacity of man. Many of these wild tribes, with the instinct which sends them to seek the land before a storm arises, were now winging towards their nests with the shrill and dissonant clang which announces disquietude and fear. The disc of the sun became almost totally obscured ere he had altogether sunk below the horizon, and an early and lurid shade of darkness blotted the serene twilight of a summer evening. The wind next began to arise, but its wild and moaning sound was heard for some time, and its effects became visible on the bosom of the sea, before the gale was felt on shore. The mass of waters, now dark and threatening, began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink in deeper furrows, forming waves, that rose high in foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the beach with a sound resembling distant thunder.

They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow bay, or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high and inaccessible rock, which shot out into the sea like the horns of a crescent; and neither durst communicate the apprehension which each began to entertain, that, from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they might be deprived of the power of proceeding by doubling the promontory which lay before them, or of retreating by the road which brought them thither.

As they thus pressed forwards, Sir Arthur observed a human figure on the beach, advancing to meet them. The figure made many signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed by wind and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from seeing or comprehending distinctly. Sir Arthur could recognise the old blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree. 'Turn back! turn back,' exclaimed Edie; 'why did you not turn when I waved to you ?'

'We thought,' replied Sir Arthur, in great agitation, 'we thought we could get round Halkethead.'

'Halkethead! the tide will be running on Halkethead by this time like the Fall of Fyers! It was a' I could do to get round in twenty minutes, since it was coming in three feet abreast. We will, may be, get back by Ballyburgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us! it is our only chance.'

-a

It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and sounded like the dirge of the three devoted beings who, pent between two of the most magnificent yet most dreadful objects of nature raging tide and an insurmountable precipice-toiled along their painful and dangerous path, often lashed by the spray of some giant billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than those that preceded it. Each minute did their enemy gain ground perceptibly upon them! Still, however, loth to relinquish the last hopes of life, the black rock, pointed out by Ochiltree, was yet distinctly visible, and continued to be so, until they came to a turn in their precarious path, where an intervening projection of rock hid it from their sight. Deprived of the view of the beacon, on which they had relied, they now experienced the double agony of terror and suspense.

The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave a faint shriek, and—'God have mercy upon us!' which her guide solemnly uttered, was piteously repeated by Sir Arthur.

IOI. SCENE FROM 'VIRGINIUS.'

Sir W. Scott.

My child, she hath been like a child to me
For fifteen years. If I am not her father,
I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived

So long a time together, in so near
And dear society may be allowed,
A little time for parting. Let me take
The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she 'll give me
Some token will unloose a tie so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it,
My heart breaks with it.

Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Vir. No, my child

No, my Virginia-come along with me.

Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you?

Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless you!
My father! my dear father! Art thou not

My father?

(VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.)

Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going

To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee.
App. Keep back the people, soldiers ! Let them not
Approach Virginius! Keep the people back!

[Virginia shrieks, and falls half dead upon her father's

shoulder.

Vir. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me

A little 'Tis my last embrace. 'Twon't try

Your patience beyond bearing, if you're a man !
Lengthen it as I may, I cannot make it

Long. My dear child! My dear Virginia ! There is one only way to save thine honour'Tis this.

[Kissing her.

[Stabs her, and draws out the knife. Icilius breaks from the soldiers that held him, and catches her.

Lo, Appius, with this innocent blood

I do devote thee to the infernal gods !

Make way there!

App. Stop him! Seize him!

Vir. If they dare

To tempt the desperate weapon that is maddened
With drinking my daughter's blood, why, let them
It rushes in amongst them. way there! Way!

[Exit through the soldiers. -Sheridan Knowles.

102. GEORGE STEPHENSON.

Though mainly an engineer, he was also a daring thinker on many scientific questions, and there was scarcely a subject of speculation, or a department of recondite science, on which he had not employed his faculties in such a way as to have formed large and original views. At Drayton the conversation often turned upon such topics, and Mr. Stephenson freely joined in it. On one occasion an animated discussion took place between himself and Dr. Buckland, on one of his favourite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buckland, a much greater master of tongue-fence than Stephenson, completely silenced him. Next morning, before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds deeply pondering, Sir William Follett came up, and asked what he was thinking about? 'Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last night. I know I am right, and that, if I had only the command of words which he has, I'd have beaten him.' 'Let me know all about it,' said Sir William, 'and I'll see what I can do for you.' The two sat down in an arbour, where the astute lawyer made himself thoroughly acquainted with the points of the case, entering into it with all the zeal of an advocate about to plead the dearest interests of his client. After he had mastered the subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his