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wished himself back in his own desolate chamber.

While occupied with these thoughts, the door was opened, and Eugenie Belmont entered. Camille arose and bowed as she came forward, without raising his eyes to her face. With a voice as ravisbingly sweet as that of angels when welcoming souls to heavenly bliss, she addressed him, and on a subject which is always interesting to every man—himself.

"May I ask whether you are Monsieur d'Arcy the poet?"

"I do not know, Mademoiselle, whether I deserve the name of poet, but I plead guilty to publishing a volume of verse a year ago, which brought me little fame and less money."

"Your beautiful book should have secured you both."

"Am I to understand that Mademoiselle Belmont has read my little book?"

"I have read and admired it over and over again, and, if all the world were like me, your book would have made you famous."

"If all the world were like you, Mademoiselle, it would be a paradise," cried Camille, overjoyed to hear his neglected book praised.

"Look at me, Monsieur d'Arcy, is paradise composed of such?"

Camille raised his eyes to her face: those withered lips were indeed hideous, but he could not consider them revolting, for from them had come words of praise and encouragement, to cheer him onward in his effort

"to climb

The steep where 1'ame's proud temple shines afar."

Those cheeks were thin and yellow, but perhaps they had glowed with enthusiasm over his volume.

"If you will excuse me, Mademoiselle, I will say that the Houris are not quite so plain."

"Don't mince matters, Monsieur d'Arcy j my mirror tells me the truth, and I want you to do likewise."

"But, Mademoiselle, it is not customary for gentlemen to speak so plainly to ladies about their personal appearance."

"Monsieur Camille d'Arcy, I want you to understand, once for all, that Eugenie Belmont is not like other women; therefore do not hesitate to say what you think of me."

"Well, Mademoiselle, if you will insist upon it, I can only say that you are indeed bitter ugly."

"Bitter ugly 1 that is quite refreshing: bitter ugly—very good, indeed," cried Eugenie, with a laugh as sweet and musical as a silver bell.

"I am glad, Mademoiselle, that my plainness has not offended you. It is certainly venturing upon rather dangerous ground to tell a lady she is ugly."

"You must remember that I am not like other women."

Eugenie then rang the bell, and ordered the servant who answered it to arrange the blue

room, The man bowed and withdrew,

"You have a harp, Mademoiselle—do you play and sing i" asked Camille, drawing her attention to a superb instrument in one corner of the room. "Sometimes, to while away a weary hour." "Won't you favour me with some music f" asked Camille, handing her the harp.

"With pleasure," said Eugenie, lightly drawing her hand over the strings, and eliciting strains so heavenly sweet that they might have come from the inspired fingers of St. Cecilia. "What shall I sing'"

"Your favourite. I am sure what pleases you will please me." "Thank you. Listen!" Eugenie sang one of his own sad little songs, with a voice of melting pathos. Camille was deeply affected, and, when the last soft notes died away, he said:

"Mademoiselle, I could thank you on my knees for your sweet kindness in singing that and calling it your favourite."

As he spoke, a door at the lower end of the room glided back, displaying an inner apartment arranged for a repast.

"Monsieur d'Arcy, I want you to partake of some fruit which I have bad served in the next room."

"With pleasure," said Camille, rising, and offering Eugenie his arm to escort her to the salle-u manger."

"Monsieur," said Eugenie, as they sat down to a tempting array of delicacies, "I wish you to see what Bagatelle can produce. All the fruit before you was raised in my garden."

"They are, like everything else here, delightful!" said Camille, tasting a luscious peach. "I ndeed, I can hardly believe that all I have seen to-day is real and substantial. Walking through your splendid grounds, I could have imagined myself in the garden of the liesperides: seated in your gorgeous saloon, I could hardly help fancying that I saw an enchanting vision which would soon dissolve, leaving me nothing but the dull realities of life."

"You poets are like that ethereal bird the huma, which never touches the ground: you are always flying in the air, and dislike to touch this poor earth of ours."

"Had I the wings of an eagle, I could not fly to a more delightful retreat than I have found to-day, nor receive a more gratifying welcome than that which you have so kindly given me."

Camille returned to his books and studies, from his visit to Bagatelle, with a feeling of satisfaction to which he had long been a stranger; his prospects looked brighter; he had secured a kind friend in the Lady of Bagatelle; it seemed as natural for her to be agreeable as it is for the flowers to bloom and the birds to sing. Eugenie had invited Camille to visit Bagatelle by moonlight. He did so, one beautiful evening. They strolled about the lovely grounds; he told her of his golden aspirations—of his struggles—of his failures, She consoled him

with sweet and gentle words ; she pointed to the future husband. This beautiful being was no great future, and assured him that his hopes other tban the Lady of Bagatelle, who had so would be realized. Camille felt the influence of long excited the curiosity of the Parisians, her that delicious voice, and, in that soft hour, he ravishing face being concealed by a frightful knelt at Eugenie's feet and told his love. and ingeniously-fashioned mask. Her object

To shorten the story, the day was ap- in veiling those charming features from the pointed for the wedding. Everything was gaze of the world was, to secure a partner who ready. Camille, handsome and expectant, would not seek to marry her on account of the advanced to meet the bride, when a lovely accidental advantages of wealth and beauty creature of seventeen, with a face and form alone, but for her own intrinsic worth; and in which might have served as a model for the accomplished Camille d'Arcy she obtained A pelles when he painted his exquisite picture of such a partner, Venus, came forward, and took the hand of her




Laplace, in support of his doctrine that, nado, and of all earth’s fires, external and inmeteoric stones have their origin in lunar vol- ternal, surging forth in one mighty volcano, canoes, calculated that the projectile force neces- | Neither is it possible to bring to bear the sary to throw them without the moon's sphere elements of power existing in any such portion of attraction within that of the earth, would be of the earth, so as to carry a mass of matter only about four times that of a 'ball from a (whether a bullet, or a stone, or any other) outcannon.

side of the influence which the whole earth To find the diameter of the moon's sphere of exerts upon it to hold it in her embrace, nor so attraction, compared with that of the earth's as to give it a motion away from the earth sphere--say as the moon's mass (1) is to the swifter than the motion with which it rotates as earth's mass (80), so is the square of the a part of the rotating earth. So it is an imdiameter of the moon's sphere (r? miles) to the possibility-an impossibility such as contradicts square of the diameter of the earth's sphere the very laws of thought-that the moon sbould, (two hundred and forty thousand-x] miles), by any force or any combination of forces she making the diameter of the moon's sphere can ever generate, cast a meteorite beyond the twenty-four thousand miles. It would require influence which has served to bind it to her, be many thousands of times, instead of only four this influence great or small. times, the force of a cannon-charge to hurl so Suppose it possible for a lunar volcano to far stones of the weight of some that have throw a stone beyond the line dividing the fallen. Of course it will not be presumed that moon's and the earth's attractions, namely, a any volcano upon the moon is capable of giving line twenty-four thousand miles distant from such a force.

the moon. The stone, in rising to such height, It is an axiom that “ The whole of a thing is then in falling through the remaining distance greater than any one of its parts." So it is a which the moon and earth are apart (two huntruth, which is fully entitled to be received as dred and sisteen thousand iniles), would take axiomatic, that the undivided power of any self- three hours (according to the law of falling controlling machine cannot be overcome by bodies-namely, the law that a body will fall whatever power may be brought to bear by sixteen feet during the first second, three times any separate part of the same machine. For sixteen feet during the second second, five instance: no inan is able to lift his whole person times sixteen feet during the third second, and by the force, acting directly, of one of his arms. so on), gaining by its fall (according to the Neither can a wheel, which is revolving in a same law) a velocity of one hundred and eightycertain direction, beneath the pressure of a four thousand miles per hour. The moon passes column of water, be made to turn in an oppo- in her orbit at the rate of twenty-two hundred site direction by half of the same column falling miles per hour, which rate of motion the stone back upon it from a height equal to the height would carry with it in its departure, receiving from which the whole is falling. Neither is it thus a direction, not in a right line towards the possible to bring together, and to bear, the centre of the earth, but in advance of this line, elements of power existing in any--the largest, so that, at the expiration of the three hours, it portion of our earth, even though this portion would be sixty-six hundred miles forward of the should consist of all the power-producing ma- earth's centre. Now, with the projectile force terials capable of being gathered from the entire imparted to it by a speed of one hundred and face and bowels of the globe, and of the whole eighty-six thousand miles per hour--that accircumambient atmosphere wbirled into a tor- 'quired in falling, united with that received from

the moon—it could not, upon the principle of the Newtonian theory, come to the earth at all, but must revolve about her in an orbit so elliptical as to have its apogee a million miles farther outward than that of the moon's orbit, while its perigee would be two hundred and thirty-three thousand four hundred miles farther inward than that of the moon's orbit.

The diameter of the moon's sphere of attraction, compared with that of the sun's sphere, is less than it is, compared with that of the earth's sphere. As the moon's mass (1) is to the sun's mass (twenty-eight millions), so is the square of the diameter of the moon's sphere (.//-' miles) to the square of the diameter of the sun's sphere ([ninety-five millions—xV miles), making the diameter of the moon's sphere eighteen thousand milee, only three-fourths of what it is, reckoned in relation with the diameter of the earth's sphere. Then, a stone cast from the moon beyond the limit of her attraction, whether this limit be distant the eighteen thousand or the twenty-four thousand miles, would seek, not the earth, but the sun, as its centre of gravity. The earth could not govern it, unless when in a line between it and the sun, or when so near such line that it would, in passing, intersect the line bounding her sphere of attraction. In order to this, the stone must come from the moon at or very near the time of her full.

The moon, in her passage with the earth round the sun, has an average velocity of sixtyeight thousand miles per hour. So a stone, sent from one of her volcanoes within the sun's attraction, would have a speed of sixty-eight thousand miles per hour, which would make its path a curve forward of the sun, instead of a straight line cutting his centre. It would be fifty hours in falling through the distance of ninety-live million miles, at the end of which time it would be at a point three million miles away from the sun's surface, having a velocity of thirty-eight thousand miles per hour. Such velocity would give it a hundred times the projectile force—(this force being as the square of the velocity)—a hundred times the projectile force needed, according to the gravitation doctrine, to retain it in a planetary orbit. So it must be driven into a cometary orbit—one so elliptical as to have its aphelion three hundred and fifty million miles from the sun's centre— further outward than the orbit of the outermost asteroid; while its perihelion would be not three million five hundred thousand miles from the same centre, as shown already. Query: Whether our little, modest matron of a moon is not the mother of the comets, after all?

Suppose a stone to have fallen out of the earth's orbit—that is, from the moon revolving with the earth—into an orbit of its own about the sun. It was fifty hours in falling, which time, multiplied by the hourly velocity of its passage while a part of the moon, is the measure of the distance from the sun's centre forward to the point where its descent from its old annual path terminated, and where its new annual path commenced. A line from this point

forms, at the centre of the sun, a right angle with a line from the point at which its descent began; so that, when it started in its new course, (from the perihelion point of its orbit,) it was one quarter of the whole circle of the zodiac in advance of the position which it left in its original course. The breadth of its new orbit, also, is measured by its velocity in its old orbit multiplied into the time occupied in falling therefrom, being twice the length of its perihelion line—that is, seven million miles. The elongation of this orbit is measured by the stone's excess of projectile force above what was needed, according to the Third Law of Kepler, to balance its excess of gravitating force obtained by its near approach to the sun. Kepler's law increases the velocity of a body revolving about the centre of gravity in proportion to the square root of the distance towards that centre passed through by the body. Thus, the stone in the earth's orbit—ninety-five million miles from the sun—had a velocity of sixty-eight thousand miles per hour; then its velocity in an orbit three million five hundred thousand miles from the sun will bear the same proportion to the other, as the square root of the latter distance bears to that of the former distance, making the new velocity three hundred and fifty thousand miles per hour. The projectile force imparted to the stone by this additional speed— being according to the square of the speed — was sufficient to cancel its increase of gravity produced by its fall, and to direct it into a circular orbit seven million miles in diameter. But it acquired, in falling, ten times the speed— three million eight hundred thousand miles per hour—therefore an hundred times the projectile force; by means of which force the orbit was lengthend from seven million to three hundred and fifty-three million five hundred thousand miles, taking thence the shape of a parallelogram with its ends rounded, rather than that of a regular planetary ellipse. The circumference of such an orbit is equal to that of a circular one of two hundred and forty million miles in diameter; and the stone, governed by Kepler's law, (that is, decreasing its speed of three million eight hundred thousand miles per hour, at three million five hundred thousand miles distance from the sun's centre, according to the distance which it passes outward to reach its aphelion,) performed a revolution in this orbit in forty-six days, crossing the earth's path both on its course outward and on its return inward. The distance, in a straight line, between these two points of crossing, is seven million miles. The earth, at the time of the stone's departure from her orbit, wanted half this distance of being three-quarters of the extent of her circuit behind the first of those points; then she will reach it at the expiration of two hundred and seventytwo days from that time, when the stone will lack six days of having completed its sixth revolution, and will be a day and a half's journey behind the other point of intersection. By the time of its arrival at the latter point, the 1 earth will have passed along her orbit to within four or fire million miles of it, at which position the stone, supposing it to be partially vaporized, therefore enlarged, by the heat to which it is subjected in its near and frequent approaches to the sun, as is supposed of the comets, might be seen as a 'shooting star,' moving in the direction of the earth's movement on her axis. The earth, in her second subsequent revolution, will have passed the same crossing point two or three hundred thousand miles when the stone has arrived there in its twenty-first revolution;

so that this will be seen shooting in a direction contrary to that of the earth's rotation. Now, allowing for the deviations from a direct line to which the stone must be subject in its passage among the planets and asteroids, it might come so near the earth, in the second case especially, as to fall a meteorite into her embrace. Question: Whether we shall not be claimed as supporters of the Lunar Theory, notwithstanding our demonstrations of its falsity i


Stocking-Knitters' Manual.—(Edinburg: Johnstone, Hunter, Sf Co.) — For the benefit of our lady-readers, who may desire to blend the useful art of stocking-knitting with the more elegant occupations of the work-table, we beg to introduce Mrs. George Cupple's little work, the directions in which are very clearly given, and cannot fail to explain even to a learner all the mystery of shaping a stocking. There was a time in this country when young ladies learned to knit as a necessary branch of womanly education. The invention of the stocking loom, by " William Lee, of Calverton, in the county of Nottingham, gent," though unpatented for some time after its discovery, eventually introduced frame-work-knit stockings into general use, and hand-knitting took sanctuary in Ireland and the Channel-Islands, where it flourishes to this day, or ensconced itself in the ingle-nook, under the fosterage of sixty - years-old housewives, the pleasant and profitable industry of aged hands and failing eyes; for even the blind can be taught to knit, and find a pleasure in the rapid clicking of the needles and the growth of the soft work beneath their hands. As late as the days of Mrs. Delany, stocking-knitting engaged the attention of ladies of rank and fashion ; and the embroidering of the gold or silver clocks on them is often referred to in Lady Llanover's amusing diary of that lady. In our own early days it lingered in many homes, and was (as we have said) the prerogative and special work of the aged. There was, and should be still, if justice were done to the art, a prejudice in favour of these home-made stockings, which in warmth and durability far excel the woven ones, and are, moreover, when worn-out or over-mended, capable of complete renovation; for the foot can be removed, the stitches taken up, and heel and gussets and toe reknitted. Nothing thai we buy now can equal the hand-knit lambs'-wool socks of our childhood, that rendered cold feet impossible, and were in themselves a remedy for chilblains. The very . sight of Mrs. Cupple's patterns are sufficient to make notable mothers long to set about the I

task of knitting baby's stockings, or their own it may be; for equally distinct directions are given in both cases, and apropos, as we shall not injure the writer's interest by quoting one at length (reference being necessary to some of the foregone pages), we copy one for an infant's stocking, knitted with merino wool:

Needles No. 18. Cast on 80 stitches, knit 34 rounds, 2 pearl and 2 plain alternately. Knit 4S plain rounds, or two inches in length, with a seam-stitch. Increase three stitches on second round (see page 9). Now do the intakes:

2 intakes with 6 rounds between each.

3 intakes with 7 rounds between each. 2 intakes with 8 rounds batween each.

This makes 14 intakes altogether—7 on each side of the seam—and reduces the stocking to 69. Knit 1J inches plaiu for length of ankle. Divide the stitches, placing 17 on each side of seam-stitch, and leaving 34 for front of the foot. Knit 23 rows for the heel, plain and pearl alternately, for 1 inch: then knit the top according to directions (see page C) and pick up the stitches for the foot, till there are 24 on each side of the seam, 7 being for the gusset. 'When the gusset is done there ought to be 69 stitches on. Knit 2 together at back of foot to reduce it to an even number. Knit 33 rounds plain, or li inches in length. Knit the toe (sea page 8) and cast off with 10 stitches on each side of the foot.

There, though we confess to practical ignorance of the intakes, gussets, &c, it seems to us that we can see the little stocking grow and shape itself into the desired form as we read the simplywritten receipt; and to those who are conversant with the accomplishment of knitting the directions, which include patterns for every sized stocking, plain, ribbed, or rose-leaved, lie., will be most easily comprehended.



The above is the title of a letter addressed by Thomas Twining, Esq., to the Secretary of the Labourers' Friend bociety, in reference to

lectures written to explain and illustrate the "Science of Common Life," exemplified in the diagrams, models, specimens, &c, collected in this gentleman's Economic Museum, at Twickenham, to which the attention of our readers was repeatedly called at the period of its foundation. We are glad to learn from this letter, which is well worthy the attention of all who have the improvement of the working classes at heart, that this museum, "intended to illustrate the application of science to daily life," has proved a step in the right direction; and that a series of lectures, "prepared on the same principles, and intended to propagate at a distance the instruction it is designed to impart," have been listened to, and received with real interest by the class for whose special advantage the museum has been founded and the lectures written. The scope of instruction included in the lectures, as well as in the museum, is best described in Mr. Twining's own words:

I include, under Domestic Economy, the study of all that constitutes a comfortable home, and of every appropriate resource that may contribute to life's rational enjoyment; whilst under Sanitary Economy I comprise public and personal hygiene: that is to say, all those practical applications of science, by which good health may be maintained, indifferent health may be improved, accidents and injuries may be avoided, and suffering of any kind may be alleviated. Now domestic economy (or the science of comfort) and sanitary economy (or the science of health) are so intimately connected—so consonant in their principles, and so interwoven in their practice— that it is indispensable to treat them as one science, the Science of Common Life, in order to teach, in a satisfactory way, how dwellings should be constructed and internally arranged to promote health and comfort; what Reason has to say on the article of dress; what principles preside over the selection and preparation of food; how one may distinguish things which are genuine, wholesome, substantial, durable, and really cheap, from those which are cheap only in appearance, &c., &c.

Great aims these, and as wise as they are beneficent; for we think with the writer that "it is high time energetic steps were taken to secure to the British mechanic advantages in the way of scientific and technical instruction equal to those enjoyed by his continental brethren, and thus enable him to sustain, in spite of the high price of the necessaries of life in this country, and of the free importation of foreign manufacturing products, a creditable and remunerative competition." This appears the more practicable, since (as is stated) there are few trades in which the action of scientific principles has not prepared the minds of the working men to receive and appreciate instruction when offered—a hopeful condition that may, in time, be extended to their wives and daughters, who, notwithstanding the many elementary books on household economics, thrown broadcast in national and

other schools, are lamentably deficient in tht art of applying the information and precepts contained in them to the ordering and management of theirown homes and income. As a means j to this end, and as supplementing the intention of Mr. Twining's Museum of Domestic Economy at Twickenham, or rather of extending its service, the series of five popular lectures have been written, to which we referred at the commencement of this notice. For the benefit of others who are endeavouring to improve the condition of the working-classes—and desire to advantage themselves of these lectures—we may add that, unless an institution can afford to undertake some portion of the expenses without inconvenience, Mr. Twining will take charge of everything except placards and advertisements, only desiring the prospect of a workingclass audience of not less than 300 persons, in a suitable meeting-place. Programmes containing a full syllabus are provided, and the lectures are constantly kept in type; so that an alteration of the title-page, and change of date, is all that is necessary to prepare them for any place in which they may be required. The lectures comprise, first, an introductory explanation of the scope and importance of domestic and sanitary economy, or the science of common life, and of the necessity for preparatory knowledge of the elementary sciences, on the application of which it is founded; secondly, a continuation of the foregoing, including the mechanical forces in their application to daily life; thirdly, practical notions of aerostatics, hydrostatics, and acoustics; fourthly, light and heat; fifthly, elementary outlines of chemistry.

The best proof, perhaps, of how earnestly and thoughtfully these lectures are received, may be gathered from the fact that, at the Workingman's Club, established by Miss Adeline Cooper, in Old Pye-street, Westminster, one of these lectures (that on " Light and Heat") was read to an audience chiefly made up of costermongers. It had been thought that the audience would not be equal to more than one scientific lecture; but, after hearing it, the men wished the whole series should be given, and the one previously read repeated in its place. The lectures have also been read at the hall at the Lambeth Baths to a mixed audience, which amounted to 800 on the first evening, and increased to 1,300 on the last.

These facts speak loudly for the interest of the lectures, and of the desire of the people to benefit by them, and entirely bears out the opinion expressed by the author of the letter before us, "that there are, in our working population, sterling qualities of great promise—germs of thoughtful improvement, which only want judicious fostering and disinterested guidance, to produce results of infinite value for their physical and social welfare—I might add, also for their industrial position, as compared with that of the working populations of other manufacturing and commercial countries."

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