you know something of a strength beyond your

own.

I was sorry to see my companion now prepare to arrange her bag, and to seek for her railway ticket, as though she were soon to leave me. She got down at Croydon. I envied her the welcome which awaited her on the platform, from a bright, beautiful girl of sixteen, who greeted her with a loving kiss. I wondered, as one is apt to wonder about our railway companions, in what relation that pretty girl stood to my plain elderly acquaintance; but the train moved on, and I did not find that out until some time afterwards.

The nurse, who was there with the two younger children, making a sort of temporary nursery of the school-room, for the sake of preserving order, eyed me askance on my entrance. I had always been taught to treat our domestics with courtesy and respect in my childhood's home-let no one smile at the word respect-and it had never entered into my heart to conceive that I could be an object of suspicion or dislike to them; but I was mistaken.

and, taking Jessie's hand, stalked out, leaving me with my new pupils in the school-room, which, with but short leaves of absence, was to be my prison henceforth.

I began to notice the baby, but I soon found that would not do at all. Nurse appeared to think it a great liberty when I asked if I might take it It was with a beating heart, yet, if I can recol- for a few minutes. Little Jessie, a pretty, babylect aright, with an earnest resolve to be true and like little thing of two years old, appeared inclined faithful to my charge, that I awaited my introduc- to be sociable, which nurse observing, remarked : tion to my new pupils. They came into the break-"Come, dear, we shall not be wanted here now;" fast-room in answer to a summons from their mamma, looking exactly as I felt, very awkward. Three nice-looking girls they were; but they gave me the impression, soon confirmed by facts, of children who needed sympathy. You may soon The day passed wearily enough. I was too late read that want in a young face. You may read it for the dinner hour of the family; it had not ocin the thoughtful, earnest, reserved child's, and incurred to any one that I could be hungry; and that of the open, frolicksome, merry one. You when I went down to dessert with the children, I may read it in the loving, tender, heart-full face, and was so honestly hungry that I was glad to accept a in the neglected, ill-appreciated, unamiable counte- glass of wine and a biscuit, although I saw that my nance. Much has been written and sung of taking the wine was neither expected nor desired. mother's love; but, alas! that love, like the diamond, is seldom found in purity. The mere instinct of motherhood is far below that beautiful, almost holy affection, which forgets and renounces self in devotion to the child. Oh, mothers! if you would not walk through life's evening hours uncheered by your children's affection, dedicate to them the flower of your age. Be much with them, pray much for them, and in your first joy of maternity-common, remember, to you and to the brute creation-look ever onward and upward, and think of the embryo soul in the baby form you clasp. "Show Miss Maitland the school-room, Lizzy," said Mrs. Serle to the eldest of the children, who looked at me with a more suspicious and scrutinizing glance than her sisters.

"You will have a holiday to-day, and you must show your governess the garden; and be very good children, and mind all she says to you."

I rose, and was rather surprised that not one of the children would take my offered hand. Lizzy decidedly hung back, the others put each a finger in its mouth, and I stood looking, I have no doubt, almost as silly as the children, when the door burst open, and a fine light-haired boy of eight entered. He sprang to his mother's arms, and said, with the freedom of a spoiled child: "Mamma, that tiresome nurse has turned me out of the nursery, because I woke baby."

Hush, Allan, Allan! speak nicely to Miss Maitland," his mother replied.

"Oh, are you the governess ?" he said, in a little patronising way of his own. "I'm glad you are come. Now that nasty nurse has nothing to do with me."

I cannot say that I felt equally pleased at the prospect of guardianship of a little rebel such as Master Allan appeared; but, as he offered me his hand, I proceeded at once to the school-room with my four pupils, and tried to make myself as agreeable to them as I could.

There was company in the house-a lady and two daughters; and I think Mrs. Serle did make some pretence at introducing me; but "our governess" were the only words that reached my ears, and possibly those of the ladies, for they gave me something between a nod and a stare by way of recognition, which said as plainly as possible, "Keep your place." Mr. Serle spoke kindly to me, but he was pompous to every one, and that he should have been otherwise to his children's governess was most unlikely.

66

Mrs. Serle only noticed me as she would have noticed any menial of whom she required an act of service. "Miss Maitland, be so kind as to peel that pear for Lizzy." "Miss Maitland, pray look at Allan." Allan was piling wine-glasses into a Chinese pagoda. "Miss Maitland, that plate of Emmeline's is too near the edge of the table." Not a word of any kind, however, which would recognise my capability of enjoying social intercourse, or common conversation, was addressed to me during that long meal; and yet I was at their table. Oh, when the day was ended-when my labours in the dressing and hair-curling of my pupils were at an end-how did my heart ache and my whole soul sicken for my mother's love! Yet how earnest was my prayer, in the loneliness of my new grief, that I might not fail-no, not for a moment.

The morning dawn was, for the first time, unwelcome. I was sleeping, as youth rarely fails to sleep, even under the pressure of sorrow, soundly and even tranquilly, when I was roused by a quick rap at the door. It was the housemaid's summons to warn me that it was half-past six. My own toilette was soon completed; and, anxious to perform my duties, I hastened to the bed-room opening out of my own, where my three little pupils slept. Every one who knows anything about children, knows how contrary oft-times are their humours at rising and at going to rest.

I did not effect their dressing until half-past seven, and then how little time remained for lessous! We had just stationed ourselves round the table, and I was beginning to gain a little insight into the extent of their knowledge (so far as books were concerned), when a loud cry startled me.

"That is Allan," said Lizzy, the eldest girl, pertly, I thought. "Go, Miss Maitland, and dress him.'

I looked at the little speaker. "I will ring for the nurse," I said; "or will you, dear, go and tell her ?"

Oh dear, no; Miss Fellowes, our last governess, always dressed Allan. Nurse can't manage him at all."

The screams were now so loud that the bell of Mrs. Serle's chamber, ringing as loudly as bell could ring, was drowned in the clamour. I was a little irritated by a hasty summons from nurse to go and dress Master Allan.

"I did not know," I said, "that it was expected of me, but I will do it to-day ;" and rising, very cool externally, but very warm within, I went to the child, who sat on the side of his little bed crying lustily, and who, at my approach, declared I should not touch him, because I had been so long in coming. I had soothed an irritable child many a time before; but this was an unusually trying case. The noise from the school-room, from the little ones left to themselves, was intolerable. Allan was all but unmanageable, and I lost heart and patience, plying myself up with the resolution that I would not do all this nurse-maid's work; I cannot be both nurse and governess, and so I will tell Mrs. Serle. And so, before I left the breakfastroom that morning-where it was my duty to make tea and coffee for the family and assembled company, and be content with its smell myself, or with such occasional sips as were permitted me-I asked permission, perhaps rather mal-à-propos, to speak to Mrs. Serle. She looked as much astonished as Majesty might be expected to have looked at a sudden request for an audience from a commoner; and not so graciously as a queen might have spoken, she answered her governess: "I engaged now; I shall come into the school-room in the course of the day. Go now with the young ladies."

"Dear me, our governesses always do those kind of jobs; what a pity! Shall I tell Missus ?" "No," I replied; "leave the material; I will see."

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"Now, Lizzy, go on reading;" but Lizzy was absorbed in her contemplation of the lace and the pretty peach-coloured ribbon, and I had to assume a tone of authority, not quite natural to me, before she would proceed.

The morning came to an end, but not, however, without a feeling of fatigue of which I had never before been conscious. The lessons prescribed in Mrs. Serle's very extensive plan, were not above half accomplished, mainly because the children were ignorant of the first principles of most of the subjects laid down therein. I had nearly finished a cap creditably, although I ought not to say it, when Mrs. Serle entered. She was extremely pleased with my performance, and I heard her say to her visitor that "I bade fair to be a very useful person." I was so glad to please, that I did not take into account the drudgery before me; and I went about my other duties with a lighter heart.

At one o'clock I was a little surprised to receive a summons to the nursery. I was "expected," I found, to take the baby and the next little girl into the garden, when the others walked, during the nurse's meal. Now, I loved little babies, and should not have felt it hard work, but I found it impossible to watch thoroughly over my four pupils and these two little ones for the space of a whole hour.

On our way to the shrubbery, I passed the kitchen window. I envied-and who can blame me P-the social, cheerful intercourse of the domestic servants. How they seemed to have laid all am care aside, and to be refreshing themselves in this hour of rest by pleasant, lively chat.

I went, but the tone and the manner roused all the old pride, and I felt-I cannot, cannot stand this.

Our lessons began. I found the children, for many months to come, would have little occasion for the Parisian accent, or for the very elements of the language of my almost father-land, so utterly ignorant were they of all but the very elements of their own tongue. I was hearing Lizzy read in Markham's English History, with about as much fluency as a Chinese might be expected to read our language, when the parlour-maid came in with a basket containing sundry trimmings and lace, with a request from Mrs. Serle that I would make Mrs. East a morning cap like the pattern. I looked, I have no doubt as I felt, astonished. The children, scarcely settled to their employment, were at once unsettled again, and I could not in my perplexity tell what answer to send down. The servant, a pleasant, good-humoured girl, said: "I know very well what you are thinking of, Miss. It is hard

I was very tired and very low when nurse came and took the baby. She, rudely so, as it seemed to me, complained of my having allowed it to get dirty, and was sorry to see how I had let Miss Dora run on the grass. I received her remark with as dignified a silence as I could, and again made up my mind to speak to Mrs. Serle on the matter.

The luncheon hour came at last, and I accompanied my three pupils to the dining-room. The Misses East and Mr. Serle did not give the least acknowledgment of my presence, and my meal passed in silence on my part. The children and the visitors were allowed to talk, but it was not expected of the governess; and I never ate a more dismal meal.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

ATTENTION TO YOUR OWN BUSINESS-A man who had become rich by his own exertions, was asked by a friend he, "about one-half my property by attending strictly to the secret of his success. "I have accumulated," replied my own business, and the other half by letting other people's alone.

FRANCOIS ARAGO.

(From the French.)

THE journals have lately announced the death of the celebrated astronomer and mathematician, M. Arago. A brief notice of his useful and laborious life may interest our readers. Dominique François Arago was born at Estagel, near Perpignan, on the 26th of February, 1786. His father, who, after the revolution, filled the office of cashier to the bank at Perpignan, sent him at an early age to study in the public school of that town. He was afterwards sent to Montpellier, where he was prepared for the entrance examination into the Polytechnic school. On entering that establishment in 1804, he took first place, and preserved that pre-eminence through every subsequent ordeal.

carried to the fortress of Rosas, thrown into the hulks at Palamas, and overwhelmed with ill usage. The dey, however, on hearing the insult offered to his flag, demanded and obtained the freedom of the captured crew. The vessel resumed her voyage; they nearly reached Marseilles, and the young philosopher fondly thought himself at the end of his misfortunes. Suddenly, however, a frightful storm from the north-west assailed the frigate, and cast her on the coast of Sardinia. No end to perils! The Sardinians and Algerines were at high war: to land would be to rush headlong into a fresh captivity. To add to their misfortunes, the vessel sprung a leak; and they at length decided on steering for the African coast. Their ship, half disabled and ready to founder, touched at Bongia, three days' journey distant from Algiers. In the disguise of a Bedouin, and under the guidance of a marabout, M. Arago reached Algiers, but was not so graciously received by the new dey as he had been by his predecessor, who in the meantime had been killed in a tumult. Thanks, however, to the persevering kind offices of the consul, he succeeded in recovering both his liberty and his mathematical instruments, and for the third time embarked for Marseilles. The war vessel in which he sailed had a very narrow escape of being captured by an English cruiser.

After leaving the Polytechnic, he was attached to the Observatory, as secretary to the longitude office; and in 1806 the emperor Napoleon, although M. Arago had conscientiously voted against his being made first consul for life, charged him, on the recommendation of Monge, with continuing the great geological operations of Delambre and Michain. In this undertaking, the object of which was to furnish a perfect measurement of an arc of the terrestrial meridian, in order to serve as a basis for a new system of land measure, he was aided by M. Biot and two Spanish commissioners, MM. Chaix and Rodriguez. The two French savans commenced their work by establishing a great imaginary triangle, destined to unite Ivica, one of the Balearic isles, to the coast of Spain. They pitched their tents on the apex of this triangle, that is to say, on the top of one of the highest mountains in Catalonia, in order, by signals, to put themselves in communication with M. Ro- In 1830, M. Arago mingled for the first time in driguez, placed on the mountain of Campney in political life. During the memorable" three days Ivica. Braving every change of season, they of July," he worked hard to stop the effusion of passed the winter months in these steep soli- blood, by interceding with marshal Marmont, tudes. "Often," says M. Biot, "the storms used whose friend he was. The elections which took to carry away our tents and displace our sta-place shortly afterwards placed him in the chamber tions. M. Arago, with indefatigable perseverance, gave himself scarcely any rest either by day or night."

In 1807, their principal operations were finished. M. Biot, anxious to arrive by calculation at a definite result, set out for Paris, leaving M. Arago to complete the labour alone. Just then war broke out between France and Spain. Mistaken for a spy by the insurgent Majorcans, M. Arago had barely time to disguise himself as a peasant, and carry off the papers containing his observations. Thanks to the exactness of his Catalonian accent, he passed undiscovered through crowds of his enemies, and taking refuge at Palma, in the Spanish vessel which had brought him to the is land, he succeeded in saving his instruments. The captain of the ship placed him in the citadel of Belun, in order to screen him from popular fury. There he remained for many weeks, completely absorbed in his calculations, and at length obtained his liberty, with permission to go to Algiers. Arrived there, the French consul put him on board an Algerine frigate sailing for Marseilles. They were already within sight of the French coast, when the frigate was attacked and conquered by a Spanish corsair. M. Arago was taken prisoner,

In 1809, the intrepid young philosopher trod once more his native soil. To reward him for his labours, the Academy of Sciences, contrary to its standing rule, admitted him as a member at the age of twenty-three; and the emperor named him professor at the Polytechnic school. There, as the honoured colleague of Laplace and Monge, he taught the analysis of geodesy during more than twenty years.

as deputy from the department of the PyrénéesOrientales. On entering parliament he took his place amongst the "extreme left," between Lafitte and Dupont, and afterwards signed the public account of 1832.

He frequently spoke on questions connected with public instruction, with the shipping interest, and with the construction of canals, railroads, etc. His political adversaries themselves have frequently bowed to his authority, and rendered homage to the incomparable clearness of his arguments and the beauty of his language in public discussion. Being one of the heads of the party of the "extreme left," he was the first to pronounce the words" Reform and rights of labour." It was he who led the most redoubtable attacks against the maintenance of detached forts. To his legislative labours he joined the functions of member of the council-general of the Seine, over which he presided for a long time, and which he induced several times to declare in favour of emancipating slaves in the colonies.

In the decline of a busy life, M. Arago was cast suddenly, by the explosion of 1848, into the midst of a revolutionary storm. He was proclaimed member of the provisional government,

and during the interim, minister of war, and minister of the marine.

In the peaceful paths of science the name of Arago has obtained a world-wide celebrity. He has rendered immense services, less perhaps by his own original discoveries, vast and important as they are, than by his rare talent in popularizing and generalizing knowledge, and by his admirable method of rendering the physical sciences intelligible in his astronomical lectures at the Observatory, in his academical reports, and in the notices with which he has enriched the "Annual Report of the Longitude Office."

As a scientific inventor, Arago discovered the principle of temporary magnetism, on which rests the electric telegraph; also chromatic and rotatory polarization, and magnetism by rotation. As a popular instructor, he every year delivered at the Observatory of Paris a course of delightful lectures on astronomy, which always attracted vast crowds. Equally versed in contemplative and in active science, he delighted in the wonders of the earth as well as in those of the sky: he wrote the eulogium of Watt as well as that of Herschel.

Several branches of physical science, especially optics and electro-magnetism, owe to him their recent progress. His discovery of magnetism by rotation gained for him, in 1829, from the Royal Society of London, the Copley medal-a distinction the more flattering that it had never before been bestowed on a Frenchman. It was honourable, too, to English candour and generosity, for Arago had contested with that nation several inventions of which they claimed the glory; amongst others, that of the steam-engine.

In 1830, M. Arago succeeded Fourier as perpetual secretary of the Scientific Academy (section of mathematical science). He was a member of all the learned academies of Europe, and the particular friend of Humboldt, Faraday, Brewster, Melloni, etc. a fact which he related himself in May, 1852, in his letter to the minister of public instruction, on the occasion of his declining to take a required oath as director of the Observatory, and which, in his case, was dispensed with by especial favour.

But M. Arago was not merely the man of genius or the man of science; he was also the man of noble character, and of exalted moral feeling. When, in following his funeral car, the magic of memory called up before our eyes that noble head which we were no more to behold, what we loved best to recall was not the discoveries, the literary talents, the vast intelligence of the illustrious dead, but the moral dignity of his grand career. Never did science suffer humiliation in his person: he did not think that any adventitious distinctions could add honour to its worthy professors. One of his colleagues complaining one day that he had not received the insignia of some order with which he had been decorated, "Take my decorations," he said; "you shall have the first wearing of them, for I have never put them on."

Some one once remarked to M. Arago, that it was a shame that the honour of being raised to the English peerage had not been conferred upon James Watt. "So much the worse for the English peerage," replied he; "James Watt would have conferred honour upon it!”

During the last few months, his rapidly declining health forced M. Arago unwillingly to relinquish for a time his cherished studies, and seek for a renewal of strength in his native air. "Adieu!" said he, as he was setting out, to one of his friends at the institution.

"Oh, no, M. Arago; not adieu, I hope we shall meet again."

"Yes," rejoined the philosopher; I trust we shall meet again, but it must be in heaven."

His foreboding was just. His state of health having slightly improved, he testified an anxious desire to return to Paris; and as soon as he arrived, despite of fatigue and the weakness occasioned by illness, insisted on resuming his duties as perpetual secretary. Once, a few weeks since, the members of the institute saw him, and witnessed with admiration the obstinate combat between the powerful mind and the feeble body. It was for the last time. To the end he resisted, and gave all that he had to give; dying, so to speak, in full harness. A veteran in the ranks of science, he fell honourably on the battle-field.

GILBERT WHITE AND SELBORNE. THERE are few books which have obtained a more deserved or continuing popularity than Gilbert White's "Natural History of Selborne." The production of a private gentleman in an obscure village, it made its first appearance towards the close of the last century, in a modest though respectable guise, and with no other passport to favour than its own unassuming merits. These, however, were so great, and at that period of so unusual a kind, that the best judges foresaw the distinguished favour it would obtain, and prophesied its lasting acceptation with the public. That they were correct in their judgment the event has fully proved, seeing that at the present day there are few lovers of nature with whom reading is a habit, who are not familiar with the volume, and still fewer libraries upon the shelves of which it is not to be found. For our own part, we feel a pleasure in recording the fact that White's Selborne was the first book on natural history of which we have any distinct recollection; and we might perhaps trace to the early perusal of its engross ing pages, the source and origin of a not unkind prejudice in favour of everything that creeps and crawls, or runs, swims, or flies-a prejudice which has from time to time been the occasion of a great deal of pleasure, and not a little profit.

Before proceeding to detail the circumstances of a visit we lately paid to the scene of the tranquil life and labours of this worthy man, it may be as well, for the sake of those of our readers who are strangers to his history, to give a short summary of his biography, of which too little is known. Gilbert White was born in Selborne on the 18th of July, 1720. He was not a clergyman, as many persons suppose, but the grandson of a clergyman of the same name, who had been vicar of Selborne, and who was the son of Sir Sampson White, who was knighted by Charles the Second on his coronation. The father of the naturalist was Mr. John White, a barrister of the Middle Temple, who married an heiress, and ceased to practise at the