Chapter II: Part 2

'Where is my sitter?' Earle asked, retaining the slim hand in his a moment longer than necessary.

'Oh! you might as easily catch quicksilver as Mrs De Lacy,' said Silvia, smiling. 'She is in and out fifty times an hour. I believe she went to get ready for you.'

'Meantime, I want to ask you a favour,' Earle said, busy with his apparatus. 'I want you to be so very good as to let me have a sitting from _you_ too. I have a board on purpose.'

'But how will you get time?' said Silvia, her colour deepening.

'Oh, I shall have plenty, I fancy, while my legitimate sitter is running in and out. I will keep one beside the other on the easel.'

'I do not wish it kept secret from her,' said Silvia, with the proud honesty of her nature.

'Certainly not; but I want to have your face, if you will let me. I will copy it--for your mother, if I may. Will you give me permission?'

'O yes,' she answered confusedly, 'if you care.'

'I _do_ care,' he said in a low voice; and at that moment the little lady darted in, the _tête-à-tête_ was broken, and Earle, with a sigh, resigned himself to his unpalatable task.

He painted as steadily as the volatile nature of his model permitted, though it is not an easy thing to make a picture, worthy the name, of a once pretty meaningless face that has lost the charm of youth without gaining the dignity of matronhood. But he was rewarded for his penance, for after a while Mrs De Lacy was summoned to some _protégée_; and then, with a delightful sense of relief, he put the unsatisfactory labour on one side, and placed instead a clean canvas on the easel.

'Now, Miss Stirling, if you will be so kind, will you take that seat and reward me for the tedious hour I have passed?'

Silvia complied with his request quietly, without any affectation.

The artist became soon deeply absorbed in trying to produce a faithful likeness of the face before him. It was not only the shape of the features, but the expression of the whole, he wished to catch--as much as it could be caught upon canvas.

'I cannot get the mouth to my mind,' said he, dreamily thinking aloud, as artists do. 'What gives it at once that expression, sweet, arch, firm?'

Silvia started up indignantly. 'Mr Earle! if I am to sit here, at least spare me that sort of remark. Do you think any woman in the world could sit still and bear to hear her face analysed?'

'Do forgive me,' he cried, really distressed. 'Indeed, I did not mean to be impertinent, but I feel I was. We get so in the habit of ignoring the _personality_ of the faces before us, through having those stolid paid models to paint from. Please look like yourself again, and forgive me.'

'Well, so I do,' said the 'subject,' with a return of her usual frank sweetness. 'I daresay you think I ought to have got hardened; but I am only a woman, after all, you know.'

'You are indeed,' murmured the artist, as he tenderly touched the curve of the upper lip.

* * * * *

So sped the days Earle spent at the De Lacys', the mistress of the house fondly imagining that he was bent on doing her portrait the fullest justice. At last Earle could not pretend that Mrs De Lacy's portrait required many more touches. One day he said sadly enough, as he and Silvia were alone together: 'It's no use; this must come to an end. I can't keep up the delusion that I want more sittings; so I must bring to a close the happiest hours I ever spent in my life.'

'I am going home to-morrow,' Silvia observed, with her eyes down.

'Going home! are you? And you said I might call; do you remember? Will you ask me again?'

'To be sure you may come; why not?' Miss Stirling answered.

'I will try and look forward to that then, for I do feel dreadfully down in the mouth, I confess, at having come to the last of these pleasant hours--pleasant to _me_, I mean. I can't hope _you_ have found so much to enjoy in them.'

'O yes,' said Silvia, speaking with frank friendliness; 'we have had a great deal of very interesting talk--when poor Mrs De Lacy was out of the room,' she added with a mischievous smile.

'It is like you and no other woman I ever knew to say so!' he said warmly. 'I want to ask you--I know you will tell me exactly the truth--do you feel now as if I could be a friend of yours?'

'If you care to have a friend in a woman who acts constantly in opposition to your cherished ideas.'

'I have altered many of my ideas since I knew you,' Earle said gravely; 'many, but not all. Still you are better, even when you are doing what I disapprove, than any woman I ever knew.'

'I am glad you tell me the truth,' said Silvia. 'It is the best preparation for friendship. But tell me, what do you disapprove of in me?'

Her face was so gentle and winning as she spoke that he was on the point of saying: 'Nothing in the whole world; only be just yourself;' but Mrs De Lacy came in at that moment, and the words were not spoken.

Wilfred left the house feeling more depressed than there was any reason for. 'What have I made up my mind to do?' he thought. 'I can no longer conceal from myself that I love this woman, who is almost the opposite of all I ever thought to love; and yet I feel a sort of dread in letting this lead me on. Shall we be happy together if she loves me? That is the question I cannot answer. I will wait to see her _at home_; and then, I suppose I must let "the great river bear me to the main," and take my chance of happiness with the rest.'

* * * * *

Mrs Stirling and three daughters--of whom our friend Silvia was the eldest--lived in a pleasant terrace about a mile from the De Lacys. They were well to do, though not rich, and lived a happy busy life; each having interests both separate and in common. They had many friends, and it was a pleasant sociable house to visit at. Mrs Stirling was still young in mind, and entered into all her daughters' pursuits and interests with active sympathy. One afternoon they were all together in the drawing-room--except the youngest daughter Marian, who had a studio near where she painted every day--when a double-knock was heard; by no means an uncommon sound, and yet somehow, lately, every knock seemed to startle Silvia and bring rather a vivid colour to her face. The servant brought in a card inscribed 'Mr Earle;' and that gentleman followed, with an outward appearance of great coolness, but some inward trepidation.

'Mother,' said Silvia quietly, rising and giving him a cordial hand, 'this is my friend, Mr Earle, of whom I spoke.'

'We are very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Earle,' said Mrs Stirling, in the same cordial natural way, making room by the fire. 'Silvia told us what a successful portrait you made of her.'

Earle's glance round the room pleased his fastidious taste thoroughly. It was emphatically a _lady's_ room, filled with pretty feminine things; and without being in the least untidy, was evidently a room to be lived in and to have 'good times,' as Silvia's compatriots say. Mrs Stirling too, whose tall elegant figure and frank manner were repeated in her daughter's, was a woman of marked refinement and culture. He found out this much in five minutes.

They had plenty to say to each other; the Stirlings seemed to read everything, and to have thought about most things; but there was nothing in the slightest degree pedantic or 'blue-stocking' in their talk. So the chat went on merrily--for Wilfred too was a man who could think--but without much help from Silvia, who was unusually silent. Tea was brought in presently; and as she took her place at the tray, Earle found his eyes constantly straying that way and watching her pretty graceful movements. The mother's keen eyes soon discovered the secret, and she turned her head to conceal an amused smile.

'I was nearly forgetting one of the objects of my call,' said the artist, after paying an unconscionably long visit. 'I brought a copy of Miss Stirling's portrait to offer for your acceptance. Shall I fetch it? I left it in the hall.'

The picture was brought in; and Mrs Stirling regarded it with exceeding interest.

'It is indeed beautifully done--beautifully!' she said. 'How Marian will enjoy it! It is only much too good for me. You have idealised my Silvia, Mr Earle.'

'Yes; it is shamefully flattered,' said Silvia.

'I don't think so at all!' Earle cried eagerly. 'I am sure it is not in the very least! One tries always of course to catch the best expression, the happiest moment.'

'Well, you must have caught it at a _very_ happy moment,' said Mrs Stirling; and then she was vexed with herself, for she saw that her daughter was vexed. To change the subject, she observed: 'Silvia is going to another Suffrage Meeting on Monday, in ----'

This did very effectually change the subject. Earle felt a revulsion of feeling that was painful to a degree. 'Indeed,' he responded coldly. 'Will you be at home on Sunday?'

This question, uttered under a sudden impulse, took them all by surprise. He addressed the question directly to Silvia, whose confusion made her stammer out some half-formed words; but Wilfred was quite calm and master of the situation. 'I was going to ask--if Mrs Stirling allows Sunday visitors--if I might call on that day. I particularly want to see you before you go to ----. May I come on Sunday afternoon?'

Silvia had never before felt so utterly at a loss for a reply; but her mother came to the rescue with some polite words; and the artist almost immediately took leave.

'Well, my darling,' said the mother, breaking the pause his departure left. 'What do you think of all this?'

'Mother,' said Silvia with gentle decision, 'I want to ask you, to please me, not to allude to this again till after Sunday.'

On Sunday afternoon--a dull, cold, foggy day enough--Wilfred found his way again to Eaglemore Gardens. His mind was made up; and his handsome face looked a little set and stern as he paused at the door and asked quietly this time for _Miss_ Stirling. The American custom seemed to him at that moment to be a most respectable one. What an amount of management and finessing it saved, for of course every one knew it was Silvia, and Silvia only, he wanted to see.

He was shewn into a small study; and in a few moments heard a dress rustle down the stair and rather a timid touch on the door-handle. As Silvia came in, Earle's face by the dull light looked to her hard and strange, which did not tend to quiet her nerves. She was very pale, and there was an appealing wistfulness in her eyes as she lifted them to his which went straight to his heart; but he gave no sign. He took her hand, pressed it, and gently placed her in an armchair, while he remained standing by the mantelpiece with his head down. Neither had yet spoken; both felt they were touching upon a period of their lives with which common forms had nothing to do. Silvia heard her heart thump, and the clock tick, with painful distinctness: she seemed all ear. All around seemed oppressive silence. At last Earle broke the silence: his voice had a deeper tone in it than usual, a resolutely suppressed passion vibrated in it.

'Silvia,' he said, 'I am going to speak the very truth to you--as one speaks not often in one's life--you have taken possession of me--against my will almost--I love you as I never loved woman before--I scarcely know myself how deeply. Speak the truth to me as I have done to you. Whether you love me or love me not, I shall never offer to any living woman what I offer to you, for mine is no boy's love. Speak to me, Silvia.'

'I _will_ tell you nothing but the truth,' she said, forcing her voice to be steady. 'I do return your love, I believe I do--though I hardly seem to have shaped it out to myself yet--but'----

'Yes; there is a "but"--I know it. What is your doubt, Silvia? Do not I care for you enough?'

'I believe you do,' she answered softly. 'I believe you must love me very much, because I know it is against your own judgment. But my doubt is--shall we be happy? I know I am not the woman you would deliberately choose for a wife.'

Earle half laughed, though he was terribly in earnest. 'What man in love ever "deliberately chose" a woman for his wife?'

'But should I, could I indeed make you happy?' she said.

'Yes, darling,' he answered, melting into tenderness, and sinking by her chair. 'If you can love me enough to make some sacrifices for me.'

'I should never hesitate to sacrifice anything but duty to one I love,' she said, as he drew her to him.

'Ah, but people have mistaken ideas of duty, often! I want you now, this minute, to give up something I believe you think your duty.'

'What is that?' she asked, drawing away from him.

'I cannot bear to have the woman I love standing up in public to speak before a crowd of vulgar strangers,' he cried, almost fiercely. 'If you love me, Silvia, give this up for me!'

'You mean on future occasions, after we are--are'----

'No; I mean now, to-morrow: give up this meeting for me, to-morrow!'

'Impossible! I cannot. They are reckoning upon me, and I have promised'----

'You could easily excuse yourself.'

'I will make no false excuses,' cried Silvia with warmth. 'I admit my love for you--but I will never bind myself to what you may choose to demand. If we married, you might trust me to consider your wishes before my own, before everything but conscience; but I will not give way to this exaction--now. I cannot break my promise, and do what I feel to be wrong and cowardly; no, not to be the happiest woman upon earth! And do you think a marriage begun like _that_ would be a happy one? No, no; better be sorry now than then.'

He got up and stood apart from her, gloomily. 'Then you will not? A woman like you is too advanced for the dear old traditions of love!'

'I will never marry a man who is ashamed of what his wife has done,' answered Silvia very low, but calmly.

'My old prejudice was a just one, after all,' said he, with a sigh. 'Good-bye.'

'Need we part so bitterly?' she said tremulously. 'May we not even be friends again?'

'Friends! It is the idlest folly talking of friendship, when one's heart is on fire with love. I could more easily hate you, Silvia, than only be your friend! Good-bye. God bless you, though you have tortured me. God bless you, Silvia.'

In another instant the front-door closed, and Silvia Stirling was alone with a breaking heart.

True to her word, she determined on going to ---- the next day. She was looking and feeling wretchedly ill, but she would not give it up, and only stipulated that none but a maid should go with her to the station. It was Silvia's way to suffer in silence and alone. She took her ticket, and sank into a corner of an empty carriage with a heart aching to positive physical pain. To her annoyance a gentleman followed her in, and the train moved out of the station. She raised her listless mournful eyes and saw--Wilfred! She turned so white that he threw himself beside her, and in an instant had his arm about her.

'Why, why have you come?' she murmured with dry trembling lips. 'Cruel of you to torture me again!'

'My darling, it is not now to torture you that I have come--only for this--I can't live without you. I thought I could, but I can't. I have been so vexed with myself ever since we parted. Do you think you can forgive me, my sweet! and trust me with yourself after all?'

'Then you will let me--let me'----

'Let you be your own dear self? Yes, Silvia; I ask for nothing better. As long as we know and trust each other, what does it matter what all the world says? I _will_ trust you, dear one. Can you trust me?'

For answer, Silvia put up her lips and met his in a first kiss. Nothing more was needed.

'I am going to shew you,' he said, after a delicious pause, 'that I can be superior even to my prejudices. I have come to take you to this meeting, and to steel myself, for your sake, to what I dislike as much as ever. I could not bear the thought of you alone and sad. I knew you would be.'

'This shall be the last time I do what you dislike,' she murmured softly.

'Don't promise anything,' he interrupted. 'I leave you absolutely free. We will work together and be, as you said, true friends as well as lovers. Are you happy now?'

The honest tender eyes answered the question for her.

* * * * *

Some months after, Mr Roberts received the following note from his old friend Wilfred Earle:

'DEAR JACK--I want you to come and dine with Benedict the
married man next Tuesday, and see how happy his "strong-minded
woman" makes him. You were right, old fellow! The clever women
_do_ make the best wives after all. That was a blessed day
for me that I went, under protest, to hear my Silvia "spout
in public." The spouting days are over now; but I am not
ashamed of anything she has done or said. You may laugh at
my inconsistency as much as you like; I can afford to laugh
too, as I have won something worth winning. Come and judge for
yourself, and see your old friend in Elysium, and then go and
do the same thing yourself. I can tell you, my wife knows how
to welcome my friends; and I hope you will think she makes her
house and mine a pleasant one. _Au revoir_, Jack; and between
ourselves--she does not at all object to smoking.

W. E.'

LIME-JUICE.

The subject of lime-juice has suddenly become one of great public interest. When the chief outlines of the proceedings and experiences of the recent Arctic Expedition appeared in print, much surprise and concern were felt at the sad prostration of so many of the crew by scurvy, the most terrible of all the diseases of maritime life. A Committee of experienced men, old Arctic heroes and medical officers, has been appointed by the Admiralty to investigate the whole subject. We shall of course abstain from all comment or speculation here as to the result; but our readers will not be unwilling to learn something concerning the wonderful effects of _lime-juice_, by contrasting the state of affairs before and since the introduction of that beverage (or rather medicament) as a regular item on shipboard.

Scurvy is a disease concerning which medical men are a little divided in opinion. The relative values of pure air, fresh water, vegetable food, and general cleanliness have not been precisely ascertained. The disease sometimes attacks landsmen under varied circumstances. Martin, who visited the Shetlands early in the last century, found that the inhabitants suffered much from scurvy, which he attributed to the too great use of salt fish. Brand, near about the same period, learned that the Orkney Islanders were often unable to obtain any kind of bread whatever; as a consequence, this dire disease was rife among them. In Von Troil's account of Iceland in the same century, he found that the people lived much upon stale fish, fish livers and roes, fat and train-oil of whales and seals, and sour milk; their clothes were often wet, and the poor folks were constantly exposed to all the hardships of poverty. Such persons supplied the greater number of cases of scurvy in Iceland; those inhabitants who took less fish, sour whey, &c., and ate Iceland moss and other vegetables, were less affected. A singular remedy, or supposed remedy, for those attacked was to bind earth-worms over the blotches, &c. produced by the disease, renewing them as fast as they dried up. The Faröe Islanders suffered much from this affliction at one time; but when the fishing declined and the people began to grow corn, the general health improved. Coming down to more recent times, Ireland suffered from scurvy during the famine years 1846-7; potatoes were almost unattainable, and other kinds of food high in price. Devon and Cornwall were at one time much afflicted in this way during the winter, the disease disappearing when vegetable food became abundant and cheap in spring and summer.

Soldiers and besieged cities have suffered terrible ordeals in this way. When Louis IX. led his crusaders against the Saracens in 1260, the French were much stricken with scurvy, owing to scarcity of food and water and the malarious state of the air. At the siege of Breda in 1625, and at that of Thorn in 1703; in the Hungarian campaign of the Austrians and Turks in 1720; at the siege of Quebec in 1760--the same calamity had to be borne. Towards the close of the last century, when Bonaparte crossed the Alps into Italy, his troops suffered greatly from this infliction. So did the British troops at the Cape in 1836. The armies on both sides were much afflicted with the malady during the Crimean War of 1854-5.

But it is in maritime life that this dreadful scourge used to be most appalling. It carried off more sailors than all other causes combined--nearly eighty thousand during the Seven Years' War alone. Salt food, absence of vegetables, foul or deficient water, defective cleanliness, mental depression, over-fatigue--some or other of these agencies were always at work. Vasco da Gama had full reason to know the effects of scurvy on his crew during his voyage to the East in 1497. Pigafetta, during a voyage near Cape Horn in 1519, was exposed to the evils of biscuit worm-eaten and reduced to repulsive mouldy dust, and scarcely any other kind of food; his crew were attacked with scurvy severely; their gums swelled so as to hide the teeth, and the upper and lower jaws were so diseased that mastication was nearly impossible. All our famous old navigators--Drake, Davis, Cavendish, Dampier, Hawkins--had mournful reason to know how great were the ravages produced on their crews by this distemper.

Perhaps the most sadly celebrated of all voyages, in regard to this particular visitation, was that of Captain (afterwards Lord) Anson. He was placed in command of a squadron bound for the South Seas to act against French and Spanish vessels and settlements. The narrative of his voyage was afterwards drawn up from his papers by Mr Walter, chaplain of the _Centurion_. Setting forth in 1740, his sojourn in foreign regions was a prolonged one. After the squadron had rounded Cape Horn and entered the Pacific, scurvy began to make its appearance among the crews; their long continuance at sea, the fatigues they had undergone, and various disappointments that had had to be endured, all contributed to the spread of the disease. There were few on board the _Centurion_ who were free from its attacks. In the month of April forty-three men died. Anson hoped that, as they advanced north, the spread would be checked; but the death-rate was nearly doubled in May. As the ship did not reach port till the middle of June, and as the mortality went on increasing, the deaths reached a number exceeding two hundred; even among the remainder of the crew they could not muster at last more than six foremast-men in a watch fit for duty. To sum up: in the first two years of a five years' voyage, Anson lost no less than two-fifths of the original crew.

Anson's experience shewed that the scurvy was not driven back even when the conditions might seem to have been moderately favourable. 'It has been generally assumed that plenty of fresh provisions and water are effectual preventives. But it happened that in the present instance we had a considerable stock of fresh provisions on board, such as hogs and fowls, which were taken in at Paita; besides which we almost every day caught great abundance of bonitos, dolphins, and albicores. The unsettled season, which deprived us of the benefit of the trade-wind, proved extremely rainy; we were enabled to fill up our water-casks about as fast as they were emptied; and each man had five pints of water per day. Notwithstanding all this, the sick were not relieved, nor the spread of the disease retarded. The ventilation too was good, the decks and cabins well attended to, and ports left open as much as possible.' Another passage in the narrative tends to shew that the officers were much impressed with this failure of many preventives which are usually regarded as very important. 'All I have aimed at is only to shew that in some instances the cure and prevention of the disease are alike impossible by any management, or by the application of any remedies which can be made use of at sea. Indeed I am myself fully persuaded that when it has once got to a certain head, there are no other means in nature for relieving the diseased but carrying them on shore, or at least bringing them into the neighbourhood of land.'

Thus wrote an observant man in the days when the remarkable qualities of lime-juice were little known. Later in the same century, Captain Cook, owing either to better management or to being exposed to less unfavourable circumstances, or to both causes combined, fared better than Lord Anson. Although he had a little lime-juice, he reserved that for medical cases. He gave his men sweet malt-wort; another article administered was sowens, obtained by long steeping oatmeal in water until the liquid becomes a little sour; and sour-kraut, consisting of slices of cabbage salted, pressed down, fermented, and barrelled--without vinegar. Cook lost only one man from scurvy out of a hundred and eighteen, during voyages that lasted three years, and in oceans that ranged over so much as a hundred and twenty degrees in latitude. Quite at the close of the century, Péron during a voyage of discovery suffered greatly; but everything was against him. Putrefying meat, worm-eaten biscuit, foul water--all tended to produce such a state of matters that not a soul on board was exempt from scurvy; only four, including officers of the watch, were able to remain on deck. The second surgeon M. Taillefer, behaved heroically. Although himself affected, he was employed at all hours in attendance on the rest--at once their physician, comforter, and friend.

And now we come to the subject of lime-juice, a liquid which, on the concurrent testimony of all competent persons, possesses a remarkable power, both in preventing attacks of scurvy, and in curing the disease when the symptoms have already made themselves manifest.

How the discovery arose, no one can now say; probably the fact grew upon men's attention by degrees, without any special discovery at any particular date. That vegetables and fruits are acceptable when scurvy has made its appearance, has been known for centuries past. The potato, for instance, has often been purposely adopted as an article of diet in prisons, on the occurrence of this disease, with good effect--a few pounds of this root being added to the weekly rations. Countries in which oranges and lemons are abundant and cheap have not been much affected with the malady. In 1564 a Dutch ship, bringing a cargo of oranges and lemons from Spain, was attacked with scurvy; the men were supplied plentifully with the fruit, and recovered. Other varieties of the same genus, such as the lime, citron, and shaddock, gradually became recognised as possessing much value in cases of this malady. In 1636 Mr Woodall, a medical officer in the navy, published his _Surgeon's Assistant_, in which he dwelt forcibly on the great importance of employing fruits of this class. He expressed an opinion that oranges, lemons, and the like, come well to maturity in the intertropical zone where scurvy is most rife, and in a humble thankful spirit commented thus on the fact: 'I have often found it true that where a disease most reigneth, even there God hath appointed the best remedies for the same, if it be His will they should be discovered and used.' It was more than a century later that Dr Lind wrote especially on this subject, emphatically pronouncing that the juice of oranges and lemons is a better remedy for scurvy than any other known medicament. Lord Anson's disastrous experience had drawn public attention to the subject, and more attention was paid to Lind than had been bestowed on Woodall.

Nevertheless, the eighteenth century nearly closed before the English government were roused to action in the matter. To Sir Gilbert Blane is due the honour of inducing the Admiralty to furnish a supply of lime-juice to all ships of the royal navy, especially those starting on long voyages. The effect was wonderful. The records of the Royal Naval Hospital at Haslar, near Gosport, shewed that one thousand four hundred and fifty-seven cases of scurvy were admitted in 1780, whereas in 1806 there was only one single case; the introduction of lime-juice as a regular item in ships' supplies having taken place in the intervening period. Scurvy became quite a rare disease on shipboard; and many ships' surgeons are said to have advanced towards middle life without having seen an instance of it. When Captain Parry organised his expeditions to the icy regions, he was sedulously attentive to this as well as to all other matters connected with the health and well-being of his crews. As he found that some of his men occasionally shirked the lime-juice given out to them, he adopted the plan of mustering them every day, and seeing that every one drank off his due allowance.

When the juice has been obtained by the aid of a screw-press or any other means, it is heavy, cloudy, and sour. A proportion of ten per cent. of spirit is added to preserve the juice from being too much affected by tropical heats, and also to modify the possible effect of too great acidity. The mixture is carefully bottled for sea-use; and the sailors and marines begin to drink it about a fortnight after leaving port. About an ounce a day per man is the usual allowance, often mixed with sugar in their grog; the quantity is increased if any symptoms of scurvy make their appearance. Lime-juice may be preserved in the same way as ripe fruits by placing the bottles containing it in water, boiling for half an hour, gradually cooling, and hermetically sealing. Dr Leach, consulted by the Board of Trade, strongly recommended the use of lime-juice in all emigrant and other passenger ships, and drew up a dietary scale for this purpose. An act of parliament had before that date been passed, directing the adoption of this medicament in the mercantile marine; but the lime-juice supplied by contractors was found to be frequently so grossly adulterated that scurvy began to appear. Whereupon a further statute ordered that all lime-juice should be officially inspected before being placed on shipboard. One ounce daily per head is now a pretty general allowance in all ships alike. The better class of passenger-ship owners, such as Messrs Wigram, had long before adopted the system, without waiting for any official pressure.

It is now, to sum up, admitted beyond doubt or cavil, that lime-juice is the most valuable of all known agents for warding off scurvy, or for curing when the disease has made its appearance.

In an earlier paragraph we briefly adverted to the fact that a Committee is officially examining into the circumstances connected with the outbreak of scurvy in the _Alert_ and _Discovery_. Of course no attempt will be made here to anticipate the result, nor to pronounce an opinion on the question involved. But Captain Sir George Nares has himself made public some remarkable observations on the matter, revealing facts never before so fully known to those who are most directly interested in the subject. In a speech delivered at Guildhall, the gallant officer said: 'No sledge-party employed in the Arctic regions in the cold month of April has ever been able to issue a regular ration of lime-juice. Every commander has desired to continue the daily issue while travelling, as recommended by medical authorities; but all have failed in doing so during the cold weather. In addition to the extra weight to be dragged that its carriage would entail, there is the more serious consideration of the time and fuel necessary to melt it.... After the middle of May, when the weather is warmer, lime-juice can be (and was) used as a ration. Of course hereafter lime-juice in some shape or other must be carried in all sledging-journeys; and I earnestly trust that some means will be found to make it into a lozenge; for as a fluid, there is and always will be extreme difficulty in using it in cold weather, unless Arctic travelling is considerably curtailed. Owing to the thaw which sets in before the return of the sledges, in its present state it must be carried in bottles; but up to the middle of May it remains frozen as solid as a rock. If the bottles have not already been broken by the jolting of the sledge or the freezing of the contents, they have to be broken on purpose before chipping off a piece of the frozen lime-juice, as if it were a piece of stone.' Cannot our pharmaceutical chemists come to the rescue, and devise some mode of making lime-juice into small convenient lozenges or dry confections?

'BELL-ANIMALCULES.'

As we write, we look upon a prospect which excites our wonder and interest. The eye sees a variety of form and structure presenting a combination of grace and delicacy hardly to be matched in the whole of Nature's domain. Within the compass of a small round disc or circle, we behold numerous beings, each consisting of a bell-shaped head mounted on a delicate flexible stalk. The margins of the bells are fringed with minute processes, resembling miniature eyelashes, and hence named _cilia_; and these processes wave to and fro with an incessant motion, by means of which particles of solid matter suspended in the water around are swept into the mouth of the bells. Suddenly some impulse moves the beings we are gazing upon to contract themselves, and as if by magic, and more quickly than the eye can follow them, the bell-shaped bodies shrink up almost into nothingness by the contracting power of their stalks. Soon, however, as the alarm disappears, the beings once more uncoil themselves, the stalks assume their wonted and straight appearance, the little cilia or filaments once again resume their waving movements, and the current of life proceeds as before.

The spectacle we have been describing is not by any means a rare or uncommon one, to the microscopist at least. We have merely been examining a tiny fragment of pond-weed and its inhabitants, floating in a thin film of stagnant water. Attached to the weed is a colony of those peculiar animalcules known popularly as 'bell-animalcules,' and to the naturalist as _Vorticellæ_. Yet common as the sight may be to the naturalist, it affords one example of the many undreamt-of wonders which lie literally at the feet, and encompass the steps of ordinary observers; and it also exemplifies the deep interest and instruction which may be derived from even a moderate acquaintance with natural history, together with the use of a microscope of ordinary powers.

The bell-animalcules are readily procured for examination. Their colonies and those of neighbour-animalcules may be detected by the naked eye existing on the surface of pond-weeds as a delicate white nap, looking like some lower vegetable growth. And when a portion of the weed is placed under the object-glass of the microscope, numerous animalcules are to be seen waving backwards and forwards in all their vital activity. The general appearance of each animalcule has already been described. The bell-shaped structure which, with its mouth turned uppermost, exists at the top of each stem or stalk, is the body. The stalk is never branched in these animalcules; and except in certain instances to be presently alluded to, each stalk bears a single head only. The structure of the stalk is worthy of special mention. The higher powers of the microscope shew us that within the soft substance or _protoplasm_, of which not only the stalk but the body also is composed, a delicate muscular fibre is contained. This fibre possesses the power of contracting under stimulation, just as the muscles of higher animals contract or shorten themselves. And by means of this structure therefore, the bell-animalcules, when danger threatens them, are enabled to contract themselves with great rapidity, the stalk itself shrinking up into a spiral form. The operation reminds one forcibly of some sensitive plant shrinking when rudely touched. The lower extremity of the stalk forms a kind of 'root,' by means of which the animalcules attach themselves to fixed objects, such as pond-weeds, &c.

The bell-shaped body is sometimes named the _calyx_, from its resemblance to the structure of that name in flowers. The edge of the bell possesses a very prominent rim, and within this we find the fringe of filaments or cilia, which in reality form a spiral line leading to the edge of the bell, where at one point is situated the mouth, represented by an aperture or break in the rim of the body. We have seen that the cilia create miniature maëlstroms or whirlpools in the surrounding water, which have the effect of drawing particles of food towards the mouth. The study of the bell-animalcules affords an excellent example of the gaps which yet remain to be filled up in our knowledge of the structure even of the lowest and commonest forms of life. No structures are more frequently met with in the animal world than the delicate vibratile filaments or cilia, so well seen in the bell-animalcules. The microscopist meets with them in almost every group of animals he can examine. They are seen alike in the gills of the mussel and in the windpipe of man; and wherever currents of air or fluid require to be maintained and produced. Yet when the physiologist is asked to explain how and why it is that little microscopic filaments--each not exceeding in many cases the five-thousandth part of an inch in length, and destitute of all visible structure--are enabled to carry on incessant and independent movements, his answer is, that science is unable, at the present time, to give any distinct reply to the query. No trace of muscles is found in these filaments, and their movements are alike independent of the will and nervous system; for when removed uninjured from the body of the animal of which they form part, their movements may continue for days and weeks together. What a field for future inquiry may thus be shewn to exist, even within the compass of a bell-animalcule's history--these animalcules being themselves of minute size, and even when massed together in colonies, barely perceptible to the unassisted sight!

A very simple and ingenious plan of demonstrating the uses of the cilia in sweeping food-particles into the mouths of the animalcules, was devised by Ehrenberg, the great German naturalist. This plan consists in strewing in the water in which the animalcules exist, some fragments of coloured matter, such as indigo or carmine, in a very fine state of division. These coloured particles can readily be traced in their movements, and accordingly we see them tossed about and whirled about by the ciliary currents, and finally swept into the mouths of the animalcules, which appear always to be on the outlook, if one may so term it, for nutritive matter. Sometimes when we may be unable to see the cilia themselves, on account of the delicate structure, we may assure ourselves of their presence by noting the currents they create.

The structure of the bell-animalcules is of very simple and primitive kind. The body consists of a mass of soft protoplasm--as the substance of the lower animals and plants is named; but this matter is capable of itself of constituting a distinct and complete animal form, and of making up for its want of structure by a literally amazing fertility of functions. Thus it can digest food; for in the bell-animalcules and their neighbours, the food-particles swept into the mouth are dissolved amid the soft matter of the body in which they are imbedded. Although the animalcules possess no digestive system, the protoplasm of the body serves them in lieu of that apparently necessary apparatus, and prepares and elaborates the food for nourishing the body. Then we have seen that the animalcules contract when irritated or alarmed. A tap on the slide of glass on which they are placed for microscopic examination, initiates a literal reign of terror in the miniature state; for each animalcule shrinks up as if literally alarmed at the unwonted innovation in its existence. This proceeding suggests forcibly to us that they are sensitive--if not in the sense in which higher animals exhibit sensation, at least in much the same degree and fashion as a sensitive plant. And where sensation exists, analogy would lead us to believe that some form of apparatus resembling or corresponding to nerves exercising the function of feeling, must be developed in the animalcules. Yet the closest scrutiny of the bell-animalcules, as well as of many much higher forms, fails to detect any traces of a nervous system. And hence naturalists fall back upon the supposition that this curious protoplasm or body-substance of these and other lower animals and plants, possesses the power of receiving and conveying impressions; just as in the absence of a stomach, it can digest food.

The last feature in the organisation and history of the bell-animalcules that we may allude to in the present instance is that of their development. If we watch the entire life-history of these animalcules, we shall observe the bell-shaped heads of various members of the colony to become broadened, and to increase disproportionately in size. Soon a groove or division appears in this enlarged head; and as time passes, the head appears to divide into two parts or halves, which for a time are borne by the one stalk. This state of matters, however, does not continue; and shortly one of the halves breaks away from the stalk, leaving the other to represent the head of the animalcule. This wandering half or head is now seen to be provided at each end with cilia, and by means of these filaments swims freely throughout the surrounding water. After a time, however, it settles down, develops a stalk from what was originally its mouth extremity; whilst the opposite or lower extremity with its fringe of cilia comes to represent the mouth of the new animalcule. We thus note that new bell-animalcules may be produced by the division of the original body into two halves. They also increase by a process of _budding_. New buds grow out from the body near the attachment of the stalk; these buds in due time appearing as young Vorticellæ, which detach themselves from their parent and seek a lodgment of their own.

These briefly sketched details may serve to interest readers in a comparatively unknown field of observation, accessible to every one who cares to know something of one of the many life-histories with which our universe teems, but which from their very plenty are seldom thought of or recognised. And the present subject is also not uninteresting if we regard it in the light of a corrective to those too commonly received notions, usually fostered by ignorance of our surroundings, that there is nothing worth attention in the universe but humanity and human affairs.

ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN.

In marrying make your own match: do not marry a man to get rid of him or to save him. The man who would go to destruction without you would as likely go with you, and perhaps bring you along. Do not marry in haste, lest you repent at last. Do not let aunts, fathers, or mothers sell you for money or position into bondage, tears, and life-long misery, which you alone must endure. Do not place yourself habitually in the society of any suitor until you have decided the question of marriage; human wills are weak, and people often become bewildered, and do not know their error until it is too late. Get away from their influence, settle your head, and make up your mind alone. A promise may be made in a moment of sympathy, or even half-delirious ecstasy, which may have to be redeemed through years of sorrow, toil, and pain. Do not trust your happiness to the keeping of one who has no heart, no health. Beware of insane blood, and those who use ardent spirits; shun the man who ever gets intoxicated. Do not rush thoughtlessly, hastily, into wedded life, contrary to the counsels of your friends. Love can wait; that which cannot wait is something of a very different character.--_Newspaper paragraph._

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS TYRIE,

A YOUNG EDINBURGH POET OF GREAT PROMISE.

The fairest flowers that Summer wrings
From grassy mound to scent the air--
The leaves that sweetest beauty wear
When from the skies on happy wings
Spring flies to earth--in sad decay
Are first to fall, and fade away.

And like the garden rose that rears
'Mongst lesser flowers its stately form,
But droops and dies before the storm,
When Winter's gloomy face appears--
Yet leaves within Affection's heart
A beauty, that can ne'er depart--

A love, that Death may never claim,
Nor mix with his forgetful gloom
Amidst the stillness of the tomb;
So Memory keeps _his_ honoured name
Within the mind; there shall it be
Till Time shall find Eternity.

His life was like the snowy cloud
That peaceful decks the evening sky,
And fills with love the gazer's eye;
But when the voice of thunder loud
Commands, it finds an early doom,
And disappears amongst the gloom.

Or like the snowy-crested wave
That sweeps along the sounding shore
In sunshine, then is seen no more,
Was his sweet life that early gave
Its noble soul to Him who lives
For aye, and takes but what He gives.

Ne'er trod the earth a purer soul
Than he, upon whose early bier
I lay unworthy tribute here;
Nor, while the stream of life shall roll,
On earth at least I hope to find
A youth of more exalted mind
Than he, whom God hath called away
To grace the loveful lands of never-dying day!

D. R. W.

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

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_All Rights Reserved._

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[Transcriber's note--The following correctionhas been made to this text: on page 189, "Pigafella" changed to "Pigafetta".]