She was visibly affected, and it was not without an effort that she proceeded in her story. "I wish you to understand exactly my position that night-a young girl, her head full of the enchantment of the stage -her heart of something not less engrossing. Mr. Everest had supped with us, leaving us both in the best of spirits; indeed my father had gone to bed laugh ing heartily at the remembrance of the antics of Mr. Grimaldi, which had almost obliterated the Queen and Hamlet from his memory, on which the ridiculous always took a far stronger hold than the awful or sublime. "I was sitting-let me see-at the window, chatting with my maid Patty, who was brushing the powder out of my hair. The window was open half-way, and looking out on the Thames; and the summer night being very warm and starry, made it almost like sitting out of doors. There was none of the awe given by the solitude of a midnight closed room, when every sound is magnified, and every shadow seems alive. "As I said, we had been chatting and laughing; for Patty and I were both very young, and she had a sweetheart, too. She, like every one of our household, was a warm admirer of Mr. Everest. I had just been half scolding, half smiling at her praises of him, when St. Paul's great clock came booming over the silent river. 666 6 'Eleven,' counted Patty. Terrible late we be, Mistress Dorothy: not like Bath hours, I reckon.' "Mother will have been in bed an hour ago,' said I, with a little self-reproach at not having thought of her till now. "The next minute my maid and I both started up with a simultaneous exclamation. 666 Did you hear that?" "Yes, a bat flying against the window.' "But the lattices are open, Mistress Dorothy.' "So they were; and there was no bird or bat or living thing about-only the quiet summer night, the river, and the stars. "I be certain sure I heard it. And I think it was like—just a bit like-somebody tapping.' "Nonsense, Patty! But it had struck me thus--though I said it was a bat. It was exactly like the sound of fin gers against a pane very soft, gentle 666 6 "Oh, Mistress Mistress Dorothy!' Patty would not be deceived. I gave her the brush to finish my hair, but her hand shook too much. I shut the window, and we both sat down facing it. "At that minute, distinct, clear, and unmistakable, like a person giving a summons in passing by, we heard once more the tapping on the pane. But nothing was seen; not a single shadow came between us and the open air, the bright starlight. "Startled I was, and awed, but I was not frightened. The sound gave me even an inexplicable delight. But I had hardly time to recognize my feelings, still less to analyse them, when a loud cry came from my father's room. "Dolly, Dolly! "Now, my mother and I had both one name, but he always gave her the oldfashioned pet name I was invariably Dorothy. Still I did not pause to think, but ran to his locked door, and answered. "It was a long time before he took any notice, though I heard him talking to himself, and moaning. He was subject to bad dreams, especially before his attacks of gout. So my first alarm lightened. I stood listening, knocking at intervals, until at last he replied: "What do'ee want, child?' "Is anything the matter, father?" "Nothing. Go to thy bed, Dorothy.' "Did you not call? Do you want any one?' Not thee. O Dolly! my poor Dolly! -and he seemed to be almost sobbing. 'Why did I let thee leave me?' "Father, you are not going to be ill? It is not the gout, is it?' (for that was the time when he wanted my mother most, and indeed, when he was wholly unmanageable by any one but her.) "Go away. Get to thy bed, girl; I don't want 'ee.' "I thought he was angry with me for having been in some sort the cause of our delay, and retired very miserable. Patty and I sat up a good while longer, discussing the dreary prospect of my father's having a fit of the gout here in London lodgings, with only us to nurse him, and my mother away. Our alarm was so great that we quite forgot the curious circumstance which had attracted us, till Patty spoke up, from her bed on the floor. "I hope master beant going to be very ill, and that—you know-came for a warning. Do 'ee think it was a bird, Mistress Dorothy ? "Very likely. Now, Patty, let us go to sleep.' "But I did not, for all night I heard my father groaning at intervals. I was certain it was the gout, and wished from the bottom of my heart that we had gone home with mother. "What was my surprise when, quite early, I heard him rise and go down, just as if nothing was ailing him! I found him sitting at the breakfast-table in his travelling-coat, looking very haggard and miserable, but evidently bent on a jour ney. "Father, you are not going to Bath ?' "Yes, I be.' "Not till the evening coach starts?' I cried, alarmed. We can't, you know.' "I'll take a post-chaise, then. We must be off in an hour.' "An hour! The cruel pain of parting -(my dear, I believe I used to feel things keenly when I was young)-shot through me through and through. A single hour, and I should have said good-by to Edmond-one of those heart-breaking farewells when we seem to leave half of our poor young life behind us, forgetting that the only real parting is when there is no love left to part from. A few years, and I wondered how I could have crept away and wept in such intolerable agony at the mere bidding good-by to Edmond -Edmond, who loved me. "Every minute seemed a day till he came in, as usual, to breakfast. My red eyes and my father's corded trunk explained all. "Doctor Thwaite, you are not going? "Yes, I be,' repeated my father. He sat moodily leaning on the table-would not taste his breakfast. "Not till the night coach, surely? I was to take you and Mistress Dorothy to see Mr. Benjamin West, the king's painter.' "Let kings and painters alone, lad; I be going home to my Dolly.' "Mr. Everest used many arguments, gay and grave, upon which I hung with earnest conviction and hope. He made things so clear always; he was a man of much brighter parts than my father and had great influence over him. "Dorothy,' he whispered, ' help me to persuade the Doctor. It is so little time I beg for, only a few hours; and before so long a parting.' Ay, longer than he thought, or I. "Children,' cried my father at last, 'you are a couple of fools. Wait till you have been married twenty years. I must go to my Dolly. I know there is something amiss at home.' "I should have felt alarmed, but I saw Mr. Everest smile; and besides, I was yet glowing under his fond look, as my father spoke of our being 'married twenty years.' 666 'Father, you have surely no reason for thinking this? If you have, tell us.' "My father just lifted his head, and looked me woefully in the face. "Dorothy, last night, as sure as I see you now, I saw your mother.' "Is that all ? cried Mr. Everest, laughing; 'why, my good sir, of course you did; you were dreaming.' "I had not gone to sleep.' "Coming into the room just as she used to do in the bedroom at home, with the candle in her hand and the baby asleep on her arm.' "Did she speak?' asked Mr. Everest, with another and rather satirical smile; remember, you saw Hamlet last night. Indeed, sir indeed, Dorothy-it was a mere dream. I do not believe in ghosts; it would be an insult to common sense, to human wisdom-nay, even to Divinity itself." "Edmond spoke so earnestly, so justly, so affectionately, that perforce I agreed; and even my father became to feel rather ashamed of his own weakness. He, a physician, the head of a family, to yield to a mere superstitious fancy, springing probably from a hot supper and an overexcited brain! To the same cause Mr. Everest attributed the other incident, which somewhat hesitatingly I told him. "Dear, it was a bird; nothing but a bird. One flew in at my window last spring; it had hurt itself, and I kept it, and nursed it, and petted it. It was such a pretty gentle little thing, that it put me in mind of Dorothy.' "Did it ?' said I. "And at last it got well and flew away.' "Ah! that was not like Dorothy.' "Thus, my father being persuaded, it was not hard to persuade me. We settled to remain till evening. Edmond and I, with my maid Patty, went about together, chiefly in Mr. West's gallery, and in the quiet shade of our favorite Temple Gardens. And if for those four stolen hours, and the sweetness in them, I afterwards suffered untold remorse and bitterness, I have entirely forgiven myself, as I know my dear mother would have forgiven me, long ago." Mrs. MacArthur stopped, wiped her eyes, and then continued-speaking more in the matter-of-fact way that old people speak than she had been lately doing. 66 Well, my dear, where was I ?" "In the Temple Gardens." "Yes, yes. Well, we came home to dinner. My father always enjoyed his dinner, and his nap afterwards; he had nearly recovered himself now: only looked tired from loss of rest. Edmond and I sat in the window, watching the barges and wherries down the Thames; there were no steamboats then, you know. "My poor little girl-my own Dorothy!" "By the tenderness of his embrace, not lover-like, but brother-like-by his tears, for I could feel them on my neck-I knew, as well as if he had told me, that I should never see my dear mother any more. "She had died in childbirth," continued the old lady after a long pause" died at night, at the very hour and minute when I had heard the tapping on the windowpane, and my father had thought he saw her coming into his room with a baby on her arm.” "Was the bady dead, too?" "They thought so then, but it afterwards revived." "What a strange story!" "I do not ask you to believe in it. How and why and what it was I can not tell; I only know that it assuredly was so." "And Mr. Everest ?" I inquired, after some hesitation. The old lady shook her head. "Ah! my dear, you will soon learn how very, very seldom one marries one's first love. After that day, I did not see Mr. Everest for twenty years." "How wrong-how-" "Some one knocked at the door with a message for my father, but he slept so "Don't blame him; it was not his fault. heavily he did not hear. Mr. Everest You see, after that time my father took a went to see what it was; I stood at the prejudice against him—not unnatural, perwindow. I remember mechanically watch-haps; and she was not there to make things ing the red sail of a Margate hoy that was going down the river, and thinking with a sharp pang how dark the room seemed, in a moment, with Edmond not there. Reëntering, after a somewhat long absence, he never looked at me, but went straight to my father. "Sir, it is almost time for you to start,' (oh! Edmond.) There is a coach at the door; and, pardon me, but I think you should travel quickly.' "My father sprang to his feet. "Dear sir, indeed there is no need for anxiety now; but I have received news. You have another little daughter, sir, and "Dolly, my Dolly! Without another word my father rushed away without his hat, leaped into the post-chaise that was waiting, and drove off. "Edmond!' I gasped. straight. Besides, my own conscience was very sore, and there were the six children at home, and the little baby had no mother: so at last I made up my mind. I should have loved him just the same if we had waited twenty years: but he could not see things so. Don't blame him, my dear-don't blame him. It was as well, perhaps, as things turned out." "Did he marry ?” "Yes, after a few years; and loved his wife dearly. When I was about one-andthirty, I married Mr. MacArthur. So neither of us was unhappy, you see-at least, not more so than most people; and we became sincere friends afterwards. Mr. and Mrs. Everest come to see me, almost every Sunday. Why, you foolish child, you are not crying?" Ay, I was-but scarcely at the ghoststory. From Dickens' Household Words. THE WORLD UNSEEN. SEVERAL of our most proficient adepts in natural philosophy, including even Sir Humphrey Davy, have amused themselves by guessing the forms and constitution of the living creatures that dwell on other planets belonging to our system. For instance, Saturn himself, lighter than cork, must be the habitat, it is supposed, of creatures incomparably lighter still, the grossest of whose circulating fluids are essential oils and alcoholic ethers. It is probable that these hypothetical beings do not differ from those composing the earth's past and present faunæ so much as many persons might suppose. That some, at least, of the material elements of other worlds are identical with our own, is proved by the inspection of aërolites, which supply us by their fall with new-imported, if not novel, samples of mineral. The zones of Jupiter-which cannot be other than equatorial, tropical, and temperate and the arctic and antarctic snows visible in the polar regions of Mars, offer conditions so similar to those of our own earth's surface, that it would really turn out an improbable fact, and an unexpected discovery, if a Jovine or a Martial menagerie were to exhibit species more extraordinary in their organization than the antediluvian animals discovered by Cuvier. But, however that may be, one point will not be disputed: if a balloon-load of wild creatures were to reach the earth from either of our neighboring planets, the Zoological Society might charge a fiveguineas entrance to their gardens, and would make their fortune within half a year. It happens that, in a little world more accessible to us than either Jupiter or Mars, there really exist, unseen, wondrous living creatures, unknown to the large majority of the human race. If we could fit ourselves with a pair of spectacles that would enable us to see the inhabitants of Venus, distinctly-to note what dresses they wear, how their fashions change, what is their ceremonial at births, weddings, and deaths-the spectacle-maker would have a long list of customers, and our publishers would give us periodical illustrations-colored and plain—of the phases which Venus's fashionable society, as well as her crescent and her waning self, assume. Yet eyes, with which we can look into another invisible world, are procurable at a reasonable rate. "I want to make Tom Styles' young people some handsome present, but I don't know what on earth to give them," is the oft-uttered complaint of many a worthy godfather. "They are already well set up with dolls, rocking-horses, and babyhouses; and cakes and Christmas-trees are out of the question. Styles likes to select his children's books himself, even if Mrs. Styles were not so very particular, and a little too strait-laced in her views, not to say, sectarian. A present of books would be a risk to run. Do tell me, my dear Sally, what shall we give them, this time?" Sally, a matron with her own ideas also, mentally runs the round of things presentable, and finds nothing but a list of negative items. We will step in to Sally's aid, and suggest―a microscope! It is neither high-church nor low-church; savors neither of Puseyism nor dissent; is perfectly unexceptional in its political tendencies, and is free from all charge of immorality or irreligion. The microscope arrived, what is to be done with it? See the vermin in your cistern-water," says the advertisement in the Times, with the hope of inducing you to purchase a patent self-cleansing charcoal-filter. Don't see them, unless you are both strong-minded and strong-stomached; that's my advice. And, while I am giving it, in steps Noakes (who has heard of Styles' scientific acquisition) with a sample, in a wine-glass, from his own private pump. At the bottom of the glass a tiny milk-white speck glides along with slow but steady motion. With gentle skill it is transferred with a drop of water to the meniscus-glass of the microscope, placed in the stand, peeped at with a low power as a transparent object-and what is beheld? Something very like a whale of the spermaceti species, protruding its huge lips, and glaring with a pair of coal-black eyes. Its substance is an elastic gelatinous blubber composed of grains, which are visibly distinct like the berries in a bunch of grapes. Its fleshy, granulated mass heaves and sinks, dilates and contracts, at every motion. But it has clouded the water by a voluntary act. Let us strand our whale on an ebony shore by the agency of a pin, to see how he will behave on dry land. He is burst-he is poured out like a curdled fluid-he is dried up-he is gone! Nothing is left of him but a morsel of film scarcely visible to the naked eye. microscope the thread of the warp in a spider's web, from the thread of the woof. The butterfly flutters in Tom's little fingers. Let it flutter-hold against it another slip of glass. The slip is covered with white dust. Let us submit that to the searching power; and, lo! we have a collection of scales or feathers, with the quill as distinctly visible as that of the pen I now hold in my hand. Some are broad and flat, with deep-cut notches at their end, semi-transparent, as if made of gelatine, and clearly marked with longitudinal stripes-proof that the instrument is not a bad one; others are more taper in their proportions, opaline in texture, mottled with cloudy spots, and terminate very curiously in a tuft of bristles, each of which seems to have a little head at its tip end. What can be the use of them? Featherscales terminating in a pencil of hairs like the stamens of flowers? But, the butterfly is stark dead-Tom has pinched its body so tight to prevent its escape. It is much too enormous a creature to be looked at entire with a microscope; we must cut up its carcase, as a butcher does an ox, and serve it out piecemeal. Then we ascertain that its horns or antennæ are covered with scales; they are elegant shafts, like the trunks of young palm-trees. We have rubbed off some of the scales in our clumsy dissection-they are strewn on the slip of glass beside their parent stem; and we may remark that each scale has at its top a single notch cut out of it like the letter V, or the wedge of cake which a schoolboy would produce with two strokes of the knife, if allowed to help himself. Our butterfly's eyes are composite, made up of eyelets to be counted-or left uncounted-by hundreds. His feet have some resemblance to a hand, which you might imagine to be mainly composed of a couple of broad miller's thumbs; but the wonder of wonders is his elaborate proboscis, folding up spirally, composed of an infinity of corkscrew vessels, and furnished with elastic suckers and pumps. All this we behold as clearly, though bit by bit, as we see that a centenarian oak If consists of roots, trunk, branches, and leaves. One of these days some ingenious artist in taxidermy might treat us to a model of the cabbage-butterfly, putting together its parts as was done with the model of the dodo, only on a highly magnified scale. Nothing but such a property butterfly as this, (to use theatrical phrase Little Tom is chasing a white cabbagebutterfly on the grass-plot. It is too much for him; it darts away between a laurel and a rose-bush. No; he has it: it has been stopped by the wide-spread net of a large garden-spider-the diadem. Stay a moment, Tom, before you brush the web utterly away. We will catch a portion of the tissue on this slip of window-glass. It makes a nice little tailor's pattern of real gossamer cloth for summer use. But, instead of the threads crossing each other at right angles like the warp and the woof of human looms, there is a framework of threads like the spokes of a wheel, across which other threads are woven round and round. Look; the power of the objectglass is high, and we have got into the field of view a point where the threads cross. But observe, the radiating thread is plain and smooth, like a simple iron wire; while the concentric threads are studded at intervals with transparent beads of different sizes, one or two little ones intervening between each large one, like artificial necklaces of pearls. They are chaplets and rosaries on which the flies! may say their prayers before they receive the finishing stroke from their executioner, the diadem spider. It is the viscid globules which appear to give to these threads their peculiarly adhesive character. you throw dust on a circular spider's web, you may observe that it adheres to the threads which are spirally disposed, but not to those that radiate from the centre to the circumference, because the former only are strung with gummy pearls. You now know how to distinguish with the |