personal skill enabled him to make what is probably the best measurement yet obtained of the earth's mean density-viz. 5-5270.

And so we find that the work of Maskelyne, the work of Cavendish, the work of Poynting, that of Boys, and, indeed, that of half a score others about whom I have said nothing, supports, almost without an exception, Newton's guess at the weight of the earth.

We are often told that we live in a material age, that the days of chivalry are gone, and that even science devotes herself to-day to the merely useful, and is too apt to neglect the search after abstract truth. Perhaps this incomplete recital of the progress of a great research during a period of nearly two centuries, including as it does some splendid contributions which have been made within quite recent years, may serve as a reminder that though science reveals herself to many of us chiefly through her more obviously useful and profitable discoveries and inventions, yet those who look for them will still find among us not a few men as ready as any of their predecessors to devote days and nights to hard labour for no other fee than the hope of discovering a new truth, overthrowing an ancient error, or extending in some other way the boundaries of knowledge.

W. A. SHENSTONE.

THE HAUNTED BOAT.

A STORY OF THE NORFOLK BROADS.

6

THE Broads,' said the schoolmaster, in a didactic voice, as if he were taking a geography class, the Broads are a capital place for a holiday. It is true that, of recent years, 'Arry has more and more taken possession in the summer months, and, with his banjo and his gramophone, has destroyed all the romance and a good deal of the quiet; but, if you know your ground, and avoid his favourite haunts, you can keep fairly clear of the nuisance. I have made them my holiday ground for many years. I have learned to know them in all seasons and all weathers, winter and summer, wind and calm, rain and sunshine, and only once have I met with an experience that left a nasty taste in my mouth. I was cruising about one summer holiday in the Dipper, a handy little cutter with a cabin that would sleep two comfortably and three at a pinch. As I was alone, except for my skipper, who, by some miracle of ingenuity, managed to stow his limbs away at night in a minute forepeak, I was living comfortably, and even luxuriously; for, after a certain age, the smallest room that you have to yourself is more spacious than a palace that you must share with others.

'I had spent a very happy week on the upper waters of the Thurne, sailing and fishing over the broad waters of Hickling, and watching the slow sunsets through the reeds in Heigham Sound; but one August afternoon, rather late in the day, found me tacking up the Bure towards Somershall, where I was to pick up a friend on the following morning. The tide was running strongly against us, the wind had fallen light, and we were in a head reach about two miles short of our destination. After we had visited the bank three times in succession, on the starboard tack, at almost exactly the same spot, I grew tired of it. "That," I said, pointing to the other bank, "looks a likely spot; we may as well fasten up there for the night."

"You can't lie up there," said Ned, decisively; "there ain't no depth of water to speak of, and the rond's all marshy.”

'Ned's judgment in such matters was usually infallible, but on this occasion I needed some convincing.

"That_boat," I said, pointing to an old tub that was moored

to the bank some two hundred yards above us, water enough.

seems to find

"That boat," replied Ned, without looking at her, and in a distinctly surly voice, " don't draw so much water as what we do. You'll sail the next reach, and there's a medder at the far end where boats often lie."

'But the next reach and its “medder” had no attractions for me. I was well satisfied with what I had got a long bend in the river, set with willows and alder bushes, and the banks a tangle of reeds, and purple loose-strife, and meadow-sweet, that made the air fragrant. Consequently, when I came to the end of the port tack, instead of coming about, I laid the Dipper gently alongside of the shore. Ned disengaged the quant-pole from the jib-sheets, and prepared to push her off.

6.66

"You can put that quant down," I said, peremptorily. "We're very comfortable where we are; and you can see for yourself that there's plenty of water. I shall lie up here for to-night."

'Ned made a last effort to move me. It was a clumsy one, and only succeeded in making me more obstinate.

““The man,” he said, "what owns this land don't allow no boats to moor here.'

“If the man,” I replied, "that owns the land likes to get his feet wet wading through the marsh yonder, he can come; but I'm going to wait here till he does."

'After that Ned gave in, and began to lower the sails, muttering to himself as he did so. I had always found him a most goodnatured and accommodating fellow, limited in his mental attainments, but resourceful and obliging, and this sudden fit of temper took me by surprise. But I fancied I could guess its cause. I had noticed that in choosing his mooring-ground Ned had a predilection for company. If he had had his way he would always have brought me up in line with a fleet of cruising boats, and within hail of half-a-dozen pianos and banjoes, and I could never persuade him that my choice of lonely spots was not accident but design. Now Somershall is an important yachting centre on these waters, and I did not doubt that Ned had hoped to find, at the end of our day's sail, cheerful companionship and the stir and bustle of life. I was sorry for his disappointment, but, after all, it was my holiday, not his. So I left him to roll up the sails, and dived into the cabin to lay the table for my evening meal.

While I was thus engaged, I noticed an unexpected motion

VOL, XVIII.-NO. 103, N.S.

6

in the boat, which brought me out again in a hurry to see what was happening. I found that Ned was swinging her right round, so that her nose pointed down stream and her stern faced the old tub that was moored above us. It was a trifling matter, but it annoyed me for two reasons-first, because if the wind were to get up in the night it would blow straight into the cabin; and, secondly, because although the aforesaid tub seemed to be temporarily deserted, I had no guarantee that her owners would not return, and, if they did so, I should be more exposed to the jarring noise of song and voices than in our original position.

"What are you doing that for?" I asked, sharply.

'But Ned was ready with his answer.

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By the look of the sky," he said, "I think there'll be a shift o' wind before the morning.'

'I looked at the sky, but could see no indication of such a shift. The clouds were banking up in the west, the direction out of which the breeze was blowing, and, if there was to be any change, I guessed that it would take the form of an increase of wind from the same quarter. However, I said nothing. One learns from schoolmastering not to nag at people when they are irritable, and Ned's face at that moment reminded me very much of a boy who is nursing some grievance, real or imaginary.

'While Ned was cooking the potatoes, I untied the dinghy and went for a spin up the river. After a long day's sailing it is pleasant to exercise your limbs, and there is nothing like a pair of oars for taking the creases out of you. On my way back I took a good look at the boat that was to be my neighbour for the evening. She was one of those cruising craft that you may see by the score on the Broads in the summer months, with the mast set far forward, a lug sail, and a low cabin-the kind of boat that two or three men will get cheap, and sail themselves, for they are easy to handle, and stiff in a wind. She was in a dilapidated condition, and her name, the Dandy, was ludicrously out of keeping with her general appearance, for the paint was off her sides in places, her sail-cover was rotting on the boom, and somehow there was a look of forlornness and neglect about her that was almost pathetic, and gave quite a melancholy tinge to my reflections.

"To whom does that boat belong?" I asked Ned, when he appeared at the entrance of the cabin with a dish of steaming potatoes.

'Ned prides himself on knowing every boat on the river, and, by a glance at her sails a mile off, he will tell you the name and owner of any yacht you point out to him.

"I can't rightly say who she belong to now," replied Ned. "She were built at Brundall. Two gentlemen from London bought her last year and was sailing her about in these waters. But," he added, grimly, "they was both drownded out of her, by what I've heard."

"And does that make her an unlucky boat?" I asked. I had heard of some such superstition, and Ned's serious face impressed

me.

"She's more'n that," he replied, darkly; but I forbore to press him for an explanation.

'After a hearty meal I felt in a eupeptic and benevolent frame of mind, and, seeing Ned still messing about with the ropes in a gloomy and desultory sort of way, I called to him.

""Look here," I said, "Somershall is only two miles off, and I shan't want the dinghy again to-night. You're a young and active man. Why don't you jump in and pull down to the bridge and see your friends? You can spend the night there if you want to, so long as you're back the first thing in the morning. I've got all I want."

'Ned's face brightened at once, and his whole manner changed. "Thank you, sir," he said, with alacrity. "I didn't like to ask you; but I've got a married sister what live at Somershall. I wrote to tell her I reckoned to be here o' Tuesday, and I make no doubt but what she's expecting of me. If so be as you could really spare me, I'll drop down in the boat as soon as I've rightsided things here, and I'll be back again afore daylight to-morrow morning."

'Ned washed up the dinner things with greater despatch than I had believed him capable of, arranged sundry ropes and gear in the orthodox manner, and before the darkness had completely shut down he had vanished round the bend on his way to Somershall, and I could hear the click of his rowlocks dying away in the distance. As I turned to go back into the cabin I cast an almost involuntary glance at the boat out of which the two men had been "drownded" a year ago. She loomed grey and ghostlike through the twilight, and at the sight of her something like a cold shiver passed through me. The thought of death is never exhilarating, and when it obtrudes itself in the middle of one's pleasure it has a peculiarly sobering and depressing effect. I tried to picture the two poor fellows who had been called away so suddenly and unexpectedly to face the grimmest of all grim realities. But a