not beautiful, only interesting, with no accomplishment save a sweet voice, which could warble for ever, Margaret Lester had yet stolen away all the love which the showy, fascinating, dashy Philip could bestow; and wonderful to tell, was quite insensible to her prize. She was not in love with any one else, that was certain; and that the sweet, gentle Margaret was heartless-oh! that was quite impossible too; and yet she did not care for Philip in the least. She never asked for his poetry; seldom sang with him; was perfectly happy to waltz with any one else; would quietly, and without changing colour, acknowledge his personal and mental qualities, and praise him with the greatest unconcern. So, for months and months, these two moved through the circles of country gaiety, meeting constantly, and furnishing for some time a grand speculation. In worldly matters both were equal; neither very rich, nor poor -well matched, as the gossips said: but it was all useless; and Philip at last, mortified with the calm indifference which his homage won from the gentle girl, ceased all outward show of it; paid attention equally to every new or pretty face, and seemed determined to dazzle or charm, without ever really loving or being loved. Margaret was as apparently unmoved by her lover's dereliction as by his previous adoration. Her real thoughts on the subject were only expressed to her mother, who naturally wished to see her only child settled.

"Why could you not like Philip Heathcote ?" asked Mrs. Lester. “You know, love, he has good prospects; every one admires him; he is very handsome, and is the life of all society wherever he goes."

"That is the very reason he did not please me, dear mamma," answered Margaret. "I should not wish my husband to be so fascinating; I want more than mere outside qualities; and I should be inclined to distrust a man who was so very brilliant-he would never do for home. Don't you remember Beatrice in Much Ado about Nothing, when Don Pedro asks if she will have him for her husband. 'No,' she says, 'I should want another o' week days; your grace is too costly for every-day wear. And," continued Miss Lester, laughing cheerfully, "I think it is much the same with myself and young Heathcote-he is, in truth, too handsome for me."

Perhaps Margaret's feeling was natural. Every truc-hearted woman likes to feel

proud of her lover, or rather to have one that she can rightly and justly feel proud of: there is no sensation more delicious or more unselfish than this. But we doubt very much if a woman, sincere, simple-hearted, and good, as we wish to paint our Margaret, would feel love for a Philip Heathcote: the idol of a ball-room, the admired and admirer of all the vain and frivolous. That Philip had deeper qualities than these, was as yet unknown; such was his apparent character; and yet Margaret was right when she said, that he was too handsome and too fascinating for her.

Mrs. Lester and her daughter sat one morning at their work, when there was announced that bore of bores, a morning visitor; and one, never particularly welcome at any time-the news-retailer of the place-a sort of feminine Paul Pry. Country society, alas! has not the blessing of city visiting-no dropping the acquaintance of these human barnacles. There was a suspicious twinkling in Mrs. Doddridge's little black eyes, which showed she was brimming over with news; and out the information came, at the earliest opportunity.

"Have you heard of the fire?" "What fire ?" asked the ever-sympathizing Mrs. Lester.

"What! not about the fire at Farmer Western's, and young Mr. Heathcote, and his accident?" cried the delighted gossip, glancing meaningly at Miss Lester.

"I am sorry for it," said Margaret, quietly. "What has happened to him?"

"I thought you must have knownbut, no; I forgot. Well, he is not quite killed-almost."

Both the ladies started; and, to their inquiries, Mrs. Doddridge answered with a long story, the substance of which, separating truth from fiction, we will tell in our own words.

Philip, coming home from a country ball, had seen that most fearful of all sights, especially in a lonely country place, a house on fire. He spurred his horse to the spot, and reached it with assistance, but too late. The house was wrapped in flames; and the farmer's aged mother was within-no one thought of saving her. Heathcote, with a sudden and generous impulse, rushed into the burning mass, and they never thought to see him return, until he staggered forward, with his burden dead in his arms, and fell insensible on the ground. When he re

turned to consciousness, he was found to be fearfully burnt, and one foot entirely crushed by a falling beam. The young, gay, handsome Philip, who had danced so merrily a few hours before, and charmed all, as was his wont, was taken home by the grey morning twilight, disfigured for life.

Margaret Lester's kind heart overflowed with mingled pity at hearing of this melancholy story of her former lover. She could not have believed him capable of such a deed. Her tender conscience smote her for having misjudged him, and many a slight instance of his kindly feeling rose to her mind, which showed he must have a higher and better character beneath the one in which he publicly appeared.-There is nothing so sweet or so all-extenuating as the compassions of a gentle-hearted woman, though exercised towards a rejected or even a faithless lover.

Many months did Philip lay on his lonely and desolate sick-bed, for he had no mother or sister to watch over him. Some few among those who had been so carmed with him, sent to inquire after the poor young man, for a little time. But the interest and excitement of the event soon died away; and long before the invalid was able to crawl to the closedup garden of the old manorhouse where he lived, all had forsaken him except one or two kind souls, who sent him a book now and then out of charity. Among these was Mrs. Lester; and when at last the young man recovered, gratitude, or something else, warmer still, led him thither the first day he left his home.

No one had seen him since his accident. -Philip could not bear that his former friends should see how fearfully changed he was. His beautiful and classic features were scarcely recognisable for the deep scars left on his face and his finely moulded figure and elastic gait _were changed into incurable lameness. It was a fearful shock; such as none but a strong mind could bear. But Philip, through his long and solitary illness, had thought much and deeply; and his external appearance was scarcely more changed than his mind. Nevertheless, with all his courage he could not repress many a bitter pang, as he waited alone in Mrs. Lester's drawing-room, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror which had so often beforetime reflected the graceful figure of the handsome Philip Heathcote. When the door opened and

Margaret entered, he could have shrunk anywhere from her view.

A hue, very slight, was in Margaret's usually colourless cheek; she looked once at the young man, and then, advancing, took his hand in both hers, and said, in a frank, earnest, friendly tone, that went to Philip's heart

"I am very glad indeed to see you here again, Mr. Heathcote."

There was no condolence, no allusion to his illness; she did not avoid looking at him, but spoke and smiled with true and kindly tact, as if nothing had happened: so that Philip's dread and embarrassment wore off imperceptibly. Once only, when he was engaged talking to Mrs. Lester, he caught Margaret's eye fixed upon his face, with a deep expression. He thought, though he was not sure, that those sweet blue orbs were moist with tears; and the young man would have parted almost with life itself for one tear of affectionate pity from Margaret Lester.

He stayed a long time, and then went home, certainly happier than he had often been in the days of his bloom and gaiety. What Margaret thought of her old lover could not be known; she said very little; but that very night she heard the old church-clock strike one before her eyes fairly closed in slumber.

Philip Heathcote's re-appearance in society caused the usual nine days' wonder and excitement, and then all subsided. He was an altered man; his abundant flow of spirits was no more; he could no longer join the dance in which he had shone brilliantly aforetime; he was often silent in company, and the belles who had so often gazed delighted on his handsome face, now passed him by with a slight recognition, or an audible Poor fellowhow handsome he was once!" Philip had grown wiser through suffering; but still no one is ever quite insensible to the loss of personal attractions; and the "has been" grated harshly on young Heathcote's feelings for a long time. He gradually withdrew from society in a great measure, pleading, as his reason, the illhealth which he really did labour under; and at last his visits were entirely con. fined to Mrs. Lester's, where he met no altered looks or obtrusive condolence.

And now we must turn to Margaret. She, too, was changed; not outwardly, but in her own heart. Love, under the guise of pity, had stolen in there unawares. She had been perfectly indifferent to Philip in his days of triumph; but when

she saw him pale, feeble, thoughtful, with out a single gay jest or sportive compliment to scatter round; treated with neglect, or else wounded by rude pity, Margaret's woman's heart gave way. She first felt sympathy, then interest, and so went through the regular gradations, until she loved Philip Heathcote with her whole soul. He, foolish man, humbled and selfdistrusting as he was, never saw this; yet he nourished his affection for Margaret in his heart's core, never dreaming that it could ever be returned.

"If she did not care for me in the old days," he often thought, "surely it is hopeless to imagine she could love me now -a poor, sick, lame, ugly fellow like me.” And he would look at himself with disgust; and turn away from the mirror with a bitter sigh. Ah! Philip Heathcote, with all his talent and brilliancy, still knew little of the depths of a woman's heart. We have heard of a man who broke the plighted troth of years because a heavy affliction-it was deprivation of hearing-fell upon the lovely girl he was to have married: and we have also heard others of his sex justify him in so doing. Such love is not like woman's, she would only have clung the closer to her betrothed in his affliction.

Philip, in spite of his conviction of the entire hopelessness of winning Margaret's heart, still continued to hover about her unceasingly. He saw there was at least no other lover in the way, and that was one comfort. It was months before his eyes were opened to his error, and how that clearness of vision was effected, his tory sayeth not. Very few lovers can tell the precise moment when the blessed truth rushed upon their hearts, flooding them with delicious joy. To what hope -to what a new and blessed existence did Philip awake when he knew that Margaret loved him? He counted all he had lost as nothing, in comparison to the prize which his sufferings had won for him. Much he wondered at the change, not knowing that it was due to his altered character, for men look at the outward form, while women judge of the heart. But wonder and doubt were absorbed in

intense happiness, for Margaret-the timid, retiring, but loving Margaretwas all his own.

Once more the town's talk was of Philip Heathcote and Margaret Lester. They were seen walking together; one had met them in the fields; another, coming home from church; Mr. Heathcote was daily at the house; surely they must be engaged!-and this once the gossips were right-they were, indeed, affianced lovers; and in due time the old village church beheld them made husband and wife. A few years passed, and the old manor-house rang with childish voices through all its desolate nooks; and Margaret and her husband might be seen oftentimes slowly pacing the dark alleys of the garden, with a merry troop around them. Hand in hand, Philip and Margaret were gliding down life's river, nor feared the coming of middle age, when each year brought new happiness. Had they altogether forgotten the days of their youth? Not quite; for once, when they sat watching the sports of their eldest son, Margaret said, with a mother's pride and fondness

"Is not our boy handsome, Philip? He will grow up almost as handsome

as

"As his father once used to be," interrupted Mr. Heathcote, with a smile, not quite devoid of bitterness. "He was not perfect-the vain man."

Margarate arose, clasped her arms around her husband's neck, and kissed his white forehead and still beautiful eyes, with intense and wife-like affection.

"You are always handsome to me, my own Philip-there is no one like you; and if I were foolish once

"When you said I was too handsome ?" cried the happy husband.

I

"There, do not remember those days; did not love you then."

"And now you do, my sweet Margaret, my dear wife," said Philip Heathcote; "and so I do not care in the least for being as ugly as an old satyr, since Margaret Lester can never again say that I am a great deal too handsome for her.'"

creation, step by step, to the smallest and simplest types of existence. We regret that we shall have to pass by many of them in silence, or only devote a few lines to them; as in such an enormous field, where thousands on thousands of new and rare forms present themselves, only those which stand out prominently attract the attention of the casual observer. But if we can succeed in drawing our readers' notice to some marvels of the world of waters, hitherto unknown to them, or slightly lift the veil which conceals the mysteries of the deep, our object will be attained; and we trust that we shall have performed a meritorious task.

Of all the creatures that populate the mighty ocean, the Cetacea are the most perfect. Through their internal construction, they approximate in many respects to human beings, and their behaviour displays traces of a higher feeling; for the mother loves her cub, defends it in the hour of danger, and is apt to forget her own peril in her passionate attempts to protect it. Like ourselves, they respire through lungs, and possess a double (venous and arterial) heart, through which streams of warm red blood constantly flow. The anatomical structure of the pectoral fins bears a remarkable resemblance to the human arm, as its skeleton is equally composed of a shoulderblade, arm, a two-boned fore-arm, and five parted fingers. But the upper extremity, which, in us, moves freely, is, in the Cetacea, firmly attached to the body down to the wrist; and the fingered hand, which performs such wondrous deeds under the guidance of the human will, is, in the case of the whale, covered with a thick skin, and becomes a broad, undivided fin. Yet it is designed for some higher function than mere steering, for with its assistance the mother guides and protects her cub. The pelvis is only found in a rudimentary form, and the lower extremities fail entirely. Their place is supplied by the powerful horizontal tail, by means of which the animal moves so rapidly through the water.

The Cetacea are also distinguished from fishes by being viviparous, by a much larger quantity of blood, by a smooth skin (not covered with scales, as in the former), beneath which is a thick layer of fat; but, above all, by having a single or double breathing-hole or blower on the upper portion of the head, which, though resembling the nostrils of other animals, is not employed for smell, but solely for respiration.

The natural history of the Cetacea is still very defective; and we need not feel surprised at it, when we reflect that these animals are generally met with in the most inaccessible seas, where the scientific inquirer can rarely approach them; while the rapidity of their movements only permits a transient glance at their external form. Since but little is known of their habits and mode of life, and while many a species is still utterly unknown, it may often happen that the same variety is described under different names, thus causing great confusion.

It would be beyond our scope and limits to point out such errors, or write a more detailed monogram on the Cetacea; we will, therefore, content ourselves with enumerating the most interesting facts known about the predominant varieties of the family.

The Cetacea are subdivided into the "toothless" and the "toothed." The former, or baleen whales, have two blowers on the head, running longitudinally; but in the toothed Cetacea (Spermaceti, Narwhal, Dolphin) the orifice is single, and across the head. As they do not breathe, they have no voice; though the puffing of the larger whales sounds, at the distance of a mile, like the murmur of the wind through an organ-pipe.

The baleen whales are again subdivided into the smooth-backs (Balana), and the Rorquals (Balaenoptera), which have a dorsal fin on the lower part of the back. To the former belongs the Greenland whale (B. Mysticetus), the largest of living animals, and most valuable to man of all the Cetacea. Its extreme length, according to Scoresby, is sixty to seventy fect; and at the thickest part of the body, behind the pectoral fins, it has a circumference of thirty to forty feet. As it is very nearly of the same specific gravity as water, its weight can be determined with sufficient accuracy. Scoresby estimates the weight of a whale that measured sixty feet at a hundred tons.

Other naturalists give it still larger dimensions; and it is possible that, in former times, ere man pursued whales with such pertinacity, they may have attained a length of one hundred feet, with a corresponding circumference. But whales of three hundred feet in length, such as Tilesius describes, must have been seen through the magnifying-glass of a luxuriant fancy, and belong to the same race as Pliny's three hundred feet sawfish, which, as he tells us (Hist. Nat., lib.