of properties greatly dissimilar to those of ordinary gases; but this is undiscoverable, just where it ought to be most apparent," where the remoter parts of the ring meet the outline of the disc obliquely. But there is not one of these phenomena which cannot be explained by the theory of a very deep atmosphere, not "irregularly distributed," or "possessing properties greatly dissimilar to those of ordinary gases," but irregularly laden with cloud-masses. In fact, these occasional peculiarities in the shadow are thus brought into exact correlation with the peculiarities observed occasionally in the planet's shape, as noted in the first part of this paper. We might note here other circumstances in the earth's youthful condition. For instance, from time to time the ruddy glow of her intensely heated surface must have been visible through breaks in her cloudlayers; and just such occasional views of Jupiter's heated surface seem to have been obtained on those occasions when the usually cream-white equatorial belt has shone with a ruddy color. But this consideration, and others connected with the quantity of light received from Jupiter and Saturn, have already been dealt with at considerable length in these pages. It appears to us, in fine, that all the evidence, both a priori and à posteriori, corresponds with the theory which we have brought before the reader, that a planet, during its extreme youth, has its oceans floating in the form of cloud-masses and cloud-layers in a very deep atmosphere. We have seen reason, first, for believing that the intense heat of a planet, for many ages after its first formation, would keep the oceans in this cloud-like condition. Then, looking around for planets such as we might suppose to be much younger than the earth, we have seen that Jupiter and Saturn, the giant planets of the solar system, are probably the youngest (in this sense), always excepting the sun, which is in an earlier stage than any member of his family. And, considering what appearances a planet with a very deep cloudladen atmosphere might be expected to present, we have found that just such appearances are presented by the planets Jupiter and Saturn, the phenomena described not being seen at all times, but occasionally, and in varying degree, precisely as we should expect from the variable causes producing them. We have also seen that the small density of the giant planets cannot readily be otherwise explained than by the theory that we do not see their real surface, but the outer surface of cloud-layers enveloping them. Moreover, while not a single fact known about the great planets is opposed to this theory, there are some facts, as we have seen, which cannot possibly be explained on any other theory. But when so much as this can be said of any theory, the theory may be regarded as established. When the earth and sea were young, then, the earth's whole frame was intensely heated. Her real surface was doubtless partly solid and partly liquid then, as now; but the solid portion glowed with ruddy and in places with white heat, while the liquid portions, instead of being water, as now, were formed of molten rock. Above this surface, with its "tracts of fluent heat," was the fiery atmosphere of that primeval time, enormously deep, complex in constitution, bearing enormous masses of aqueous vapor, and every form of cloud and cloud-layer, swept by mighty hurricanes whose breath was flame, drenched with showers so heavy that they might rather be called floods, and tortured by the uprush of the vaporous masses formed as these floods fell hissing on the earth's fiery surface. After myriads of centuries came the time when the surface so far cooled as no longer to glow with ruddy light, and no longer to reject by vaporizing the waters which fell upon it. Then a fearful darkness prevailed beneath the still mighty canopy of cloud; for only little by little, by very slow degrees, would the water descend upon the earth's surface. Some, indeed, have thought that it was this stage of the earth's past which was described in the Bible words: "The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; " noting, in particular, that the coming of light (because of the descent of the waters upon the earth, according to this view) was followed by the separation of waters under the firmament from waters above the firmament (that Expanse of liquid, pure, Transparent, elemental air), the waters under the heaven being next gathered together into one place, and so forth. But we must confess that this interpretation of the narrative, sometimes called the vision interpretation, seems to us very far-fetched and unnatural; though we are in no way concerned here to oppose it, deeming it only necessary to mention that, for our own part, we cannot doubt that the writer of the narrative wished to be understood as describing what really occurred, not appearances shown to him | alkalies, changed into bicarbonates, would in a vision. be carried down to the sea in a state of solution." Here we seem to see a fair account rendered of the enormous quantity of matter forming collectively what is called the brine of the ocean, and containing, besides common salt (chloride of sodium), sulphuric acid, magnesia, soda, sulphate of lime, and other substances. The theory that these substances have been washed from the earth's surface by causes such as are now in progress, would not, we think, be seriously entertained if the vast amount of matter thus present in the waters of the sea were remembered and considered. Brine forms, on the average, about 3 1-2 per cent. of sea-water. Hence, if we take the average depth of the ocean at two miles,* or, roundly, ten thousand feet, it follows that, if all the water of the sea were to pen *In Maury's "Physical Geography of the Sea" there is a passage which we take to be one of the most amusing ever written in a work of the kind. The idea would seem to have occurred to him of estimating how much surface the salts of the sea would cover to the depth of a mile; and while in the midst of the calculation, he would seem to have grown weary of it. At least we cannot otherwise understand how he came who maintains that the salts of the sea were originally the following singular remarks: "Did any one washed down into it by the rivers and the rains ever take the trouble to compute the quantity of solid matter that the sea holds in solution as salts? Taking the average depth of the ocean at three miles, and its average saltness at 3 1-2 per cent., it appears that there is salt enough in the sea to cover to the thickness of one mile an area of several millions of square miles." (The italics are ours.) This passage reminds us of one in an early volume of Household Words, where a very amusing account was given of the stores of wine A question which has long been regarded as among the great mysteries of nature the question, How did the seas become salt- seems to us to find a ready solution when we consider that the ocean once formed the earth's cloud-envelope. We may, in fact, regard the oceans as holding in solution what was washed from the earth or otherwise extracted from its substance during the ages when the waters of ocean were passing from their former to their present condition. For then all the conditions assisted the action of the waters themselves the intense heat of the earth's crust and the atmosphere, the tremendous atmospheric pressure, and consequently the high boiling-point (so that the waters first formed on the earth's heated crust must have been far hotter than is boiling water at the present time), and the presence also in the atmosphere of many vapors which would greatly help the decomposing action of the water itself. Consider, for instance, the following description, abridged from a paper by Dr. Sterry Hunt, the eminent Canadian chemist and geologist. After showing that carbonic acid, chlorine, and sulphurous acids would be present in enormous quantities in the primeval atmossphere, besides, of course, still vaster quantities of the vapor of water, he proceeds: "These gases, with nitrogen and an excess of oxygen, would form an atmosphere of great density. In such an atmosphere, condensation would only take place at a temperature far above the pres-posed to be shown, collecting materials, but also tasting ent boiling-point; and the lower levels of the earth's slowly cooling crust would be drenched with a heated solution of hydrochloric acid, whose decomposing action, aided by its high temperature, would be exceedingly rapid. The primitive igneous rock on which these showers fell probably resembled in composition certain furnace slags or volcanic glasses." The process of decomposition would continue "under the action of the heavy showers until the affinities of the hydrochloric acid were satisfied. Later larger quantities of sulphuric acid would be formed, and drenching showers of heated solutions of this energetic dis-sea-water without swelling the mass; for chemists tell solvent would fall upon the earth's heated crust. After the compounds of sulphur and chlorine had been separated from the air, carbonic acid would still continue to be an important constituent of the atmosphere. It would be gradually diminished in gravity," through chemical processes resulting in the formation of various clays, "while the separated lime, magnesia, and in the London Docks, over which the writer is sup wine, as he proceeds. The gradually increasing effect All which, so evaporated, there would be left a deposit to us the nature of those vast chemical of salt averaging three hundred and fifty feet in depth all over the present floor of the sea. This would correspond in quantity to salt covering all the present land surface of the earth to a depth of a thousand feet, or to a deposit two hundred feet deep over the entire surface of the globe; so that the idea of its having been washed from the land is altogether inadmissible. It may, indeed, be urged that, as the process of washing down from the land is continually going on, only a sufficiency of time would be needed to account for any quantity whatever of sea-salt. But apart from the fact that only a certain thickness of the solid crust, and that thickness by no means very great, could be drawn upon for the supply, and that the very continuance of the process shows us that even that portion of the earth's crust has not been drained of its salts, there is every reason to believe that the extraction of salt from the sea is going on and has been going on for many ages past at fully as great a rate as the addition of fresh salts. Although the process of evaporation cannot remove the salts, these, as Maury justly notes, can be extracted by other processes. "We know," he says, "that the insects of the sea do take out a portion of them, and that the salt-ponds and arms which from time to time in the geological calendar have been separated from the sea, afford an escape by which the quantity of chloride of sodium in its waters the most abundant of its solid ingredients is regulated. The insects of the sea cannot build their structures of this salt, for it would dissolve again as fast as they could separate it. But here the everready atmosphere comes into play, and assists the insects in regulating the salts. It cannot take them [the salts] up from the sea, it is true, but it can take the sea away from them; for it pumps up the water from these pools that have been barred off, transfers it to the clouds, and they deliver it back to the sea as fresh water, leaving behind the salts it contained in a solid state. These are operations which have been going on for ages; proof that they are still going on is continually before our eyes; for the 'hard water' of our fountains, the marl-banks of the valleys, the salt-beds of the plains, Albion's chalky cliffs, and the coral-islands of the sea are monuments in attestation." We must, then, regard the salts of the sea as in the main dissolved from the solid crust during that remote period when the seas were young. The seas thus indicate processes through which the earth had to pass in the earlier stages of its history. If the present crust of the earth did not afford, as it does, the clearest evidence of a time when the earth's whole frame glowed with intense heat; if we could not, as we can, derive from the movements of the celestial bodies, as well as from the telescopic appearance of some among them, the most certain assurance that all the planets, nay, the whole of the solar system itself, were once in the state of glowing vapor; the ocean brine - the mighty residuum, left after the earth had passed through its baptism of liquid fire, would leave us in little doubt respecting the main features at least of the earth's past history. The seas could never have attained their present condition had not the earth which they encompassed when they were young been then an orb of fire. Every wave that pours in upon the shore speaks to us of so remote a past that all ordinary time-measures fail us in the attempt to indicate the length of the vast intervals separating us from it. The saltness of the ocean is no minor feature or mere detail of our globe's economy, but has a significance truly cosmical in its importance. Tremendous indeed must have been the activity of those primeval processes, fierce the heat of those primeval fires, under whose action sixty thousand millions of millions of tons of salts were extracted from the earth's substance and added to its liquid envelope. -no doubt rounded [Since this essay was in type, a paper has been read before the Astronomical Society by Mr. Brett, describing observations altogether inexplicable, except by the theory we have advocated above. They relate to the movements of two large white spots on Jupiter's chief belt. Both these spots were so shadowed as to indicate that they were in reality bodies of globular shape, masses of cloud, floating in the relatively fact that they are wholly immersed in the transparent atmosphere of the planet. "The semi-transparent material of the planet is indisputable," says Mr. Brett, "since they grad ually disappear as they approach the" edge of the disc, "and in no case have been seen to project beyond it." The distinguishing pecul iarity of these bodies was, however, their rapid motion, as though gaining on the planet's rotation. The average motion was estimated by Mr. Brett at about one hundred and sixtyhave been somewhat reduced had he taken five miles per hour, but this estimate would into account, as he should have done, the changing position of the earth, relatively to Jupiter. Still, even after adding to this re duction all that can possibly be attributed to errors of observation, there remains a considerable motion of these cloud-masses, each of which was about half as large as the whole globe of the earth! It may, perhaps, be thought that we have here attached too much weight to the telescopic observations of one who is skilled rather in art than in science; and in fairness it must be admitted that about half Mr. Brett's observations have been regarded more than doubtfully by astronomers. But this observation, like the one described in the body of the above essay, depends only on accuracy in estimating the apparent position of two spots on the planet's face; and so skilful a draughtsman as Mr. Brett cannot have made any large error in an observation of the kind.] From Blackwood's Magazine. THE FRIEND OF THE HERO. CHAPTER I. THE BRUTAL LIFE. "WHAT Would the world be without passion?" asked Thomas. “A better place," said Orlando, “and a healthier, as it would be without champagne." "And romance?" asked Thomas, plaintively. "Romance is to passion as the morning soda-water to the champagne of evening. We should be better without either.' "Thank heaven I don't take the trough view of the world," said Thomas, hotly. "The brutal life for me," said Orlando, rolling over on the inn lawn. "I have had enough of culture for this year, and enough of society. Now I shall eat when I am hungry, and always have room for my elbows, dance when I feel light-hearted and always have space for my legs, burn my white ties, free my neck from the collar, and, above all, breathe air." Here he filled his capacious lungs and stretched his long limbs, which were covered with spotless white flannel. Thomas looked at his friend with an expression of disappointment and perplexity. "Let us be brutal for a change," continued Orlando, with an air of moral earnestness; "or vegetable, and drink in sun and air. Waiter, a pot of ale." When he had refreshed himself with a draught, he sprang to his feet, and said, "And now let us be off." "I hope you won't think I am annoyed," said Thomas, anxiously, "but I think I should like to walk to-day, and join you this evening, if you don't mind sculling the boat down alone and taking my bag." "I sha'n't expect to see you," said his friend, shaking his head with much solemnity. "In an hour you will be settled under a hedge with one of the ten volumes of A Placid Existence,' or Thoughts of a Suburban Grandmother,' or 'Gayer Moments of an Upper Tooting Curate,' or Gentle Dreams for Gentle Souls,' or but enough. You see the effect of forcing such food upon me. I am suffering from a reaction. I am wedded to the brutal life." Then he laughed aloud, shook his friend playfully by the shoulders, and be took himself to the boat. Thomas watched his friend as he rowed away, with an expression half-admiring, half-pathetic. It seemed very sad to him that so glorious a creature should be so hard of heart, strong, bright, and cold as a diamond. And yet he could not find fault with one who swung so grandly forward, filling his broad chest and straightening his shapely arms, and then with scarce an effort of strong back and thighs sent the boat flying along the water. Orlando shouted a farewell, and Thomas sighed and smiled, went indoors and paid the bill, and so started on his journey. It was still early morning, and the dew was on the grass; the sky was not a pitiless blue, but tender and made softer by little fleecy clouds; and about the low green hills in the distance a wayward shower was sweeping. An April day had come to freshen the close of a thirsty June. The heart of the young wayfarer grew light, and his lips began to babble of little joys. Surely before the close of such a day something wonderful must happen. The fitful air was full of vague promises; each scent, as it grew fainter with the growth of day, hinted a memory too sweet for a regret. Thomas stepped out gay as a troubadour. The hours seemed endless before him, each moment a new joy, and surely somewhere a great surprise to crown the day. He thought with pity of Orlando, for whom no wonderful thing was reserved. He was full of whimsical thoughts, laughing and blushing now and then at his own absurdity. He pulled off his hat to the honeysuckle in the loose-growing hedge, and stepped aside from the path of a beetle, magnificent in green: he stopped to whisper to the sweet-brier rose, and to hear the sage counsel of a pragmatical finch. He lingered by the cottage porch, if haply some little damsel might step out to fasten the loose spray of roses. He taken fright, and he had flung himself at their heads! So his imagination busied itself with that which might have been. He fancied beauty in distress and heroism flying to the rescue. It did not occur to him that he might have been run over; but he was sure that he would not have minded a slight injury. Suppose, for instance, that he had sprained his wrist, and that she had bound it with her own handkerchief. Suppose-but, after all, life was a poor affair; and romance was of the dark ages: things never happened exactly right; and the day had grown oppressively hot. watched a light cart come jogging towards him, and wondered who was in it; till lazy Sally was jolted by in the sunlight, and he began to wonder if she had a lover. While his thoughts were yet busy with Sally, and he was humming some words of a girl, who was no lady nor beautiful, and who knew she ought not to walk with a gentleman; while he was musing on dairies and daisies and cool pastures and three-legged stools, and fancying Corydon with ribbons at his knees, and Bob Hulker in corduroy; and when the day was still young, he heard the quick feet of ponies behind him, and before he had time to imagine a lovely driver, she had passed. For uneasy thoughts there is no cure Only a vision of soft, fair hair, a face half-like walking. Abuse of the age sank curious, half-shy, but very sweet in shad- gradually into a mechanical accompaniow; and yet the young man thought that ment of the footsteps, and finally vanished something remarkable had happened. He before a growing consciousness of hunger. stood still and stared with the murmured When Thomas entered the low porch of song hushed on his lips. Away went the the village inn he was tired and hungry, ponies, sleek, round, and sure of foot, but the burden of the day was gone. He happy in the thought of corn and in the found Orlando lying on another lawn, and light hand of their lady. Thomas pushed breathing the evening as he had breathed through a gap in the hedge, and ran up the morning air- a little browner and a the sloping field, whence the hay had just little stronger, but otherwise unchanged. been carted. From the high ground he He had ordered a stupendous dinner, and looked far down the road, till the little car-had tried the beer. riage was but a speck in the distance. Then he sighed and solemnly shook his head, and then he looked across the country with a new sense of its loveliness. Fields of ripening corn stretched away from his feet to the banks of the delaying river. The wheat was scarcely stirred, and the hazy air was murmurous with the hum of insects. Beyond the river lay meadows where cows were lazily feeding meadows which far away rose slowly and softly into grassy hills. The sky was tender as the memory of an old love-storyeverywhere was rest; and the impressionable Thomas staring upward with wide eyes, gave himself up to dreams, and, dreaming, slept. When Thomas woke the sun was high, and the charm of morning had passed away. He stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and wrinkled his eyebrows plaintively. Then he stared down the road, and was absurdly disappointed because he could not see the pony-carriage. There was nothing but hot and dusty miles laid out before him, plain and monotonous as the path of everyday duty. He gave a great sigh, and braced himself for the work. As he plodded on, he began to think himself a very unfortunate young man. Nothing ever came up to his expectations. How different the day would have been, if those pampered ponies had 66 66 A good day?" asked Thomas, throwing himself on the ground by his friend. Great," said the other; "and you?" Yes," said Thomas, doubtfully; "good enough." "By-the-by, I fished out a woman.” "I pulled a woman out of the water." Thomas felt a sinking. He had left Orlando for a day, and on that day Orlando had had an adventure. "An old woman?" he muttered. "I should guess about twenty." "Dark?" Thomas thought he should not mind so much if she were dark. "Fair, tall, and "Beautiful?" "Women don't look pretty when they have just fallen into the water; but I think "You think she was handsome." "Tell me how it happened first." Thomas listened eagerly, while his friend told his story as quickly as he could. About two hours previously he was drifting lazily down the stream, when he heard a cry. He drove his sculls through the water, turned the corner, and saw a boat floating, bottom upwards, in the mid |