mechanics, together with the Mayer de Rothschild Exhibition of £50, had been awarded to a young lady, Miss Ellen Watson. Professor Clifford, when calling out the names, stated that Miss Watson's proficiency would have been very rare in a man, but that he had been totally unprepared to find it in a woman. A few more students like Miss Watson would, he added, certainly raise University College to a status surpassing that of institutions twenty times as rich, and which had been two hundred years longer in existence."

It is a fact very characteristic of Ellen Watson that on her return home she made no allusion whatever to her remarkable success in her intercourse with her friends, and there is no reference to it either in any of her correspondence which has been placed in my hands. This reticence was not the result of indifference or a straining after humility, but it seemed rather to be that she felt so deeply the value of all she had gained in the study itself that she overlooked the material prizes accompanying it. Of her intellectual gains she spoke often, and always expressed the deepest gratitude to her teachers.

In October she returned to London, and continued her studies in mathematics and physics at University College.

Professor Clifford's health was failing at this time, and Ellen shared in the anxiety which this occasioned to all who knew and loved him. The symptoms of the disease, pulmonary consumption, were just those which she knew so well, and all her tenderest sympathies were excited for him and his family. About the same time her friend, Mrs. Congreve, was in great sorrow through the death of her husband. One of Ellen's letters, written to her under these circumstances, is filled with the deepest sympathy in her friend's grief, and the tenderest thoughtfulness for her; it conIcludes with a reference to her own sorrow, and to the sense of hopelessness she then felt in regard to any purpose of life beyond the years of bodily existence in this world. The question, Is this all? pressed itself strongly upon her in the thought of the close of a life so rich in thought and work as Professor Clifford's, and once started, it gave a new longing to her mind beyond that desire for positive truth which found satisfaction in mathematics and natural science, and which had till now sufficed her. She did not yet, however, reach the light which faith throws upon the invisible.

"I have a grief which may not be compared with yours, but which is more than any I have known for years. For more than a year I have known Professor Clifford, and have been taught by him. From the beginning his genius and goodness roused a devotion in me which has been growing ever since. And now he is dying from pulmonary consumption. He is young for such a great mathematician. He has begun a great work in many directions, but I fear there is no hope of its being completed. He has just resigned his professorship, and is about to start with his young wife on an almost hopeless voyage. This morning I said goodbye to them-I fear for the last time. It is difficult not to despair, and ask what good there is in living when this is all. When death comes and all is over every other sorrow seems nothing in comparison."

CHAPTER V.

1878-1879.

Age 22-23.

TOUR IN GERMANY.

NEARLY the whole of 1878 was spent by Ellen Watson at home. The disease in the lungs assumed more activity for a time, and she was laid aside from work. Later in the year, however, she regained her usual strength, and in September she took a short tour up the Rhine with her friend, Miss M▬▬ C. It was Ellen's first visit to the Continent, and her hearty enjoyment of every little novel sight and incident is shown in some of the letters she wrote home during this time.

EUROPÄISCHER HOF, KÖLN. MY DEAREST MOTHER-We have stayed here instead of going on to Königswinter, because we had to take a later train from Rotterdam. Willie saw us off comfort

ably at Liverpool station. In the carriage next us two

ladies were going off alone in the same way as we, but they had a dozen friends, ladies and gentlemen, to see them off. There was a great waving of hats and kissing

of hands when the train started.

On the steamer we had a dear little side-cabin all to ourselves, I taking the upper berth. M- was ill all night, as were many others, though it was calm enough, and I had a very good night. The stewardess, who called us "dear," was alternately sweet and scornful in her manner to us. I think she is naturally sour, but the frequent recollections of a probable fee continually suffused her with fits of sweetness.

We got into Rotterdam at nine in the morning, and were taken by another steamer to the railway station. In the carriage were some very interesting types of Dutchmen, all smoking. Several old seamen interested us; and there was one man with a calm seraphic expression which was simply beautiful. He was a workingman. A German, who was also going to Cologne, was opposite to us, and relieved our minds of any anxiety as to "changes." The whole journey was nine hours; we stopped nearly every five minutes, showing our tickets. Each time, as the train moved on, four officials, one of whom was the guard, crawled rapidly along the outside of the carriages, looking suspiciously at each window as they passed. Sometimes we only saw their eyes gliding over the window-board. They were like four crawling black beetles-a comparison which you, I know, will appreciate.

It was too late to see the cathedral when we got in