would be a good way of attaining to a mathematical chair. I will finish the day after tomorrow this little essay of pure algebra, in which there is no need of figures; but will keep it to revise and correct it until next week, when I will send it to you by Pochon, with the checked waistcoat, the woollen stockings, and the six louis of which I have spoken. As soon as the MS. arrives at Lyons it must be printed. The six louis for this month and the seven for next must be used for this, and I shall be certain of the place at Lyons. Perhaps we may sell some copies, but first of all I think many must be given to the learned in Paris.

...

the afternoon, from three to four, I give my lessons in physics; the rest of my time is passed in thinking of Julie, and of the works I am meditating. During the weekly holiday (or more exactly, for these were the days of the Revolution, la vacance du décadi) M. Clere makes experiments in chemistry along with me. Yesterday I did not sup till ten, when I was thoroughly wearied with the exertion and broken in spirit, having broken my materials in the mortar, carried coals, and blown the fire for twelve or thirteen hours, but happy to have sometimes succeeded. Ah, if all this would but bring me to the Lycée I should be satisfied, and should no longer fear the necessity of living long separate from Julie, unable to supply her with things necessary for her, so often deprived as she has been of a thousand indispensable matters I have made an ar

I trouble you with my commissions, but it will not last long. The future offers us a happy perspective; health for you, a good place at Lyons, our delightful child, and the still sweeter thought that you love me always.rangement with Perrin, by which, counting Here is another, in which the love fast daily for three francs a-month (!) Dear from to-day, she will furnish me with breakcomes uppermost, the young philosopher Julie, consult whatever doctor you like, but in having ses vacances, and giving himself no case neglect your health. Ah, if I only up entirely to thoughts of Julie: knew how to cure you by returning to Lyons! for that I would give up the Ecole Centrale and everything else. At Easter, my darling, at Easter, I shall have some days of happiness at least!

How I sigh for the bring us together again! the holidays come !

Bourg, Wednesday,
Eleven o'clock morning.

moment which shall
Oh, when, when will

Four o'clock.

This exclamation had just come from my lips when I was seized with a sudden fancy which you will think odd. I made up my mind to go back with your packet of letters to the field behind the hospital, where I had gone to read them before my journey to Lyons with so much pleasure. I meant to renew there the gentle recollections of which I made provision before, and I have gathered sweeter still for another time. How sweet your letters

are !

One must have a mind like yours to write things which go thus to the heart, with out design or study. I remained till two o'clock seated under a tree, with a meadow at my right hand, the river to the left and in front of me, the buildings of the hospital behind. You may suppose that I had taken the precaution before thus indulging myself to leave word at Madame Beauregard's that I should not dine there to-day. She supposes I have gone out to dinner; but as I had break

The answers sent by the young wife to these letters are more graceful and sprightly in style, and not less tender and simple. She pities her pauvre ami, who has nothing but physics and chemistry to console him. "You go on making those villanous drugs," she cries, half smiling, half in dismay; "and your poor book is no nearer finished than ever." She is anxious and troubled about his "cloth trousers," which she bids him send her, lest the rats should eat them; and tells him to take care of his waistcoats and breeches, and to wear the coarse aprons with strings which she sends him. Many and often repeated are her counsels about his personal appearance. "I beg of you not to unrip the lining of your sleeves," she says; "take care to have your cravats clean, to be bien chaussé; take care of your trousers, your waistcoats, your stockings." After a little quarrel he has had with his landlady on going to dinner with hands stained black with some acid, she addresses him with mingled vexation and sympathy. "I approve your leaving Madame Beauregard after her politeness," she says; "but I wish this would make you a little more careful of your selves what she has the rudeness to say. person, for many may think within themHere is a list of my daily occupations [he If you pay any visits, do try to have the writes at a later period]. M. Clere works aspect of a respectable man, to please with me from six o'clock in the morning till your poor wife, who has not too many ten; Gripier from half-past eleven to one. In pleasures." Nor does Julie confine her

fasted well, I was all the better for having no dinner but love. At two I felt so calm and easy in mind, in place of the weariness that oppressed me this morning, that I took the fancy of walking and botanizing.... I write all sorts of nonsense to you, to give you an idea of the state of my mind. It is certain that my long walk, these dear recollections, the success of my experiments and of my lessons, have singularly tranquillized the mind which was so much excited eight days ago.

self to such small matters. She gives | tered and changed, which is all his jour him counsel about the management of his nal has come to, there ensues a sudden affairs, in which the philosopher is not deadly lull. "Multa flagella peccatoris very clear; and arranges, weak and suf- sperantam autem in Domino misericorfering as she is, about his printing, and dia circumdabit," he cries twice over out the distribution and correction of his of the depths. "Wilt Thou take from pamphlet. But her health keeps her from me all happiness on this earth? Thou him, and keeps him in a perpetual anxi-hast it in Thy hands, O my God, I ety, which she thus endeavours to calm down:

Mon pauvre ami, it is not the first time that you have made me smile, bidding me promise you to be ill no more. Ah, health is so precious that if I possessed wealth I would sacrifice it all to obtain that blessing. But we must submit, hope in the future, and have patience. Have patience, also, mon fils, and do not stupefy yourself with this as you do with your calculations; for how to be cured is not a problem which can be solved, and it is vain to attempt it if the Master of our being

wills that it should be otherwise. We must

hope in Thee, O my God, I submit to Thy sentence, whatever it may be; but I should have preferred to die. O Lord God of mercy, reunite me in heaven to her whom Thou hast permitted me to love on earth."

Julie was dead.

now a

After this the hapless life pauses, comes to a dead stop, as lives do when struck with those blows which slay only the heart, not the body. He strayed away from the Lycée which he had longed and prayed for, but which was learn to bear these evils, and do what we can misery to him, and after a while got to not to think too much of them. How willingly Paris, to fame, to a reputation more than [she adds later] would I spend your money national, and a place among the first rank that you might have a wife like others who of French philosophers. But the chapcould enjoy with you and our little one so ter of Amorum was closed forever. În many little pleasures which bad health poisons! after-years the passion of paternal love, Oh yes, it is sad indeed to be always an object which belongs so specially to the French of anxiety to one's own people-to you, mon character, made him happy in his absopauvre ami, who see me suffering, weary, lute devotion to his son; but that one sometimes unjust. God wills it so we must submit. I should have been too happy had brief, almost momentary, episode of a He left me my strength. A good husband, a passion more absorbing still, got buried delightful child, the best of mothers, loved and in silence and obscurity, until the time cherished by all my family, would not this came when poor André Ampère died, have been too much happiness? I feel it, for, one of the most distinguished of savants, notwithstanding my condition, I am more and the hand of genius stirred those attached to life than ever it is because I love ashes to make a record of his life. you more, and my child also, and I am sure that Strange power of human words! With both of you have need of me to be happy. the old letters out of the silken portfolio But let us change the subject, for this over-which Julie worked for him, this whole comes me; you will feel, like me, your heart! bleed as you read. little circle reappears as living as if in France letters were still dated in Germi

Poor Julie poor young husband! nal and Messidor - not Ampère and the pamphlet, with its unique calculation Julie only, but the two mothers, the sis(considérations sur la théorie mathéma-ters, the old servants, and all that homely tique du feu), the anxious efforts of every life over which their refined and graceful kind, brilliant lectures, successful exper- tongue throws a charm and elegance iments, problems solved, succeeded to which does not always appear in translathe height of his hopes. In the spring of tion or in reality. Besides the melancholy 1803 he had at last certainty of his ap-beauty of the story, it is a revelation of pointment at the newly-formed Lycée of apparently cultivated intelligence and Lyons. On the 17th April he came home elevated feeling such as we scarcely expour ne plus quitter Julie-pathetic pect to find in a poor bourgeois family in words! for Julie was on the eve of leav- the height of the Revolution. These ing him, and forever. On the 5th July rural women write in French to which he gave, poor soul, his first lesson in the Academy could take small exception. Lyons; but the day which should have They play at graceful society games of been the climax of happiness to him calls bouts rimés, such as solace the highest forth not a word of pleasure. He went to circles. They read comedies, tragedies his much-desired tribune from the death- "Lettres Provinciales," the "Nuits de bed of his wife. On the 13th of July, af- Young," and much beside yet are ter a pitiful record of medicines adminis-merely poor middle-class people, noways

-

be perceived. This glimpse into the unrevealed depths of society in such an age is of as much interest historically, as is this charming, gentle, and real romance for the illustration of human life.

distinguished from others, so far as can | the object at successive small fractions of a second; and in this way, by counting the alternations of colour in the circumference of this circle of light, M. Montigny has succeeded in observing nearly two hundred alternations of colour in a second of time.

From The Academy.

TWINKLING OF THE STARS.

The point sought to be established was the connection between these changes and the constitution of the stellar light, for it is easy to see that rays which are deficient cannot be acted on by undulations of the atmosphere, and that there will therefore be fewer changes of colour the more dark bands there are in a star's spectrum. Now Secchi has di

THE subject of the twinkling of stars has engaged a good deal of attention of late years, and some interesting results have been obtained. A few years ago, the Italian astronomer, Respighi, an-vided the stars of which he has examined nounced the discovery of the cause of the spectra into four types, and M. Monscintillation in certain dark bands which tigny has observed the scintillations of were seen to traverse the spectrum of a stars belonging to three of these types: star, indicating changes in the refrangi- viz., bluish white stars exhibiting four bility of our atmosphere, from hot and black lines in their spectrum; yellow cold strata, which produce something of stars, like our sun, showing numerous the effect of a passing mirage. A layer fine dark lines; and orange stars, which of hot air would bend the rays less than have a spectrum somewhat resembling a the colder and denser air around, and colonnade. As far as the results obthus the star's light would not reach the tained by M. Montigny go, it seems that observer, rays which traversed the hot the greatest amount of twinkling is to be stratum passing over his head, and those found in the first type (white stars), and which traversed the cold air below being the least in the third type (orange stars), bent so as to fall beneath his feet. As and that the mere brightness of the star the rays of different colours are different- has no influence on the phenomena. But ly bent in their passage through the air the principle of combining observations of (the red rays being the least refracted), different nights without any further cordifferent parts of a star's spectrum would rection, on which M. Montigny has acted, be thus cut off in succession, as the rela- is highly objectionable, and destroys our tive temperatures of the layers of air va- confidence in his conclusions. The ried. Arago's not very lucid explanation proper way of treating such measures is of the phenomena, as a result of the in- to arrange the stars in sequences repreterference of light, is in this way com-senting the order of scintillation, just as pletely disposed of. Sir John Herschel formed sequences of brightness as a basis for his standard magnitudes of stars.

M. Montigny, of Brussels, has been investigating the amount of scintillation in different stars by the help of an ingenious contrivance, to which he gives the name of scintillometer. His plan is to make use of the persistence of impressions on the retina, by causing a thick plate of glass, mounted obliquely on an axis parallel to that of the telescope used, and fixed just in front of the eye-piece, to rotate rapidly; the effect of this is to displace the star's image, so that, owing to the varying inclination of the glass plate, the star appears to move in a circle, which, if the rotation is rapid enough (three or four times in a second), forms a continuous circle of light, just as in the case of a burning stick whirled rapidly. The changes in the colour of a star will be seen on this circle, the successive points of which give the appearance of

RITUALISM.

IT is difficult for a thoughtful and considerate person to speak positively on this subject, because in all that relates to common forms, so much depends upon taste and feeling, and taste and feeling, again, are so powerfully influenced by custom. We are familiar enough with different extremes of practice, with regard to the forms of religious worship. You may represent to yourselves, on the one hand, a building like a barn, with its inside walls bare and cold, marked in every part, and not least where the Christian altar stands, by signs of indifference

Churches. There is ritualism among Dissenters as well as in the Church. Probably most persons of middle-age are conscious of having moved with the stream, and many can remember that they once felt a repugnance to things which now almost every one prefers. It is not creditable that there should be unreasonable panic and misjudgment about attempted improvements of the externals of worship. But I venture to plead two justifying considerations in excuse of the instinct of resistance to such attempts. First, I think it is reasonable to deprecate excessive or abrupt change, in our traditional ways of worship. Feelings of reverence grow up entwined with arrangements or customs which may not be in themselves the best. And the real want of reverence is in those who treat with levity or roughness religious habits which have been the inheritance of any generation. Whilst it is not to be desired that ritual forms should be stereotyped, the change of them ought not only to be manifestly for the better, but it ought also to be made as smoothly and gently as possible. Secondly, I am convinced that it is well to be watchful against making too much of the senses in religion. We are always in danger of falling away from spirituality. A sensuous worship, appealing in however refined a way to eye and ear and artistic feeling, may be a subtle snare; and the danger of it is much increased, if there is a deliberate attempt to muzzle and chain up the understanding, in the interest of sentiment and of the imagination.

and neglect; the worshippers and per- and affects common life no less than haps the minister using hardly any forms of religious gesture, but behaving with nearly as much freedom as if they were outside the building. This you may describe as the Presbyterian or the Puritan usage. You may represent to yourselves a very different scene; a beautiful ecclesiastical building, with the dyes of its storied windows casting a dim religious light, rich with solemn ornament, each part reverently cared for, but especially the sanctuary and the altar, the forms and the attitudes and the tones of worship all studied for imaginative effect,a scene striking you as something so different from the common outside world, a sheltering refuge for faith and devotion. This you may call the Catholic usage. Yet every one knows that the feeling towards religious forms is profoundly affected by habit, and that there may be more of devotion and reverence in some Presbyterian than in some Roman Catholic worshipper, in a Presbyterian than in a Roman Catholic congregation; nay, that the very action of the service may in particular cases not improbably touch and move the Presbyterian more than the Roman Catholic. Forms which are perfectly familiar to us, we take as they come, and are not greatly affected by them. The way in which a service may impress any one to whom it is new and strange, is no measure of its influence upon those who are accustomed to it. . . The introduction of more taste and art and care into our ritual has in some degree carried the whole population along with it. It belongs in part to a movement which is general as well as religious,

Llewelyn Davies, on Superstition.

We know not whether our readers may not feel more regret than satisfaction on learning that the charming region of the Bernese Oberland is to be levelled and tunnelled in every direction to make way for a network of railways, which, thanks to the success of the Rigi line, are now to penetrate to the ledge of every waterfall, ice grotto, and glacier. At Grindelwald a central station is to be brought within the precincts of the Schwarzer Adler, close enough to the glacier, we hear, for the smoke and steam to blacken and melt its icy waves. The guides to Lauterbrünnen and the Wengern-Alp will soon be an extinct race. Tourists will no longer have to hire horses and mules to convey them along paths, where, as they soon learned by experience, their own

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