intervals of freedom from pain, the natural gaiety of his temperament would assert itself, while Farrar was never tired of commending the patience with which he bore a confinement particularly irritating to a nature like his, and the courage he exhibited during many hours of suffering. It was quite a festival day when Frank, installed in state on a very comfortable sofa, was first permitted to dictate some notes for The Reflector, which Mab, as he was not yet allowed to use his arm, wrote out for him. She was in the height of her glory, and Cecily, sitting with Farrar and Landon in the big window-seat, listened sympathetically to the soft, low voice, and occasiona little ripples of weak laughter. "Frank is very fond of your little sister Mab," said Farrar, who was in high good-humour. "It is a good sign when a young man can like and be liked by an innocent child." "When they are so fresh from God love us,' "" quoted Cecily, thinking of the day when Frank had humbly ranged himself among the goats. Meditating on this, something occurred to her. "Mr. Farrar," she said, "Mr. Wood once told me that he could not be an athlete now if he wanted. What did he mean by now. Is it a secret?" "No, Miss Cecily; I can tell you what he meant, I think. As a boy-though too much of a student to be great in athletics, I fancy-I have heard he always took a fair place in certain youthful sports, especially boating and swimming. He went out once with some companions on a rowing expedition, and one of them called Forrester, if I remember rightly, a boastful, brainless lad, insisted on his ability to swim a given distance up the river. Dissuasion was found useless, and all the boys turned back, vowing to have nothing to do with it. Frank, however, grew uneasy, got alone into one of the boats and rowed against tide after Forrester under a broiling sun. He came up with the lad as he was sinking jumped into the water and succeeded in saving his life, but an illness was the result, and Frank, perhaps never extraordinarily strong, has been delicate ever since. He is not ill, you know, but exertion soon fatigues him; he has to be moderately careful, and then he's all right." "I should have thought he would have had a horror of sports after that," said Cecily impulsively, thinking of Wood's defence of them. "No, he's too unselfish for that. He's a fine fellow and a great favourite of mine; not a bit like the common ruck of young men." Cecily pondered over these things for some time. His brightness and cheerfulness seemed pathetic now that she knew through what trials he had preserved them. How dull I was!" she sighed; "it was all because 66 A few weeks after this, Wood and Cecily were together on the lawn outside Landon's house. It was late autumn but a warm sun was shining on them, and Mab had fallen asleep with a story book in a hammock. "Do you understand, then, how I misjudged you?" asked Cecily. "You think too well of me now. That's misjudgment if you like!" he answered with his old bright smile. "Now I-I was a perfect ass, if you'll excuse the term, but to tell the truth I always enjoyed your notes. They were so fresh and breezy-like a whiff of sea air-just as pure and stimulating." "I wouldn't have told you then, but when I read your notes I seemed to be basking in the sunshine; only I confess I sometimes thought that the sun shouldn't always be shining. Now tell me truly what you dislike in mine." "I didn't dislike anything, only occasionally the breeze was so strong it took my breath away." He looked humorously at her, and she laughed. "I must moderate my breeze." "And I must pull down my blinds." "Do you remember how I attacked your signature Lux that day?" "I deserved it," said Wood. "No; rather I deserved what you said of Equator. I erected such a wall along my line that it was quite impassable. None could cross from wrong to right if they wished. Besides, I had no business to set up such a line." "Miss Cecily, Equator was right. We must set up a line for ourselves if we want to keep straight, and your line never deviated. Now my poor light—I didn't know it was such a will-o'-the wisp as you said-but I'm sure it flickered! You couldn't tell for certain how I was going ; perhaps I didn't always know myself, and trusted to instinct. I think, Cecily, if I had your line to guide me I should hold my light more steadily and not leave all dark behind me." "Frank, you bring warmth and sunshine wherever you go." It was some time later when Landon strolled down to the tennis court. "Why, Frank !" he called out. “Be careful. You with the racquet!" "He has been teaching me what he can," said Cecily shyly. "We've not been playing long." "But," said Frank, with eyes that had never smiled more sweetly, "we've just had time to get as far as CECIL W. FRANKLIN. 'Love."" Contributors, Correspondents, Advertisers, and others wishing to communicate with THE REFLECTOR, are requested to address their communications to JAMES STEPHEN, LONSDALE CHAMBERS, 27, CHANCERY LANE, W.C. "THE CERULFANS:" A VACATION IDYLL. "This is a novel of uncommon merit."-The Times. CHEAP EDITION, 6s. "Middle-aged people remember as one of the cleverest short novels they ever read a book called 'Wheat and Tares.'... Once only, so far as we know, until now has the writer reminded readers of fiction of his existence. But the talent, though apparently hidden, has after all been at usury. Good as was 'Wheat and Tares' twenty years ago, The Coeruleans' must be accounted even better. There was wit in that; in this there is a riper wit, and abundance of wisdom as well."-Athenæum. "The Coeruleans' has one great and, in moden novels, rare merit; it is written in most vigorous forcible English, of which the writer has such complete mastery that his style is always easy and natural. It is also a most amusing sketch of certain phases of Indian life and character."- Scottish Review. "It is a joyful relief to come upon a pleasant and natural story, admirably written by a gentleman and scholar, who is at the same time blessed with a constant flow of quiet but most effective humour. Such a story is 'The Coeruleans.'... Mr. Cunningham's style is not only correct, but elegant--with an elegance now unhappily rare; and all that he writes is forcible and self-contained. There is not a dull page in the book."-Saturday Review. "Several theories of Indian government are discussed in this brilliant book ('The Coeruleans '), and the writer has much to say on this question that is well worth consideration if it may not always command assent."-Academy. 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Her former employers will be delighted to give farther information about her to intending lodgers. They are of opinion that any one would be fortunate to get there. One minute from City Omnibus and Metropolitan Railway. 446, Strand, London, W.C. A TO YOUNG MEN ABOUT TO VISIT ITALY. Published Weekly by JAMES STEPHEN, at LONSDALE CHAMBERS, 27, CHANCERY LANE. VOL. I., No. 7. SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1888. PRICE SIXPENCE. MALTHUS AND RICARDO.* to write even the briefest sketch of it. In June, 1842, I first allowed myself the satisfaction of writing a very brief abstract of my theory in pencil in thirty-five pages; and this was enlarged, during the summer of 1844, into one of two hundred and thirty pages, which I had fairly copied out, and still possess."-("Life and Letters," vol. i. pp. 83-4) CIRCUMSTANCES are giving a new and wider sig- | prejudice, that I determined not for some time nificance to the name of Malthus. The world is reading, or pretending to read, "The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin." It is likely to prove the most remarkable book of the season. Even those who read only for amusement cannot ignore it. It must be talked about, and all may find in it, as a mere biography, a deep human interest, apart entirely from its scientific aspect. Professor Huxley, who did not for some years, or without considerable hesitation, accept the far-reaching views of Darwin, now places his name on a level with those of Isaac Newton and Michael Faraday, and deems it not inappropriate that, speaking in some degree on behalf of the scientific men of thirty years ago, he should explain, if not apologise for, their tardy acceptance of the great law evolved in the "Origin of Species." And Darwin, in the modest and scanty autobiography which forms the most attractive part of the volumes now in everybody's hand, says: "In October, 1838, that is, fifteen months after I had begun my systematic inquiry, I happened to read, for amusement, Malthus on Population;' and being well prepared to appreciate the struggle for existence which everywhere goes on, from longcontinued observation of the habits of animals and plants, it at once struck me that under these circumstances favourable variations would tend to be preserved and unfavourable ones to be destroyed. The result of this would be the formation of new species. Here, then, I had at last got a theory by which to work; but I was so anxious to avoid In other words, the line of inquiry Malthus nearly a century ago began as a political economist, Darwin took up, and conducted to similar but far wider conclusions in the domain of biology. And the result may be read in the words of one whose competence, so to speak, will not be lightly demurred to. "Wherever the biological sciences are studied, the 'Origin of Species' lights the path of the investigator; wherever they are taught, it permeates the course of instruction. Nor has the influence of Darwinian ideas been less profound beyond the realms of biology. The oldest of all philosophies, that of Evolution, was bound hand and foot, and cast into utter darkness, during the millennium of theological scholasticism. But Darwin poured new life-blood into the ancient frame; the bonds burst, and the revivified thought of ancient Greece has proved itself to be a more adequate expression of the universal order of things than any of the schemes which have been accepted by the credulity, and welcomed by the superstition, of seventy later generations of men."-(" Life and Letters," vol. ii. p. 180.) Mr. Bonar's book is opportune. But it reminds one strongly of the remark that what we see in a picture, or in a book, is mainly dependent on what we bring to it. Here are eighty-eight letters, covering a period of thirteen years, few of them |