as you are, bear to have sometimes nothing but the ground for your bed, and a stone or a gun-carriage for a pillow? Nature never intended you for a warrior, my son, and you must be satisfied; go, and find your mother, Henry; go and ask her to hear you read in her missal. A fine captain, truly, you would make!" added the Duke, laughing, and affectionately patting the pale cheeks of his little son-" a captain that is afraid of ghosts!" Henry remained struck by this reproach. "Afraid of ghosts!" said he, after his father had departed, "I will soon show them whether I am or not.' "Tell me, Lord Henry," said Gérard, with rather a sarcastic expression, "why you did not answer your father when he said your constitution was too delicate for the military profession,-yesterday you had so many fine arguments.' "I have something better than arguments to-day," said Henry, "I will give an unanswerable proof." CHAPTER II. The curfew had long since sounded, the lords of the court were still in the banqueting hall, occupied with the pleasures of the table, and in relating anecdotes of the day's hunt, as well as of their own prowess; the duchess had retired to her drawingroom, where, surrounded by her ladies, she was employing herself in those works of tapestry which formed the amusement of all noble ladies in those days. 66 Ivonette," said the duchess, suddenly breaking the silence which had continued for some time, "pray bring me that little box which is on the table." A young lady rose at these words, and having brought the article requested, the duchess opened it, and took out a very large gold watch, curiously wrought, and which she hung round her neck by a chain of the same material. "Oh! how beautiful!" exclaimed all the ladies, clasping their hands. "It is the fashion at the French court," said the duchess; "a new invention, it is called a watch clock, and I am assured that it tells the hour as well as the great castle clock, only it must be wound up every night. It is very heavy," she added, poising it in her hand, "but it appears they cannot be made lighter; however, it is pleasing to be able at all times to tell the hour: what do you think of it, young ladies? It is a present from the duke." The admiration which this new trinket excited kept every tongue enchained. nance. In the meantime, one of the ladies, who had left the apartment to transmit some order from her mistress, returned with a pale and embarrassed counte"What is the matter, Mademoiselle de Gouterot?" said the duchess, fixing her eyes on that young lady; "has anything happened to you, or to any person in the castle? Speak, mademoiselle, you terrify me!" "Madame-madame," stammered Mademoiselle de Gouterot, "on leaving this room, I met Madame de Vienville, the Viscount de Turenne's governess." "Well, go on," said the princess, seeing the hesitation of her lady. "The young prince cannot be found." Impossible!" cried the princess, rushing towards the door of the apartment, "impossible! Henry is playing in some corner of the castle; it is some trick he wishes to play his governess: but for pity's sake, ladies, send out all my people, and let every place be searched." And as the princess followed her ladies, to see that her orders were properly executed, she encountered Madame de Vienville, Berthier, Marceline, Gérard, and several other attendants. "Oh! madame, pardon, pardon," said the governess, throwing herself at the feet of her mistress, "I assure you it was not fault." my "I am willing to believe it," said the princess, whose uneasiness restrained her anger, "but what are you all doing here instead of searching for him? How long is it since you have seen my son, madame? Speak! You, Berthier, whom he loved so much, have you seen him lately?" "Alas! madame," replied the old soldier, wiping his eyes, "not since morning.' "No," added Marceline, crying bitterly, "not since the story of the phantom; he laughed, the poor child, he laughed." "And that has brought some misfortune upon him," added poor Berthier. "Alas! I warned him of it." 66 The steps of the duke being heard hastily advancing, put an end to this conversation; the duchess fell into his arms. "My son!" she faintly uttered. Compose yourself, my love," said the duke, tenderly; "I have given all necessary orders; Henry cannot be far off; the gate-keeper of the castle saw him this evening cross the drawbridge." "Alone?" asked the duchess, scarcely able to support herself. "Alone," said the prince. "He was running; the gate-keeper wished to speak to him, but the child made a sign to him to be silent, and went on his way." "But why did not this man inform us immediately?" said the princess. "To go out at night, and in such weather, is enough to kill him; but where can he have gone?" "That is what I am going to try and discover, my dear Elizabeth; but I wished first to set your mind at rest. My friends, followed by my people, are scouring the town; they will inquire at every house. I am going to join them,-do you, my love, return, and rely upon me for bringing back your son." As the duke was crossing the drawbridge to rejoin his friends, whose torches were visible in every part of the town, he met Berthier and Gérard. what tidings?" he exclaimed. "Well! "We met the "None," said they, sorrowfully. citizens' watch, and they had not seen him." Without waiting to answer them, the prince proceeded towards the ramparts. The snow which covered the ground, besides giving additional brilliancy to the light of the moon, which had just risen over the town, and rendered useless the torches of the attendants, brought into strong relief a range of cannon which defended the ramparts of Sedan, at each end of which sentinels were posted. "Who goes there?" demanded the first sentinel, on perceiving the approach of the prince. "It is I, your prince," replied the Duke de Bouillon. "Have you seen my son, the Viscount Turenne?" "There, my lord," replied the sentinel, extending his arm, and pointing to a cannon, on the frame of which, in spite of cold, in spite of snow, a child was extended! "What are you doing there, sir?" said the duke, rather sharply. "You have put the castle in an uproar; your mother is in a state of the greatest uneasiness, and myself" The emotion of the prince prevented his continuing. Henry rose, and bent his knee before the prince. Forgive me, my father, if I have caused you uneasiness; but I wished to convince you that your second son was not a little girl who dreaded the cold, nor yet a coward afraid of a ghost. You see I am not dead from either cold or fright." "And you have thus, my dear nephew, proved the mistake of those who say you are not fit for the army. As for me, I repeat, that, with the permission of his lordship, my brother-in-law, and of Madame Elizabeth, my sister, I am ready to receive you into my company." "As a soldier, uncle?" said young Turenne, with enthusiasm. "As a soldier, nephew," answered the Prince de Nassau. "To know how to command, we must first learn to obey." "Let us now go," said Henry, "to relieve my mother's anxiety." The ardour of the young Viscount Turenne was not much longer repressed. He was scarcely fourteen years old when he followed his uncle to the army in Holland; and, having successively passed through all the grades of a soldier, he got the command of a company of infantry under Frederick, the successor of Maurice de Nassau. On the death of Henry de la Tour d'Auvergne, his father, the young Viscount de Turenne was sent to the court of Louis XIII. as hostage for the parole which the Duchess de Bouillon had given to the King of France, never to separate her interests from his. Cardinal Richelieu, who undoubtedly foresaw the greatness of the Prince de Turenne, sent him, in 1631, to Lorraine, at the head of a company under the orders of the Marshal of the Forces: he there decided the success of the siege of La Mothe, and was appointed Adjutant-General. Three years afterwards, he distinguished himself in the taking of the Château de Soire, in Hénault; in 1638, he took Brissac; he then went on in his brilliant career, adding conquest to conquest ;-Cassel, Montcarlier, where, notwithstanding a severe wound, he forced the besieged city to capitulate. At Roussillon, (which he had powerfully assisted in conquering,) he was made Marshal of France, in 1644, by the Queen Regent, Louis XIII. being dead. The life of Turenne was one continued course of victories and of noble actions; having reached the height of glory, the young King Louis XIV. raised him to the rank of field-marshal of the king's army, joining to this new title the government of Upper and Lower Limousin, the commission of councillor of state, and the place of colonel-commandant of light cavalry. After the peace which was concluded in 1668, Turenne rested from his labours, but this repose was not of long continuance; the invasion of Holland being declared in 1672, he again appeared at the head of his army. It was near the village of Salbach in 1675, a decisive affair was to have taken place; the cabinet of Vienna had opposed to Turenne the celebrated Montecuculli. Europe awaited in suspense the issue of this struggle; an unforeseen event decided it. On Saturday the 27th July, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Viscount Turenne, then sixty-four years of age, prepared to inspect a site chosen for the erection of a battery, as he expected to give battle the next day: Previous to mounting his horse he ordered his chaplain to be informed that he would receive the communion before the action; he then rode off, followed by a numerous staff. When arrived within about thirty yards of the battery ground, which was on a height, his nephew, young D'Elbeuf, annoyed him by letting his horse wheel about quite close to him. "You do nothing but turn your horse about me, nephew," said he, "stay where you are; you will point me out to the enemy;" and ordering several of his attendants to wait for him, he advanced alone towards the camp. "They are firing from the side to which you are going, Sir," said Hamilton, following him, 46 come this way. 33 "You are right," said Turenne, laughing, "I should not at all like to be killed to-day." But Heaven had decided otherwise; scarcely had he turned his horse when Monsieur de Saint Hilaire advanced towards him, hat in hand. " Sir," said he, "will you look at that battery which I have just placed there?" Scarcely had Saint Hilaire pronounced these words when a cannon-ball struck off the arm which held his hat. The pain did not prevent this officer from looking towards his general;-he saw him no more, but he perceived a horse at full speed, dragging after him a bleeding and shapeless corpse. The great Turenne was dead. Never was a death more felt in France: all ranks of society wept and mourned for him. Honours were paid him that had never before been awarded to any one except to the Constable Duguesclin: his remains were laid in the king's vault of Saint Denis. EXTERNAL CAPILLARY ACTION IN PLANTS. PROBABLY there are many lovers of flowers who, like ourselves, have been puzzled and annoyed by the constant appearance of water upon the table or stand upon which the favourite bouquet is placed; perhaps the servant has been blamed for her heedlessness in spilling the water, which has been again replenished, and again the same thing has unaccountably occurred. Or, perhaps, some younger hands have been accused of upsetting the dish or vase; some little shoulder must have carelessly pushed the stand and spilled the water. Vociferations of innocence are of no avail; there is the water morning after morning-it could not have been spilled without hands, and the non-discovery of the culprit only causes the blame to be divided among the suspected persons. For years were we thus puzzled; we left off blaming and complaining, but patiently wiped up the water and said no more about the matter. A few years since, certain circumstances, a matter of mental occupation, the arrangement of our table bouquet became, through and we learned in a few days the cause of the untidiness which had so long distressed us. We found that certain flowers seemed to imbibe the water merely to torment us by pouring it forth again upon the table, which in an hour after we had arranged our bouquet was perfectly sodden in some spots, though we well knew that neither young hands nor a careless servant had approached it. We watched our tender enemies carefully, and at length learned which flowers must be discarded. The sweet-william was the first of these, and we did not much regret it, for, though very beautiful when closely examined, it is too stiff and formal for a bouquet. The water almost poured from its leaves and flowers, especially from the former, for the first two or three hours after it had been placed in water. Other flowers which had this habit in a great degree were the large garden antirrhinum and the heliotrope. But the strongest instance of all was the violet. explained to those who have not studied this inter- grooves in the upper surface of the petioles, followed One of the great pleasures of the spring is violet-hunting; and many are the lamentations uttered every year over banks new made, hedges replanted, and ditches drained; indeed, we fear there will be no wild violets left for our great-right angles. The water passed upwards in the grandchildren. But will not English Botany be then a forgotten, or at least a defunct, science? The railroad is cutting up all bye-places and snug nooks, careless of the rare plants which it disturbs; and even if some loving hand find a fresh locality for its treasures, it is very uncertain whether they will thrive in their new home. A lamentation has just | been made to us, that the most prolific station mentioned by Hooker for the Teucrium Chamaedrys is entirely broken up, and what is to be done? The plant will thrive only on old walls, and people will renew and build up these places; everything is new now in these days of improvement; and if we plant a root in a proper situation, it will soon be lost again. We must take it to a ruined church we sometimes visit, which is now roofless, steepleless, and surrounded | by corn stacks; the only tomb-stone which is left bearing indisputable marks of having been used as a spot convenient for a bird-trap. And this stone two hundred years since was placed over the remains of a "Citizen of London,” a member of the Stationers' Company, and the eldest son of a knight, who resided at the noble old hall close by, whose venerable avenue, twisted chimneys, and ornamented gables, still testify the taste of its former owner; while the long and lofty barn, with its loop-hole windows and flint walls, gives us reason to think that the whole domain was anciently connected with the monastic appearances, the antique summer-house, and the still famed well of St. Wolfstan which we find just across the river; that river the "glorious" pike of which have afforded us so much amusement in catching. We may have more to say of the ruined church when we have planted our Germander, and caught our pike this year. But thus are our English plants lost. Now to return to our bouquet. In one of our spring walks we gathered our little basket half full of violets, and having carefully pulled off every flower before we planted the roots, we arranged them in a couple of wine-glasses, without any leaves, or any other flowers. In half an hour the glasses stood in water. We had the spot wiped dry, but again it became wet; and thus till the water stood but just high enough in the glasses to touch the stalks. This very striking occurrence led us to watch our bouquet through the summer, and we found many flowers which caused the same untidiness; but we might probably have forgotten all about it till next spring, as we have forgotten many of the flowers, had not we accidentally met with something like a solution of the enigma in our searchings after botanical scraps. In the Reports published by the Ray Society this year is the notice of an "Essay on the Capillary Activity of the External Integument of certain plants." From this we will make an extract, which will be understood by our botanical readers, and can be easily The author accounts for this phenomenon by saying that as the hairs on the stems and leafstalks of these plants are thickly set and curve towards each other, they form narrow tubes, as it were, through which the water is drawn up and transmitted to the leaves, when, as we have seen, it flows along the grooves of the ribs to the end. A reason is assigned for the cessation of the dropping in the swelling of the vessels of the stem and petiole, by which the hairs are forced farther from each other, and the power of capillary conveyance of the water is lost. Some curious remarks are also given upon the dropping from the ends of the leaves of that noble plant, Calla Ethiopica; observation has shown that "light has no perceptible influence on this dropping from the leaves; that the excretion was feeblest in the morning; increased towards noon; was most copious in the afternoon from two to five P.M., and declined again during the night. The dropping seems to arise from an excess of moisture beyond that which is requisite for the nourishment of the plant; and it ceases with the development of the spathe and organs of reproduction. The necessity of the plant for water was greatest during the night, but especially on the development of the spathe.' A secretion of watery fluid likewise takes place in Canna (Indian shot); not from the points of the leaves as in Calla, but from the ends of the parallel ribs which terminate at the margin of the leaf; and generally more from those that are nearer to the end of the leaf, than from those which are situated nearer to its base. From these terminations, towards evening and at night, imperceptibly exudes a clear watery fluid, which collects in drops, sometimes, but rarely, in as large a quantity as from the Calla. This excretion does not seem affected by temperature; it is promoted by the growth of the leaves, but ceases when the plant puts forth stalks and flowers. Bian. LUCENTIO AND BIANCA. Luc. Here, Madam: Bian. Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus ; Construe them. Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before,—Simois, I am Lucentio,-hic est, son unto Vincentio, of Pisa,-Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love;-Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing,-Priami, is my man Tranio,-regia, bearing my port,-celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.—Taming of the Shrew, Act iii. Scene 1. We must observe that both these are water plants, and it does not appear at all probable that an apparatus should be provided merely to imbibe and give forth again more fluid than is required for nourishment; this is not accordant with the economy of nature, where nothing is wasted. The fluid thus expelled may be those parts of the water which are not necessary to the nourishment of the leaves, and therefore thrown off after a kind of digestive process has been undergone; while the cessation of the excretion as soon as the plant puts forth flowers, shows that it is in some manner necessary to fructification. The food which a plant receives probably undergoes some kind of decomposition in its passage through the stem; but it is principally in the leaves that it is altered; and the fluid of which we are speaking may belong to the colouring matter of the petals, or to other parts of the perfect plant, for which it is not at present required. But although we cannot exactly decide this, we may be certain that it is neither accidental nor useless. The Nepenthes dis-ness. tillatoria is well known for its abundant secretion of fluid; the flower is colourless; and the leaves are generally half filled with water. All fluids in a plant have motion, and their constant perspiration proves the rapidity with which the sap circulates; if a glass be placed under a young vine leaf, in a hot day, it will soon be covered with dew, which in less than an hour will run down in streams. Evergreens perspire less than deciduous or herbaceous plants, partly because their outer skin is comparatively thick and hard. Some curious experiments have shown the circulation of the fluids in plants and flowers; we have been much interested in watching violets in a glass of ammonia and water; they become almost green. White roses have been coloured with red veins, while other flowers entirely refused to imbibe the colouring matter. To the circulation of the sap are also to be attributed the instances, of which we so frequently read, of foreign substances being found in trees, and even in vegetables. As respects the capillary attraction which takes place with cut flowers, the hairs upon the stems and stipules of plants are doubtless of some use; they may be a protection against heat and cold, or against the attacks of insects; besides which, they often contain the odoriferous oil peculiar to the plant. Their capillary action is merely the effect of a known law, under circumstances not natural to them. The flowers in which we observed this action the most copiously are those which grow in a cluster, each floret having a separate calyx, probably as hairy as the petioles and stipules, therefore conveying water in the same manner. In the case of the violets there might be accessory circumstances. No doubt the action took place in the calyx, as, many of the stalks being extremely short, the glasses were filled with water to the brim. Besides this, the stalks themselves would act by capillary attraction, and raise the water to the edge of the glass, as may be seen by floating a teaspoon in a cup of tea; and still more plainly in a coloured glass of flowers, where each stalk raises the water between itself and the side of the vase to a higher level than it stands at in the centre. We recommend our young admirers of flowers to study them, not in the greenhouse and the garden, but in their native homes, the fields and woods, assuring those who do so that the study of botany well repays the trouble it costs. F. C. B. THE MAIDEN AUNT.-No. V.1 EDITH KINNAIRD.-PART III. CHAPTER V. As they walked home Edith began to express her warm admiration of Alice Brown's unobtrusive good"There is to me a charm about her which I cannot define," said she; "plain and shy as she is, without brilliancy, without striking talent of any sort, without captivation of manner, she wins upon my affection I don't know how! It is quite against all my theories; I never fancied that mere goodness was necessarily loveable, though, of course, it must always be respectable-yet I don't know what there is in Alice that is attractive, unless it be her goodness. I think, Amy, her character is like one of the figures on old stained glass-strange and stiff, and violating perhaps all the rules of art, but impressing you at once with the idea of an unearthly beauty such as none of those rules could have produced." She paused, but Mrs. Dalton made no answer. "You don't like her!" exclaimed Edith, with an air of disappointment. "Oh yes!" replied her friend, hurriedly, and in a low faltering voice; the next moment she withdrew her arm from the clasp of the wondering Edith, put her hands before her face, and began to weep bitterly. Edith was greatly shocked, she did not like to inquire the reason of a grief so unexpected and so overpowering, but walked on in sympathizing silence. Amy's usual self-command seemed to have completely deserted her; her tears flowed fast and long without restraint. At length she snatched her handkerchief from her eyes with a gesture of impatience and began to pluck the clematis from the hedges beside which they were walking. "It is very graceful, is it not?" said she, with assumed levity holding up a branch and twisting it into a garland; "it would make a lovely wreath for the hair, I think it would suit you exactly. Do take off your bonnet, Edith, and let me try-I like to exercise my genius upon your toilette,—you do me such credit." Her hand was upon Edith's bonnet-strings as she spoke, but she was not suffered to execute her scheme. "My dear Amy, everybody would think we were mad. Wait till we are at home." "At home!-oh, true, we are not at home yet," repeated Amy, looking around her as if she had only just noticed the circumstance; when we are at Beechwood. we shall be at home It will be wiser to wait (1) Continued from p. 134. |