shorter would spare the inconveniency, or to wear a bonnet which gives neither protection from the cold nor shade from the light. But they always plead, at the same time, their helplessness as to a remedy: they must go with the fashion. Well, here I find only a fresh fortification for my position. The poor dear creature confesses herself the slave of a thing utterly foolish and contemptible. She owns that she has not the moral courage to put an inch of needful silk between her nose and the sun, unless the thing be countenanced by the multitude. If her milliner tells her that soup-draggling sleeves are the fashion, she declares she can be the martyr to bear, but not the martyr to resist. Could there be a more expressive or affecting proof of that beautiful defect which gives the gentle being such a fascinating power over us! A man, to whom it was proposed that he should always have something flapping here, and some other thing sticking out there, troubling and inconveniencing him at every moment of his life, without being of any use or benefit whatever, would kick the impertinence away from him in a moment, probably with a few of those cursory remarks which such things are apt to draw from the rational sex. But the creature that does not reason, and who pokes the fire from the top,' submits to everything of the kind which you may impose upon her. Sweet weakness, charming étourderie, amiable patience! Never can we hope to rival it.

There is another point in which female inferiority is very strong, and this is-in time. Woman has no right sense of time, and is never punctual, except by chance. Were there only women acting in the world, there would be no such thing as a railway time-table. Bradshaw would vanish from the horizon of actual existences. Trains would start at any hour at which they could be got ready, and the collisions would be so numerous and fatal that it would put the ladies to their speed to keep up the proper amount of population in the country. Clocks and watches would become mere appearances, for no woman can keep a horological machine in order. To prove all this to be something more than fancy, I only ask you, sir, to call to mind any occasion on which your wife was correct to an appointment, or spared you the vexation of waiting for her when you were about to walk abroad or drive to a dinner-party. I would ask for an authentic instance of a lady who was in the habit of winding up her watch regularly at night, as men are. The fact is, a woman does not care for a watch for the sake of its legitimate function of a time-indicator. In that respect, perhaps, she feels it to be rather an impertinence. She desires a handsome gold one to hang at her girdle as an ornament; but as for its works or hands, why, it may want these things altogether for anything she cares, and only have a mock dial-piece eternally indicating twenty minutes past nine. The eidolon or image of a watch is sufficient for her. Now, all this is very charming. She is really strong here. We feel that there is a kind of innocence in this unconsciousness of time. It looks like an unconsciousness of existence itself, with all its sins and shortcomings.

It is in this way that the non-reasoning character of woman generally has such an immense charm for us. Reason is a hard, stern, disagreeably real thing, very useful for men no doubt, and ultimately essential to the interests of humanity, but it never adds to the grace of any character. Now, see how woman, being happily devoid of this attribute, delights us with its opposite! Tell her of something she does not like to admit, the dear creature does not think of reasoning against it. She contradicts, and is content. Point out anything wrong in a household, and she silently answers by letting you feel the opposite thing in its extremest form of inconvenience. Try to reform her faults, and she disarms you with her tears. Speak to Ellen of the empty-headedness of that long-legged ensign whom she worships, and her heart pleads against the decree by a

reference to his nice blue eyes. Warn Sarah of the manifest bad temper of her fiancé Charles, and she replies to it all, that it would break her heart to want him. In a woman's inductions, one instance is quite enough. Her thought is as good as a fact, and an inference from a supposition tells with her irresistibly, provided only the feelings are pleased. Enchanting, unreasoning creature, sad are the scrapes you sometimes fall into from want of our reflection, and vexing occasionally are your arguments with no argument and conclusions without and in despite of data! But who could wish you to be otherwise than you are?-the most puzzling, incalculable, thoughtless, delightful of all creatures.

ARTESIAN WELLS FOR LONDON. WHILE water is to be had by simply turning the tap in the kitchen or wash-house, few persons give themselves the trouble to think of the vast apparatus, the powerful machinery, and the great expense required to produce so convenient a result. The precious fluid comes on' as a matter of course, until an accident in the pipes, or a severe frost, such as we had in January, or some other casualty stops the supplies, and then we begin to appreciate both the benefit and the privation. The means taken to furnish water to our large towns, though in many instances less perfect than they ought to be, are yet of high importance to our social and commercial advancement, to cleanliness and health. Who does not remember the stir and talk provoked by sanitary inquiries within the past few years? and how strenuously an abundant supply of water was insisted on as a remedy against many of the evils incident to town-life. Quality, too, was as much to be considered as quantity-water must be good, or else beware of the consequences! What was it that 44,000,000 gallons were pumped every day into London, if the water was not fit to drink when distributed? And then it was shewn, that wherever the worst water flowed, there the cholera was most destructive.

Thereupon many schemes were propounded for remedying a state of things truly disgraceful to the metropolis of the British Empire. One was for deriving a supply of water from the Thames where it flows clear and sparkling by the pleasant chalk-hills of Oxfordshire; while others were for laying minor streams to the north, east, and south under contribution. A large gathering ground' at Bagshot was talked about, part of the waste and wild region enlivened by the encampment of 1853, which, being sandy, formed an excellent filter for the rain that fell on its surface. One daring projector suggested an aqueduct all the way from Bala Lake, in North Wales, noted for the purity of its waters; and others thought that the best source would be found by sinking wells in different parts of the metropolis deeper than ever wells had been sunk before. Most of these schemes promised a daily supply of from 100,000,000 to 400,000,000 gallons-a quantity ample enough for the thorough flushing of all the sewers, as well as for the public service on the most liberal scale. Not one of the projects has yet been adopted: meanwhile, the companies have improved the quality of the water they distribute; but the grand desideratum-water of the best possible quality in unlimited and constant supply-has not yet been achieved.

Such is a general view of the facts, from which, turning to particular considerations, we find the subject to possess a remarkable scientific interest. Artesian wells, as the very deep sinkings are called, carry us into the domain of geology, where, unless the geologist come to our aid, guess-work will usurp the place of science. As he alone can direct the miner where to dig with the certainty of finding coal, so to him must we look to tell us where, far down beneath

the surface, repose the water-bearing strata, vast reservoirs formed by nature, which need but to be tapped to yield up their contents in copious and perennial jets-the old earth, as it were, opening its veins for the sustenance of its inhabitants.

Were this the place, we might institute a comparison between these aqueous treasures and certain mineral ones much sought after; but our present purpose is more practical than moral-we have to shew what science has to say on the question of tapping the reservoirs. That it can say something is demonstrated by Mr Prestwich, a well-known geologist, in a volume that merits more than a passing notice, and we can promise that the time spent in a brief survey of his facts and reasonings will not be thrown away.

Every one knows what a basin is: it may be shallow or deep, according to circumstances. But the basin we have to talk about is one to be measured by miles, not by inches. Let any one stand on the highest part of Hampstead Heath, and look southwards to Surrey's pleasant hills,' and he will overlook what is called the London Basin-some ten or twelve miles of visible diameter. There is, however, much more than meets the eye, for the curving strata which form the vast hollow, crop out at such distances in the surrounding counties as to comprise an area of some thousands of square miles. It is, as it were, a series of basins placed one within the other, the largest of course lowermost. The upper one is composed of clay-London clay, as geologists call it-in some places 400 or 500 feet thick, and filled with beds of sand and gravel. Below this lies the chalk-basin, which, there is reason to believe, varies from 700 to 1000 feet in thickness, as though made proportionately stronger to bear the greater superincumbent weight. Between the clay and the chalk is a stratum about 80 feet thick of the lower tertiary sands and clays; and below the chalk lie the Upper and Lower Greensands, with a thickness of from 10 to 600 feet; and these we have to consider as the bottom of our basin, the formations lying still deeper not being included in the question.

Each of these basins contains more or less of water supplied by the rainfall on the surface, the clay, the chalk, the Greensands, the quantity increasing as we descend. One year with another, the amount of water derived from rain and melting snow varies but slightly, though exceptions do at times occur, and of this amount, part escapes in evaporation, part in brooks and rivers, part is absorbed by vegetation, and part sinks into the ground, more or less rapidly, according to the nature of the soil and underlying strata. Where these are porous and easily permeable, there the water soon disappears, sinking until it meets with some obstacle, such as dense clay or crystalline rock, which prevents further subsidence. The water naturally follows the curve or inclination of the strata in its descent, and collects at last at the lowest point, as in a natural reservoir, from which, if an orifice be made, it will rise to the surface, in obedience to a natural law. Nature, it will thus be seen, provides a supply of water for the metropolis, and for other places similarly situated, by a very simple process: the question is, how to make it available? We shall come to this point presently; for the moment, we have to consider what are the resources at our disposal. The clay-basin being nearest the surface, was for a time the only one drawn upon by the Londoners; but the increase of population increased the demand not only for water but for beer, in all the variety so fondly appreciated by dwellers within sight of St Paul's; and if we are to believe the brewers and some other manufacturers, well-water only will answer their purpose. So, the

* A Geological Inquiry Respecting the Water-bearing Strata of the Country around London, with reference especially to the Watersupply of the Metropolis, &c. By Joseph Prestwich, Jun. London: Van Voorst. 1851.

clay- basin yield being insufficient, down went the seekers some 500 or 600 feet further, with an energy scarcely equalled by nugget-grubbers, till they came to the chalk-basin, where the supply was inexhaustible; and in this way, by repeated borings in different places, a number of Artesian wells have been formed, which, under ordinary circumstances, may be regarded as perennial.

The chalk stratum extends from Kent and Surrey under the valley of the Thames to the hills of Hertfordshire and Buckinghamshire, and neighbouring counties-an area of about 3800 square miles, on which the mean fall of rain is estimated at from 3800 to 3900 million of gallons every day-a quantity which may well be exhaustless. The water finds its way downwards through the numerous fissures which abound in chalk, until it comes to the lower portions of the stratum, where crevices are few, and there it makes its way along the line of stratification, which is indicated by the imbedded flints. Those who are experienced in such matters, know that ample sources of water may always be looked for immediately beneath the flint layers; it is into these that most of the London wells are sunk; and the supply obtained is said to be from 10,000,000 to 12,000,000 gallons daily-an amount perhaps somewhat overstated. Here, however, we see why such amazing supplies have been derived from the chalk. In the Tring cutting of the North-western Railway, the yield was 1,000,000 gallons per day; at Brighton, a well gives 231,840 gallons in twelve hours; 1,800,000 gallons per day were obtained from an experimental well sunk in the Bushey Meadows; and a calculation has been made, that, with efficient borings and drift-ways at Watford, 8,000,000 per day might be derived from that locality.

Quantities so immense might be thought sufficient for ordinary purposes; but Mr Prestwich shews them to be trifling compared with the supplies to be obtained by going lower and piercing the Greensands. That such is not only possible, but actually the fact, will be seen on a little reflection. The area of the Greensands far exceeds that of the chalk; it reaches from Cambridgeshire in the north, to the sea in the south; from Devizes in the west, to Folkestone in the east; and wherever within this region the Greensands crop out on the surface, there the rain is greedily sucked in as it falls. It may surprise some readers to hear that places so distant should be regarded as sources of watersupply for London; such, however, is the fact, for as the water in sinking follows the dip of the strata, it gradually descends to the bottom of the basin, where it is most wanted. The Greensands thus serve the double purpose of filter and reservoir; and as they rest on a thick and impervious deposit of Weald and Kimmeridge clays, there can be no escape of water in a downward direction. There it remains stored up, a fountain of the great deep, until released by human enterprise and ingenuity.

The mean annual rainfall in England is from 26 to 28 inches, according to latitude, of which one-half, more or less, sinks into the ground; the greatest amount of infiltration of course taking place in the rainiest months. Some deposits are much more permeable than others; but on comparison, the superiority of the Greensands in this particular becomes strikingly manifest: Mr Prestwich estimates their steady undiminished yield at from 40,000,000 to 50,000,000 gallons in the twenty-four hours. Such a quantity would constitute a valuable supplement to the supply now furnished to London; the more so, as the water appears to be of excellent quality. Judging from the wells sunk at a few miles from the city, the water is remarkably pure, soft, and limpid; and the nature of the Greensands is such as to insure a better quality of water from them than from some other strata. We attach the more importance to this fact, remembering

that the Report of the Board of Health, published in 1850, deprecates the drinking of London well-water on account of the bad consequences' that follow its use, and the conclusive instances brought forward in proof of the hygienic benefits resulting from the use of soft water. It is satisfactory to know, that the consideration here involved presents no difficulty; for chemical analysis has shewn, that clay possesses a surprising power of absorbing soluble salts, and, consequently, while the waters are traversing loose sandy strata mixed with clay, the filtration would appear to be perfect, as cleansing and absorption go on at the same time. 'When it is considered,' says Mr Prestwich, that the waters have to pass through many miles of the Lower Greensand, in some places entirely silicious, and at other places partially argillaceous, it really becomes a question whether the water may not be, to a very great extent, freed from extraneous matter, and rendered by this means only, so far as regards the alkaline and earthy salts, comparatively soft and pure.' This, however, is a question which actual experiment can only determine. We should be glad to see it tried for the reasons already stated, as well as others not less obvious. It might be well worth considering, whether to fetch water from a distance of many miles, or from 1000 feet beneath the surface, be the preferable method. In the one case, the water has fallen from the clouds, far away in the pleasant country, where no smoke and few atmospheric impurities are present to contaminate it, and makes its way underground, through a natural filter, to the great central reservoir; in the other, it must flow through pipes or an uncovered channel. There is no risk of a barren result, for the quantity of water available every twenty-four hours would still be the same as above mentioned, even if no rain fell for a whole year. Let it be borne in mind,' pursues Mr Prestwich, 'that the effective permeable beds of the Lower Greensand are 200 feet thick-that they occupy an area above and below ground of 4600 square milesthat a mass of only one mile square and one foot thick will hold more than 60,000,000 gallons of water-and some idea may be then formed of the magnitude of such an underground reservoir. A fall of one foot in the water-level throughout the whole area of outcrop, would give more than the quantity of water required for a year's consumption of London.' The temperature would be, according to depth, from 63 to 70 degrees Fahrenheit.

Another consideration is, how deep must we go for these abundant supplies of water?-a point on which our knowledge of the chalk-formation enables us to speak with little chance of error; and on careful calculation, it appears that a boring 1040 feet deep would be necessary to pierce the Lower Greensands. Great as this depth may appear, it presents no difficulty insurmountable by mechanical genius. Then with respect to the height to which the water will rise, Mr Prestwich argues, that the conditions being nearly the same as those of the well of Grenelle, near Paris, the result will be similar; and he assumes that in a well sunk in London, the water would rise from the Greensands to a height of from 120 to 130 feet above the surface. This at once gives a distributing power independent of machinery, and would be sufficient for most practical

purposes.

An Artesian well may be called a natural spring artificially produced: its analogy to a spring, by which nature liberates her hidden watery treasures, is at once apparent. Like the spring, too, though somewhat turbid on first bursting out, it in a short time flows perfectly pure, and at the same time its chemical character will be improved by the action of the ceaseless stream on the salts with which the strata may be impregnated. This is an important fact, for a well might be condemned when first sunk, which, a few months later, would yield most excellent water.

In France, where Artesian wells are comparatively numerous, the water is used for all domestic purposes, and as a 'moving power for mills, factories, and hydraulic machines; for warming large buildings, for public wash-sheds, for irrigation on a large scale, for fishponds; in plantations of water-cress, paper-making, and the weathering of flax.' For purposes in which a uniform temperature is required, the water is peculiarly serviceable.

We think that Mr Prestwich has made out his case, and we regard his volume as a valuable aid towards that branch of progress which comprises sanitation, with commercial, physical, and moral economy. With these facts and views before them, no corporation or commission would be justified in deciding on a mode of water-supply without first giving them due consideration. The question of cost may be simplified by referring to what has already been done: the well for the Blackwall Railway cost L.8000; another, L.4444, on the premises of Truman, Hanbury, & Co., the brewers; and others for lower sums, down to L.20; but it should be borne in mind, that good part of the expense of the great London wells is for the machinery which must be always employed to pump up the water. This would be entirely saved by boring down to the Greensands, as the water would, as we have shewn, rise of itself to more than 100 feet above the surface. Mr Prestwich estimates L.1800 to L.2500 as the cost of boring down to the Upper Greensand; and to the Lower Greensand, L.1000 more. When we remember that the supply is perennial, the item of cost falls low in comparison. The Wells of Solomon, which have been flowing abundantly for ages in the parched Arabian desert, afford the most valuable and enduring evidence of the capabilities of Artesian wells.

WEARYFOOT COMMON.

CHAPTER XVII.

A CONSPIRACY.

WE dispute the correctness of Claudia's opinions touching the levelling power of death. Never are the social distinctions so punctiliously observed as when the late living and breathing man lies prone on his back, a statue of senseless clay; never are the vanities of caste and the pride of rank so strong, as when the vault or the grave receives its new inhabitant, and dust is rendered to dust, and ashes to ashes. If the waxlike figure which is the object of the solemn show has worn a coronet when in life; if it has exercised high command over its fellow-men; or, arrayed in satins and gems, looked down with scorn upon its fellowwomen--the atmosphere of pride in which it lived, moved, and had its being still surrounds it in the coffin, and the spectators, who would pass lightly a score of meaner funerals, hold their breath with awe.

The obsequies of the late Lord Luxton were performed with a pomp that would have been extravagant even in the case of some great public character: but no one thought of asking how he had earned the distinction; no one called to mind that, when living, he had been only an old, fat, good-natured man, who would have been desperately vulgar had he not chanced to be brought up as a nobleman. It was a great funeral, that was what was thought and said-what mattered it whether the defunct had been in life a great man? The bell tolled, the procession swept slowly on, the plumes waved in the heavy air, the priest proclaimed the resurrection and the life, the black vault swallowed up its prize; and then the world went on as before, with its old pride, its old

vanities, its old ambitions-with no difference whatever, except that there was a new lord both in the mausoleum and the castle.

Claudia had much to do in those days: many punctilios to arrange, many precedents of rank to consider, many questions of heraldry to discuss; and it is likely that she was very soon roused from her feeling of desolation. However this may be, she found time occasionally to converse with our old friend Miss Heavystoke, and not always on the subject of that lady's young charge.

When I lived at Wearyfoot Common,' said the governess one day

'You at Wearyfoot Common!-Oh, I remember; you seemed acquainted with Mrs Seacole, and that is the locality of the family seat. Did you teach in her house?'

No, at the house of Captain Semple.' At the house of Captain Semple!' 'Yes: my pupil was his niece Sara, a very charming girl, and acknowledged to be the beauty of the district.' Claudia mused.

'I have heard of Captain Semple,' said she-'probably from Mrs Seacole. He had a sister as well as a niece?'

'But too old to teach. Indeed Miss Semple fancied that she had an aptitude for teaching grown persons herself!'

'Any more in the family?' said Claudia, suppressing an inclination to yawn.

'In a novel, I allow. But Robert and Sara hardly knew that they were not brother and sister till the captain's affairs went wrong, and the young man was taken home from school. Shortly after, the whole establishment was broken up, and young Oaklands went adrift upon the world.'

'Was there no scandal on the subject of the boy?' asked Claudia, musing again. I think I have been told that the captain's conduct towards him was supposed to be influenced by some stronger feeling than mere humanity.'

'If so, that must have been before my time, and the scandal had died out. The good captain is not a man to be suspected of irregularity of any kind, except in the matter of whiskers. Such a Black Forest of hair I never saw before on a human face!'

what Mr Oaklands said of her, and he has now turned an artist, and should know something of beauty. How they used to dance, that young pair, till it was far on with no partners in the quadrille but the chair and in the night, and my fingers ached with playing—and Molly!'

'Dangerous amusement,' remarked Claudia, 'for a young painter to dance till midnight, in a lonely country-house, with a heroine of Homer, and for a heroine of Homer to have for her habitual partner'

'A young painter!' kindly suggested Miss Heavystoke, for Claudia stopped abruptly. But Miss Sara was by that time almost betrothed, at least it was the belief of us all that the attentions of - of-of the gentleman would end in proposals.'

'Of what gentleman?'

'One of the neighbours,' replied Miss Heavystoke, in some embarrassment.

'His name?' The question was not put offensively -quite otherwise; but evasion was impossible when Claudia willed.

'Seacole,' replied Miss Heavystoke.

'So! And what occurred to break off the affair?' "The gentleman's visit to Luxton Castle,' said Miss Heavystoke, turning suddenly to bay; and his falling under the more powerful enchantments of Miss Falcontower!' Claudia received this announcement simply as information: the manner was a matter of indifference to her, and she did not think it necessary to make a single remark upon the subject. Perhaps, however, the part she herself played in the Wearyfoot novel, may have struck her as being a little curious. Perhaps she thought it odd that she should have been the means of breaking off the young lady's engagement, and throwing her upon the friendship of Robert Oaklands. Perhaps the scene on the stair of the theatre presented itself from a new point of view, and she saw two heroines instead of one: the one permanent and principal, the other temporary and secondary; the one destined for the dénouement, the other playing her part of a moment with smiles, and looks, and meeting hands, and then passing away for ever! Such may have been her reverie, for there is a dearth of resources in the country. It was, at all events, a condescension for the woman of rank and fashion, the daughter of a baron, the high-bred, the beautiful, the accomplished Claudia Falcontower, to suffer her mind to be occupied, even for an instant, with the obscure fortunes of a country girl and a foundling-at the best.

But the instant was extended to minutes-hoursdays, we cannot tell how many; and still Claudia dreamed, or seemed to do so, before circumstances occurred to give her mind again to the world. The circumstances were grave enough even to curtail the ceremonial of absolute retirement during the first period of mourning; for the ministry had, from some mismanagement or some mishap, got into an awkward plight, and their fortunes hung trembling in the balance. Having hitherto avoided purposely political details, we shall not now suffer ourselves to be betrayed into explaining the position of Lord Luxton with regard to the government; but certain it is, that he watched the turn of affairs from his present distance with intense anxiety, and that at length neither the post nor the telegraph, though both were busily at work in his service, could quiet his impatience.

'I must be upon the spot!' said he one day suddenly; 'This is a crisis at which I cannot longer be merely a distant looker-on. You, Claudia, can represent the family here, and take care, with your usual watchfulness, that the solemnity of the occasion is kept up during the proper interval.'

'No, papa,' replied Claudia, quietly; 'you will want me in town-we shall both be wanted at such a timeand as I shall neither be seen nor heard of, so far as the world is concerned, there will be no breach of decorum.'