would do justice to the special function of the brain, without infringing on the prerogatives of the immaterial spirit. It is the instrument of thought because it is the instrument of memory. Reason, with her great ideas or powers of generalisation, has no local organ in it: we can conceive of such reason only as an activity exercising itself there. The same may be said of the higher order of feeling, which oftentimes seems to be one with the reason. As for those passions and appetites

which we share with other animals, we diffuse them through the whole system, wherever there is a nerve that feels.

How difficult a subject we have entered on, and how impossible it is entirely to satisfy the mind upon it, no one can be more aware than ourselves. But it is good from time to time to make at least some attempt to reconcile the truths which flow in upon us from the opposite quarters of mental philosophy and physiology.

In the front drawing-room are a group of ladies, some of them shawled and furred to the orthodox necessities of a London winter; some of them in careful morning-dress, expectant of visitors. The room is moderately well-sized, with three tall windows, draped in drab-coloured damask, with shadowy white curtains within. Before one window is a broad low "squab;" before another a little table bearing a vase of coloured glass, and a bouquet of Covent Garden flowers. Everything here savours of "town," and you could no more imagine these camellias and geraniums arranged by other hands than those of the professional bouquet-makers, than you could fancy Mrs Disbrowe's drawing-room table with its many ornaments, or her chandelier and chimney-glass, to be home work. On a small chiffonier at one side of the room, dimly sparkling with its plate-glass back, and reflecting the moving figures before it, stands another vase of flowers something worse for the wear; and a profusion of bits of "fancy work," scattered over the room, declare the presence of young maidenhood in this very comfortable, but not very bright apartment, where all the chairs are drab, and where everything is made the most of, from the pretty embroidered cushion which embellishes a dim sofa, to the little ornamental foot-mat which hides a hole in the carpet. The

folding-doors are open which divide the front from the back drawing-room, and in the doorway stands a settee, very odd and very easy, with tufts of green trimming on its drab cushions, behind which you can see the light entering through the back window, and a distant perspective of curtains and ottomans-still drab, like the rest of the apartment-but nothing more.

A comely middle-aged woman, with a wrinkle of care in her brow, is Mrs Disbrowe, seated in her arm-chair,the ample folds of her black satin gown sweep the carpet round her, and her pretty morning-cap of lace and pink ribbon brightens up her quarter of the room like a gay picture. If Mrs Disbrowe has a weakness for anything, it is this same pink ribbon, which gives freshness and colour to her habiliments: for the rest, Mrs Disbrowe's brooch is twenty years old; and we dare not say how many winters have passed over her well-preserved lace, and thrifty black satin gown. At this very moment these active hands of hers, which look in very pretty condition in spite of their many industries, are busy with some delicate mending; and there is not a personal extravagance about this frugal manager, save the bit of pink ribbon which throws a soft colour upon her comely cheek.

Her daughter Charlotte, a tall, wellgrown, well-looking girl, with a great

either at home or at school. You recollect Miss Ashley, Jane?"

"Yes-we never minded her," said Jane laconically.

"I daresay Minnie and the rest will not mind this one either," said Helen, composedly picking at the braid of Charlotte's future travelling-dress. "If I should have a hundred children, I should never have them taught at home."

"I wish mamma would send me to school," said Minnie. "Charlotte had masters for everything, and I wonder why I should only have a governessfancy me minding Miss Francis! I am sure she is afraid of me."

This redoubtable young lady was eleven years old, and the next eldest girl of the family.

"Well, never mind the governess. Are you sure to be married on Tuesday, Charlotte?" asked Marian Maurice. "You will not change your mind?"

"No-I suppose so," said the bride, stooping her head a little, and vacantly counting the folds of her muslin. "But," continued Charlotte, in the same breath, disposing summarily of this momentary shade of bashfulness, "you never told meare you all to be dressed alike?"

"Well, Helen has pink ribbons and I have blue, and Marian will have nothing but white roses," said Jane Maurice; "but we are all the same except that. How silly to ask, Charlotte! as if you had not seen what we were to wear."

"Bridesmaids do not require to be dressed alike," said Helen. "I am sure at Fanny Allen's wedding there were all the colours of the rainbow. Charlotte, come and try this bonnet on. Isn't it pretty? When I am married, I shall have mine made just so." "When I am married, I shall have mine in the fashion," said the promising Minnie. "You will all be old women then, whatever you do."

Incautiously coming within range of her sister's hand as she spoke, Minnie was fitly rewarded by a smart stroke, which reddened her white shoulders under her pinafore, but elicited nothing more than a little cry of defiance. This was Charlotte's mode of keeping discipline in her late dominions.

"If I was your mamma," said Helen Maurice, whose peradventures were all in this vein, "I should certainly send you to school."

"Then I wish you were my mamma!" cried Minnie. "Miss Francis! why, little Lucy Moore is as old as she is. I will never get my lessons to her; she is not much bigger than me!"

"Where does she come from, then, or how did Mrs Disbrowe hear of her, Charlotte?" asked Marian Maurice.

"It was Angelina Roberts, who was at school with us, you remember, Helen," said Charlotte: "she married a curate in the country, and I wrote to her I might have known she was always silly-so she sent us this little girl."

"How provoking! But can't you send her back again?" said Jane.

"I would never trust my children with a person who had no experience," said Helen Maurice with dignity.

"I am sure, if I were you, I should wait till I had some," said Charlotte, worn out of patience with her friend's careless fingers, which continued assiduously to pick at the braid of her dress; and drawing herself up with the superior importance belonging to herself, almost a married lady, "Mamma ought to know what she requires, and she thinks this little girl will do."

Just then Marian Maurice put her arms round Charlotte, and her own sister Jane, and drew them nearer to the sofa with its load of pretty things. "Don't speak so loud," said this girl, who was gentler - hearted than her companions. "I see some one in the back drawing-room-a strange dark girl: is not that Miss Francis? Charlotte, dear, don't let her hear us speak of her; it is not her fault if she is so young."

And there were so many delightful collars and capes and handkerchiefs, so many mysterious under-garments, invisible to profane eyes at ordinary seasons, but exhibited in all their delicate workwomanship at this, to examine and commend; and Helen had to repeat so often that this and that were the very things she should have "when she was married," and Jane had so

many improvements to suggest, and Marian so many comments to make, that it was not difficult to forget the new governess. Meanwhile, a pair of dark eyes glanced upon this group from behind the drab settee with its green trimmings-tearless shining eyes, moved with neither grief nor

anger, and only keenly observant, because it was their nature so to be. These eyes made no envious criticism, and neither sympathised nor condemned; but simply, out of their own different sphere, and far-away abstracted existence, looked forth, and looked on.

It is not to be supposed that Mrs Disbrowe is by any means an incompetent person, or an over-indulgent mother, by the primâ facie evidence of her daughter's independent manners. Just such a young lady as Charlotte was "Mamma" herself in her day, and softened and modified as she has become in her matronhood, she has yet no fault to find with the bearing of her eldest hope. But uncontrolled as Charlotte seems, the reins of this household are in a firm and unhesitating hand. There is no sort of devotion to each other between this mother and daughter. Mrs Disbrowe is comparatively young herself, and has far too many personal objects in life to identify herself overmuch with her daughter; while Charlotte on her part sets up an unequivocal equality, and is not aware that she owes respect which is not looked for at her hands. With this easy amount of affection and indifference, they make a very good mother and daughter after their fashion; and the eyes of neither being much enlightened by the clearsightedness of love, Mrs Disbrowe finds no fault with Charlotte, and Charlotte is very well contented with "mamma."

It is Mr Disbrowe's profession to be a lawyer, and it is Mrs Disbrowe's profession to be Mr Disbrowe's wife. To this business she has been trained, and she discharges its duties most conscientiously. Also, this lady is too sensible not to be kind-hearted in a measure her servants are not oppressed, and her poor little nurserygoverness, putting feelings out of the question, has no great cause to tremble. Mrs Disbrowe's temper is moderately equable; her judgment is tolerably trustworthy-she would be shocked to find her daughter's room in extreme disorder, or her dress less hand

some than her companions'. Charlotte's mind, however, is her own affair-her mother does not find it necessary to take any supervision of that; but, notwithstanding, Mrs Disbrowe is a good mother, a good wife, the respectable mistress of a most respectable household. Thrift and economy are the Lares and Penates of Bedford Place. Mrs Disbrowe would rather be guilty of a small sin than be thought poor; but she would rather be thought poor than extravagant. True, she can be liberal with a good grace when occasion is, and even profuse when there is any end to be served by it, and is never mean nor parsimonious at any time; but in her heart of hearts Mrs Disbrowe is thrifty, and not only needs but loves all frugal arts.

"What is the use of speaking so much of Miss Francis?" said Mrs Disbrowe, when her visitors were gone. "I daresay she is not so young after all; so many people look younger than they really are;-I did, myself, before I was married."

"I suppose you must have been grown up when you were married, mamma," said Charlotte. "Such an idea!-it is not that she looks young -she looks a mere child!"

"Nevertheless, young ladies, I intend to try her," said the mother decisively. "You need not think I shall bear any nonsense, Minnie; however, Miss Francis is not your governess, she is only for the nursery. If she is a mere child, it is that foolish friend of yours, Charlotte, who is to blame. It is extremely provoking when one thinks of it-why did she undertake your commission at all? "

"So you are annoyed, mamma, after all!" exclaimed Charlotte. "I will not say a word now-only, why don't you send her home again?"

"Lottie," said the worldly mother, melting into the kindly woman, "it is not so sure that she has a home, poor little orphan child: I should not wonder if her aunt ill-treated her; at all events, I know she would rather starve than go back-she told me so. Ask Angelina who her aunt is, by the way, the next time you write; and this little girl is very modest and quiet, and I am pleased she does not undertake a great deal, and she wants no salary. She will be no expense to us, and no trouble. Yes, I shall give Miss Francis a fair trial."

"I wonder what is her Christian name," said Charlotte; "it looks so odd to call a child like this, Miss."

"There's a Z on her handkerchiefs," said Minnie" such a pretty one, worked in gold thread, with a little wreath round it; and when I asked her if she could do that, she said 'No,' and turned away her head, and I think she was near crying. You don't think she looks like a Jewess, do you, mamma? for I can't remember any name that begins with Z but Zillah, and that is a Jewish name."

"I think she told me her name was Elizabeth," said Mrs Disbrowe; "but you shall call her Miss Francis, Minnie, -do you hear? so it does not matter much to you what she is called at home. What are you going to do with that muslin, Charlotte?-you have only till Saturday, recollect; I expect everything to be ready then ; and your dress will not make itself, you may be certain."

"Well, I can't do it, mamma," said Charlotte, pouting; "there is always something to look after-one can't be in fifty places at the same time-and I want it so much too. Poor me, all my things are so useful! I have not a pretty morning-dress to come to breakfast in, and Edward likes me in pink-he told me so."

"Pink muslin looks pretty in November," said Mrs Disbrowe: "never mind, it must be made, I suppose. There, now, it is past time for visitors. Get all your things away before papa comes home. Quick-Minnie will help you: Mr Disbrowe thinks I am very foolish to indulge you so."

"And I think it's the greatest comfort in life," muttered Charlotte, with momentary ill-humour, as she carried

an armful of her pretty dresses to her own room, "that I don't need to care what papa thinks after a week is over. Well, to think after Tuesday I shall never need to consult any one, never ask anybody's permission, always do what I like myself-Minnie, don't you think it's delightful!"

"I daresay!" cried Miss Minnie, ironically; "Edward will make you do what he likes. Oh, I am sure you need not expect to have your own way as you had at home."

"If he thinks I shall do as he likes, he is mistaken," said Charlotte, reddening; "oh no, one doesn't get married for that. Be quiet, Minnie, I'll tell mamma of you. I saw Helen Maurice picking the braid off my dress, and you want to finish it, I think."

"I wish Helen Maurice may never get married," said the malicious Minnie; "how she does talk of it! Oh, listen, Charlotte; here's mamma."

But mamma passed by without entering, and happily closed the door upon herself in her own room.

66

In mamma's sensible mind a little controversy was waging. She was more annoyed than she chose to confess with the youthfulness of the newlyarrived governess. "People will think I cannot afford a better," said this prudent mother; but womanly pity and interest in the stranger had a strong ally and advocate in the leading principle of Mrs Disbrowe's life. "I do not doubt in the least she will be very careful with the children, and then so cheap! She will cost us nothing," was the more important observation which succeeded. "Of course, I will keep her in the nursery; and she is well-mannered, and looks something like a lady, though she is odd and oldfashioned. People will think she is some poor relation of our own, and I don't care if it should be said so. Yes, I will keep Miss Francis."

Mrs Disbrowe turned to her toilette. Her evening dress was quite as thrifty and well preserved as her morning one; and Charlotte's gloves and flowers cost as much in the year as her economical mamma's most expensive gowns. But this was from no foolish fondness or indulgence. The family ruler did nothing more than was necessary. The credit and "stand