that, consequently, it had no true skull. In higher animals, however, the anterior portion of the spinal cord is rolled on itself, like the young frond of a fern, being expanded into a true brain. To adapt themselves to this development of the nerve centre, the vertebræ at the anterior extremity of the spinal column become modified, so as to form a true brain-caseor skull; a skull being nothing more than so many segments of the vertebral column continued round the brain. There is a cranium, because there is a brain; the vertebræ change, because the nervous centre changes. Thus in one way is the type modified; the modification being a higher rendering of the type, suited to the loftier, nobler sphere of the animal, and its more complex physical conditions. In the same way, the whole bony framework of the vertebratæ is nothing but a repetition of vertebræ more or less altered. The most complex skeleton is nothing else than a symmetrical arrangement of vertebrate rings, surrounding by their nerve arches the nervous axis, and by their blood arches the viscera. Limbs, even, are all arches freed from their guard over the viscera, and placed at the disposal of the nerves for locomotion, or in some cases rays or processes developed on the periphery of either a blood or nerve arch. Human limbs are free ribs. The upper limbs are cervical ribs, and when clasped together by the fingers, they form a complete cervical blood arch, devoid of viscera. The German physiologist who first propounded this theory started also the hypothesis, that when the arms embraced the heart of another, then only was a human being complete-some explanation, he thought, of the deep mystery of marriage. It certainly coincides with the Scripture statement, that in creating man in His own image, male and female God created him. But, reverting to the skull, it may be asked, what become of the blood arches of those vertebræ, the nerve arches of which form the brain case? They must be sought in the face. In the head, the visceral system is repeated, as much as the nervous, and there we must have blood arches, as well as nervous, however changed, and just as many; and the face is obviously to the cranium what chest and abdomen are to the spinal column. The stomach of the face is the mouth, and the lungs the nose-just as much as the spinal cord of the cranium is the brain; and as certain as the cranium consists only of altered nerve arches, so must the osseous foundation of the face consist only of altered blood arches. The whole skull, in fact, can be nothing more than a certain number of complete vertebral segments, metamorphosed past all finding out, albeit the reader may suppose. That the mouth is but a portion of the stomach is proved by the Proteus. This animal receives its nutriment indifferently at any portion of its surface-anywhere over its body with equal facility, it finds an extempore mouth, and rolls about at random through an extempore stomach, and intestinal canal. And that the face is formed of the blood arches of the vertebral segments of the head, and their contained viscera, &c., is clearly seen in the lancelet, the face of which consists merely of a longitudinal slit, the simplest expression of vertebrate countenance known. Earlier and later writers differ greatly as to the equivalents of the nerve and blood arches in the bones of the entire skull. They differ even on the material question of the number of complete vertebral segments the skull represents; and we believe that even to the present day, on points less important than the latter, our highest authorities would not pronounce positively. But this is inconsequential to the present general summary, which seeks merely to impress on the reader how ex necessitate rei the skull is no more than the anterior portion of the archetypal skeleton harmonised to a specific exigence under every diversity. Detail, indeed, is out of the question, on account of the technicalities it would force us to use. For this reason, and because the principle is, we deem, enforced thereby most vividly, we do not hesitate to illustrate it by an extract from the dogmatic parallel of the German philosopher already referred to, between the trunk and head. Says he "The upper jaw corresponds to the arms; the lower to the feet; the teeth being fingers and toes"! When the common sensa tion of nerve is modified so as to form such peculiar sensations as sight, hearing, smell, and taste, we are forced to grant that its osseous outworks must be modified correspondingly; and to see that this must be granted is all that is required to an understanding of the subject-matter of this paper. Yet, perhaps some slight anatomical knowledge will not be unacceptable to those who would have a deeper insight into it. In the dorsal vertebræ of man we only see complete vertebral segments, nerve and visceral (ribs) arches; but, that the vertebræ of the neck and loins are only varied proportionals of an archetype also common with those of the back, is seen in the fact that the pelican, and snakes and serpents, develope ribs from the vertebræ corresponding with those of the neck in man; and the swan, and most reptiles, from those corresponding with those of the human loins. In man, indeed, the anterior portion of the transverse processes of the vertebræ of the neck, and the bones and certain cartilages of the throat, and the collar bones, correspond with ribs ; and even that soldered mass of bones, the human sacrum, on analysis, is found to present in a rudimentary state all the portions of a complete vertebral segment. Turning to the head, by minute analysis we can also discover that it contains all the elements of six complete vertebral segments, developed proportionally with the development of the nervous centre their essential end is to protect. In the lower portion of the occiput we have the first cranial nerve arch, a long style-like process from it, and one of the little bones at the top of the throat being its ribs ; in its upper portion, and in the bones of the ear, we have the second entire vertebral segment; the third is represented by a portion of the temporal bones, the parietals, and the lower jaw; the fourth by the winged bone at the base of the skull, and the upper jaw; and the fifth and sixth by a number of small bones connected with the nose, palate, and eyes. These, and a number of other correlative facts, warrant, then, the conclusions come to by the most advanced transcendental physiologists of the day-1st, that all the bones of all classes and species of vertebrate animals are only as the variable proportionals of archetypal vertebral segments such as we have mentioned; and 2nd, that specific difference throughout the animal world is none other than proportional variety;—in a sentence, birds, beasts, fishes, reptiles, and man, are but variations of a fundamental archetype, and, as animals, there is no radical distinction between them. But do not mistake us, kindly reader : in asserting the absolute relationship of the integers of the entire vertebrate creation, we do not mean that they are all merely higher and lower products from one original entity; the likeness between them being, in our opinion (to quote second-hand from Aristotle), not according to excess and defect, but according to analogy. All vertebrate organisms, while but mere varieties of one archetype, we hold to be reciprocally specific, and infinitely apart from one another; albeit the advocates of progressive development and transmutation may support, by the most undoubted logic, what no man of common sense will ever accept. But of this anon. CHOWRINGHEE; OR THE RAYMOND FAMILY. A TALE OF CALCUTTA LIFE. BY HARTLEY HALL. CHAPTER II. "Court Lady Kean sits in judgment in a Martial."-Dum-Dum grows facetious— and for some reason or other Miss Raymond becomes inclined for equestrianism; but momentous events interfere. THE time had come in Miss Raymond's life -as it did in Oliver Goldsmith's, but from different causes-when she could not sleep. A new vista in the shrubbery of life had opened before her. Daily events wore a different aspect; thoughts, and reveries, and musings, some doubts and some fears, entered her mind, where hitherto they had never dared intrude. They were more fresh and weighty, inasmuch as they had never With the exambefore been dreamed of. ple of Lady Hester Kean for ever in sight, Emily Raymond had escaped those secret affectations which her aunt categorised as frivolities. None of the host of young and handsome officers who had visited the Colonel's house at one time or another had ever for one moment led Emily Raymond to imagine them serious in their attentions; but the ice was broken at last, and Emily's heart was full of Lieutenant Parkes. There was nothing very handsome about him, but there was something very earnest when his theme was love. He had spoken feelingly, freely, passionately, of his real sentiments; had despaired at the outset, but gained hope in the campaign; had become as much enamoured of her as she was of him -identifying her with the thoughts and actions of his every-day life-linking her with the future,-in fact, living wholly and solely for her. His brother officers had soon discovered the secret, and Dum-Dum became unbearable. They lost no chance of speaking of Chowringhee, of Emily as a Christian name, of the glorious game of chess," of interfering aunts, and of the luxurious Nell Gwynne. 66 Three days after the occurrence of the events mentioned in the first chapter, Lieutenant Parkes drove in to Calcutta, and into the compound of No.-, Chowringhee. He was flurried and excited. It was perfectly evident that he was not an ordinary morning visitant, bent on the objects of an ordinary morning call; and when his syce asked him a question upon his throwing the 'reins up, the master made no reply. He bade the bearer take his card up, while he himself moved about in the hall fitfully, until he was ushered into the drawing-room. Emily and Lady Kean were there. The latter was somewhat frigid in her reception of the visitor, but not sufficiently so to denote ill-breeding. Emily blushed deeply, and did not raise her eyes to look at the lieutenant. He and Lady Kean exchanged some common-place remarks, and then the lady, having arranged her hands upon her lap to her satisfaction, gave utterance to the following: "You are possibly aware, Mr. Parkes, that my niece possesses no secrets which I do not share in common with her. It is a matter of great comfort to me that such is the case, when I consider the dangerous age to which Miss Raymond has now attained. She is old enough to be exposed to matrimonial overtures, but not old enough to encourage them." "It is well to be first in the field," said Mr. Parkes. The aunt, without noticing the interruption, proceeded: "The late lamented Lady Raymond-the image of her daughter when of a similar age-was not exempt from these overtures, and they became to her mere persecutions. It was a subject of great pain to all the Jolliffe family, myself amongst the number; but we were enabled after a time to guard my lamented sister against them. When she married the present Colonel Raymond, he was then a Cap tain. Whether his position was equal to hers, decorum bids me refuse to say; but the union, though never a very settled one, was not an unhappy one. She died, and I feel myself placed in the position of Emily's guardian, more particurlarly when Colonel Raymond is absent. Acknowledging my claim to that position, my niece has confessed to me that you have made her an offer of marriage. Now, to mislead you, Mr. Parkes, in order to spare your feelings, would be a very false charity; and I consequently take this first chance of speaking to you upon the matter: you must relinquish your hopes, Mr. Parkes." "But, my dear Lady Kean"I will explain, Mr. Parkes." "Are you speaking Miss Raymond's mind?" "Listen to me," continued the aunt: "you will not misinterpret my meaning, or my motives; but I must candidly confess, that I do not consider your present position justifies your aspiring to the hand of Miss Raymond." "It is a progressive one," said the officer. "It is, I grant you; but the progression is slow ;-I have heard you remark so yourself. Even in India, promotions of any solid value come late in life. For an instance of this, I need not go further than Lady Raymond's husband, and he would now only have held a brevet rank but for the influence of the Jolliffe family." "I am not without influence, nor am I alone in the world, Lady Kean." 66 'I think, Mr. Parkes, that if you re-consider the step you have taken, you may very possibly come round to my way of thinking." The party addressed shook his head sorrowfully, but made no reply to this improbable conjecture. He was not a fool; he knew that Lady Kean's delicately spoken tirade meant, in plain English-" Miss Raymond is a catch,' and we can get a higher bidder than you without any trouble, Mr. Parkes"! 6 But the suppliant for Emily's love was not cursed with a faint heart; and after the first surprise he naturally experienced at Lady Kean's mentioning the subject to him at all, he listened quietly, as one listens to a doleful bell. Lady Kean, however, gave him an opportunity of being alone with Emily for a short time, but he could not say whether she did it purposely, or the reverse. As soon as she retired from the room, Mr. Parkes went up to Emily, and taking her hand, seated himself on the couch beside her. "Am I to believe, Miss Raymond, that what I have just heard meets with your sanction and approval ?" he asked, with deep earnestness. She looked into his face and smiled. "Has anything of an unfavourable na intend opposing your aunt's "Oh, Mr. Parkes, spare me these questions I scarcely know what I intend doing -I scarcely know what I wish. I do not wish to be cruel." The lieutenant raised his companion's hand to his lips, but timidly, for he expected she would not permit him even to do that. He felt that he was making ground safely. Lady Kean's notions are those we often read about, Miss Raymond; they are not those of practical life." "I think them very practical," said Emily, half murmuringly, but with the utmost innocence. There was a short pause, and then Parkes remarked slowly-"I wish to ask you two favours, Miss Raymond: firstly, if I may write to your father at once, and state in a plain and unmistakeable manner all my hopes and wishes?—and secondly, may I ask you to accede to Lady Kean's wishes regarding equestrian exercise? If you consent to the former, I will not visit at your house until I receive the Colonel's reply; and if you consent to the latter, I can often meet you on the Course. By doing this, I will not incur the displeasure of Lady Kean, who, whatever may be her fallacies, has still such a powerful control over your father, that it would be madness to thwart her commands openly. Will you consent ?", There was no doubting the honesty of the appeal, and the reply Emily Raymond gave was in the affirmative. He bade her an affectionate adieu, and hurried home. The first person he met at Dum-Dum was Captain S- of his own regiment, who exclaimed "Hollo! Parkes, there's a friend of yours going to be married !" "Yes!-who do you mean ?" "That little Miss Raymond !". "It's very likely such a fascinating girl won't be single long !" replied Parkes. "You're right, my friend, and I hear it's to a red coat!" "Let her conduct therefore be uniform," said Archer, of the ―th cavalry, then stationed at Dum-Dum; and who, clapping his hand on Parkes's shoulder, continued, "the pretty young things go off sharp, don't they? You'll have to be readier in 'popping' the next time; for there is a rumour afloat in this neighbourhood, that you were waiting to step into the waters when they were troubled, but that somebody stepped in before you! Never mind, Parkes; better luck next time!" "Oh! I say"-and the sayer was a fellow "MY DEAR COLONEL RAYMOND,-I assure you that I find it no light task to write this letter to you. In whatever spirit you may receive it, you will, I hope, absolve me from all the guilt of impertinence which may apparently attach itself to the act. To state the reason of my urging this would be superTo be fluous, my letter fully explains itself. another, I have fallen in love with your brief-as becomes one soldier's dealings with daughter, Miss Emily. During the last few months, I have had many opportunities of judging of not estimating-qualities in her which are inestimable, and trivial circumstances lead me to believe that Miss Raymond would not be unfavourable to my suit, if you were induced, as her father, to lend your sanction to it. You are acquainted with my father, Admiral Parkes, and you are not unacquainted with some of the points in my own career. From them you can judge to a great extent of my character. As regards my present means, they are limited for India. They amount to about six hundred per annum, including my pay. I am heir to my father's property, and to a portion of my mother's, the two amounting to about eighteen hundred per annum. This, your sister-inlaw, Lady Kean, is not at present aware of; and, possibly, is the more inclined, from that reason, to discourage my hopes. I have no wish to be precipitate in my plans or actions, but the very opposite; in short, I am ready to wait any time you may think fit, in reason, to propose. And now, my dear Colonel, I have no more to say. I submit my appeal to you with many doubts and misgivings, and shall await your reply with great impatience. -Believe me to be, &c., "GEORGE HOMER PARKES." There is very little variety in Calcutta life: chota haziree, burra haziree, business, perhaps tiffin, a bath, the Course, khana, a cheroot, and bed-and you have done the cycle of the ordinary current of existence in the City of Palaces. So, on the evening of the day upon which Lady Kean spoke of matrimony to Parkes, she and Emily went on to the Course in the old baronche. There were the same people, the same horses, the same nods and smiles, the same busy scene-nothing was changed but the bonnet of Mrs. Gervase: It had been five times changed since last we took her name in vain. The sun set, and the moon rose, precisely as they had risen and set five nights before. "Really," observed Lady Kean to Emily, "what an excellent horsewoman Miss Richmond is becoming. I would give anything if you could ride like her. Look, her horse is too fresh, but her hand is steady, very steady; really she has greatly improved." And all eyes were fixed on Miss Richmond's steed, which had performed an unnecessary evolution into the centre of the drive, much to the rider's discomfiture, and that of the native coachmen; but she controlled the animal, and did it gracefully. "Would it take a long time to become as perfect as she ?" inquired Emily of Lady Kean. "I "Not if you really were assiduous." "Well then, I positively will begin tomorrow," pledged Emily, glad that her aunt had spoked so à propos to her wishes. will have Snowdrop ready early in the morning, if will you accompany me." "You know I will be only too glad to do so, my love," was the rejoinder. This little business being settled, Miss Raymond dropped into a reverie, in which her lieutenant figured conspicuously; and then Mr. St. Albans rode up to the carriage. He had his customs, like Hamlet's uncle, and this was one of them. Men have loved women since Eve's fruit-festival, when she and her husband-happy pair!-ate of the apple of discord; but no man ever loved a woman more thoroughly or more blindly than did St. Albans, Emily Raymond. The time when the Hellespont was crossed "in love" by Leander faded into insignificance. That night Mr. St. Albans again visited No. Chowringhee. They had songs instead of chess. It was painful to see the way in which he hung enraptured on Miss Raymond's somewhat weak but melodious voice. He could easily have been induced to die for her, if there had been a distinct understanding that she was to be his exclusively after death. He would have insisted upon her being his, and his only, even in those realms where there is no giving in marriage. He loved her beyond the power of language to express; he hated Parkes beyond the power of language to describe. Miss Raymond had finished a song relating to the swallows homeward flying, VOL. I.-15 when Mr. St. Albans observed--at the same time unfolding a roll of paper "I have a song here, in which you are so accurately described in the last verse, that I have actually learnt it during the last two nights, much to the dissatisfaction of my fellow-lodgers; and as you want me to sing-you have a good claim I confess—you shall have this one." "Your own composition, I presume ?" 66 You do not give me credit for having the brains to commit such a guilt—do you, Miss Raymond ?" "Oh! there is not much talent needed writes now-a-days. Every young man something; but we know you are addicted to the habit of versifying-let us have the song!" The embryo civil servant did as he was requested. His voice was rich and mellow; his eye betokened the gift of music, and he sang with considerable power and sweetness the song which he had christened, interrogatively- But there are hearts, whose innermost core Teem with the wealth of affection's store; Which, whether they throb in maid or wife, Born to cheer the sinking heart— With their own life-blood ready to part: Miss Raymond and-what is more-Lady Kean, expressed themselves very much pleased with the song; and the bashful poet was recompensed. Lady Kean must indeed have thought well of the rhyme, and the way in which it was sung; for she became quite talkative to Mr. St. Albans, and smiled most complacently upon him. It was more comfortable in that room than in the open streets. At the close of "drive time," dark leaden clouds had gathered over the midaun, and a cold chill fell on the atmosphere. Every buggy and barouche was stopped while the syces put the hoods up; then the horses were permit. ted to scour home at a furious pace, here and there driven recklessly. Lieutenant Parkes |