terview with me, and settle the little matter confidentially talked over. How to receive a deputation I knew not. I remembered reading of a great statesman receiving a deputation on his staircase; but the stairs of Corcyra Villa are narrow and winding. I thought of the dining-room; but Mrs. Gummer insisted that the drawing-room was the proper place, for if the deputation were genteel quality they would have a right to the best room, and if they were not quality they would feel it more. Was I to sit or stand? Reference was made to a book of etiquette bought by Janet, but there was not a word about deputations. Mrs. Gummer thought it would be more consequential to sit. Janet had read a novel by Lady De Fludze, called "Julia Dashwood; or, the Duchess of Golconda," in which there is a grand account of being presented at Court, which tells how the Sovereign has to stand, and eats a bushel of native oysters, and drinks an imperial gallon of double stout to put in the requisite strength. Janet argued that what a monarch did, I might do without loss of dignity. Mrs. Gummer thought that the deputation should be shown in first, and that I should keep them waiting a few minutes, just to let them think that visitors did not flurry me, and that I was otherwise engaged. The girls thought it would be more taking if I were in the drawing-room, reclining on the couch, reading a book, and to start up suddenly, as though surprised at the visit. If I kept them waiting they might think I was taking an early dinner, or doing some other horribly vulgar thing. Then, were the deputation to sit or stand? Finally, we agreed they were to do as they liked, and that I was to follow their example.

TABLE TALK.

ARISTOCRACY is deserving of respect when it is accompanied by talent and high character. The most perfect reader of human nature told us that "a tree was known by its fruits," and so is noble blood known by noble thoughts and noble actions. No doubt, lately, the enmity of Radicals against aristocracy has been much increased by the spectacle of bankrupt peers; but it should be remembered that two or three black sheep are to be found in almost every fold.

date has the heart of the people, and we ought not too seriously to blame the working man who holds up his hand on the nomination day one way, and votes on the morrow the other. After the speeches on the nomination day the blood begins to cool down, and the poor elector thinks of his wife and children, and looks at the cupboard, which he feels may soon be in need of a replenishment that an imprudent vote may make difficult to accomplish; and so it comes to pass that, for a time, bread and butter is more powerful than conscience.

SOMETIMES TEARS are very beautiful things. For instance, when they come singly and at intervals, reminding one of the tolling of a minute bell. Their time of coming is generally evening-between twilight and dark. You must not ask for any explanation of these tears when you see them, even if they are in the eyes of your dearest friend. You may answer them with a gentle kiss and a corresponding tear, but no more. This kind of tears generally have reference to some event that has long passed, and left behind it a lasting and tender memory. I should think that when the minstrel wrote the song of "The Old Arm Chair," some of these rainbow drops fell on the manuscript.

GREAT TALKERS are never great thinkers, and this is why you so often find women so full of words. It seems at times as if people talked merely to give vent to the exuberance of their muscular fibres. Their manner and words remind one very much of the blowing of soap bubbles through a pipe. Properly, every word we speak ought to contain a thought, or some portion of one; but empty words are better than those charged with malice and slander.

IT IS SAID, by those who have seen the worst of men and women, that there always is some spark of good left in the most fallen ones; and this testimony teaches us that we should be ever on the look-out for the good in our fellow-creatures rather than the bad, so that we may be able to fan this lingering spark into a strength and proportion that shall consume the evil.

cognition of this truth. Once in England there was such a dread of wolves, that a premium was offered for the destruction of them; and it makes one think of the number of children growing up as savage and cunning as these animals.

THERE IS SOME hope for persons, however ignorant, when they are willing to learn; but what hope can there be for those who think their position in the universe to be that of permanent teachers, and draw out of their lap advice and authoritative opinions upon every subject under the sun? They remind one of the labels upon the boxes containing "Parr's Life Pills" and Dr. Rooke's "Cordial Balsam," which declare them to be a cure for every ill that flesh is heir to.

EVEN YOUR WIFE gets tired of you if you hang about the house too long; but how bright are her smiles of welcome after you have been absent three or four hours, especially if the time has been spent profitably! Your work has made you feel "home" new again. The only sure refuge against morbid fancies, hypochondria, foolish ideas about the end of the world, and Calvinism, are head and brain work of one kind or another; and the money which this work brings in is not worth as much as the satisfied feelings, the good conscience, and the quickened sense of life, which it also earns.

I HAVE SEEN the figure of a cross worked in red wool upon white surplices, and I have seen it hanging to a chain of jet on the necks of silly young ladies-candidates for matrimony; but I have also seen the cowardice and confusion of some of the wearers of these when a very little breath of keen wind comes upon them. This emblem is made by some to cover up habitual selfishness, and by others to display ridiculous

and false sentiment.

I RECOLLECT SOME years ago being surprised to find, in one of Mr. Kingsley's sermons, that he believed in "the possession of devils"-not in a figurative, but a literal sense. It was because I had always been accustomed to associate "a horn and tail" with the outer shape of these evil beings; but, getting rid of this vulgar error, I was enabled to perceive how nerves and brain fibre, inflamed by excessive drinking, or

other sins, could become devils, having a distinct individuality, leaping within a man, and tearing him, and crying out in him, as we read of them doing in the old time.

Beware of LONG "engagements." Even a first love will lose much of its rosy colour in twelve months. It will hold out for three or even seven years; but it is then only fit for the spiritual world, and marriage seems almost a weakness.

It

THE PROFESSION of a soldier, as a distinct and exclusive one, must cease to be, before we can hope for any permanent peace. you educate men to fight, you must provide them with an enemy. Sham fights and reviews are not a sufficient vent for the heat of military blood; and, perhaps, are more of the nature of a stimulant than of a moderator. It is easy to understand how, under the present military system, a soldier may come to regard the peace of his country as a personal deprivation and calamity.

I HAVE KNOWN both headache and biliousness cured by an hour's companionship with a cheerful, sympathetic friend; and it is probable that many of those wonderful cures of disease which we read of in the old time were brought about by what we should call the simplest causes and the simplest powers. There are persons whose society always makes me feel the weak places in my constitution, and there are others from whom I both in body and mind. rarely if ever part without feeling strengthened

IT IS MUCH better to be a postman than a collector of taxes, for one is always received first seems to go about with a quick, light with smiles, and the other with frowns. The step; whilst the second moves heavily and slow, as if he had a murder on his conscience. There is something petrifying about continual frowns; but the postman never meets with these. He is always welcomed at the door, though often the messenger of woe.

READY-MONEY MORTIBOY.-This Novel was commenced in No. 210, and can be obtained through all Booksellers, or by post, from the Office direct on receipt of stamps.

Terms of Subscription for ONCE A WEEK, free by post:-Weekly Numbers for Six Months, 5s. 5d.; Monthly Parts, 5s. 8d.

The authors of the articles in ONCE A WEEK riser ve to themselves the right of translation.

T was not very easy for Frank to get the picture round the turns of the narrow iron staircase, circular in form, which led from Mr. Burls's shop to the room above, which he called the gallery. In this room, Frank saw that there were a number of pictures hanging round the walls, and on several tall screens. They were of a better class than those in the shop. Mr. Burls led the way through the gallery to a narrow flight of stairs at the end. Mounting these, with the canvas on his shoulder, Frank found more rooms full of pictures, framed and unframed, in stacks that reached up to his chin.

On the floor above, a number of men were employed in gilding and repairing frames. Up one more flight of stairs, and they were on the attic floor, apparently the sanctum of Mr. Critchett, the restorer-for in a little back room were his easels and palettes, and his battered tubes of paint, and several short and very black clay pipes. "I find the materials," said Mr. Burls. "I've paid for all the paints and brushes, so I suppose they're mine."

"Certainly," said Frank.

"Now you can set to work on that Cuyp as you've carried upstairs; and then I shall see what you're up to, and whether you'll

suit me.

Price 2d.

If you aint got all the paints you want, come to me."

With this remark, Mr. Burls left Frank; and, pulling off his coat, set to work himself in the front room, a short description of which I gave at the beginning of my last chapter.

Left to himself, Frank looked about him. There was a good light, to the north; but when he stood upright anywhere in the room, his head nearly touched the ceiling.

The prospect from his window was limited almost entirely to tiles and chimney pots.

Pasted to the walls were a number of prints of the most celebrated characters of English history, which-as Frank rightly guessed-were used in the production of the genuine antique portraits which were founded upon them. Mr. Critchett had left a Queen Elizabeth, in a great starched ruff and jewelled stomacher, in an unfinished state on his easel.

The furniture of his atélier was by no means luxurious. It consisted of a caneseated chair, with three orthodox legs, and an old mahl stick for a fourth. A high rush hassock, tied on this chair, led Frank to suppose that his predecessor had been a short There were, besides, three easels, a fireplace with a black kettle on the hob, and several canvases some new, some oldin the corners; and this was all. Having made this short tour of inspection, Frank settled down at once to his work.

man.

He found it easy;-little patches of paint gone here and there all over the portrait; and he supplied these, carrying out, as well as he could interpret it, the design of the original painter.

Mr. Burls was constantly walking in and out of the room, and looking over his shoulder, and volunteering unnecessary pieces of advice.

At four o'clock he left off "chafing" his pictures, and looked in at Frank, smearing

VOL. IX.

NO. 221.

"There," said he, "I've done for to-day. I've chafed fifteen pictures: that's fifteen pound earned. I shall charge them a quid a-piece for doing 'em. I don't work for nothing, and I don't know anybody in the picture trade that does."

At six, he came up to Frank again, and looked at his work.

"That'll do, my lad—that'll do," and went away again.

This cheered Frank, and he worked as long as it was light, and walked home to his lodgings at Islington a happy man.

Next day he finished the job, and Mr. Burls passed judgment on his work. It was favourable to him; and he was duly installed in the place of Critchett, kicked out.

Frank wrote and told his sister and mother, staying at Llan-y-Fyddloes, that he had got regular employment that suited him very well, and that his prospects were brightening. He did this to cheer them, and to some extent he believed what he said.

"If," he wrote to Kate, "I can only earn enough to keep myself, and send something every week to you, by the work I am at, and still leave myself time for study and improvement, I am satisfied. Depend upon it, you shall see me in the catalogue at the Academy before long, No. 00001, 'Interior of a Studio,' by-" And here he drew a very fair likeness of himself by way of signature to his letter. He was clever at these penand-ink sketches.

He had said nothing to Kate about the amount of money he could earn at his new work, nor had he told her what it was exactly. His reason for the first was that he wrote his letter before he had settled terms with Mr. Burls; for the second, because he knew his mother would become hysterical at the bare idea of her son working for a living in any but the most gentlemanlike manner, such as society permits. Now, for his part, Frank saw nothing degrading in any honest labour, and was quite content to put up for a while with such humble occupation. "Hang it," he said, "I'd rather do it than sponge on somebody else."

But Kate guessed it was something rather beneath his dignity to do, he was so reserved.

His arrangement with the picture dealer I was in these terms:

chaps do."

Frank: "To be sure. I think I am tolerably straightforward, too, Mr. Burls. I hope so, at least."

Burls: "I don't know nothing about you, do I?"

Frank (reddening): "No."

Burls: "Well, I don't want to ask no questions, my lad."

The man's familiarity was disgusting. It was a fine lesson in self-command for Frank to make himself stomach it.

"You want work, and I'll give you some. You can work for me instead of old Critchett. I'm fair and straight with you. Some chaps would want you to work six months for nothing."

Frank: "I could not do that."

Burls, continuing: "I don't ask you. You shall have what Critchett had-that's a shillin' an hour; and handsome pay, too, I call it. I like to pay my chaps well. Regular work, too. You may work eight hours a-day if you like, and then you'll take eight and forty shillin' a-week, you know."

Mr. Burls appealed to his shopman to support his statement that Frank's predecessor often "took eight and forty a-week.”

The terms seemed fair; though the remuneration for restoring, which required artistic skill, seemed to Frank to bear no just proportion to the money to be got by cleaningfor Mr. Burls earned fifteen pounds before dinner at that, Frank recollected.

However, he could hardly expect to get more than Critchett had received before him; so he agreed to take a shilling an hour, and work regularly for Mr. Burls.

Burls: "Done, then, and settled. We don't want any character, do we, Jack? Pictures aint easy things to carry out of the shop, are they?"

Frank (very angry): "Sir!"

Burls: "No offence. Don't get angry. It was only a hint that we should not trouble you for references to your last employment. Rec'lect what I said about those hands. You've been brought up a gentleman, I dare say, but you're right not to starve your belly to feed your pride. Don't be angry with me. I'm straight and fair, I am. You'll find me that."

about three months. While there, he learned a great deal. Mr. Burls took a fancy to him, and soon came to stand a little in awe of him for he was educated and honest, and, in addition, plainly a gentleman. The dealer was very ignorant, and, from any point of view but that of his own class of traders, very dishonest-that is, he looked upon the public, his customers, as fair game; and would tell any lie, and any sequence of lies, to sell a spurious picture for and at the price of a genuine picture. The morals of commerce, in the hands of the Burlses, find their lowest ebb.

But, to some extent, their customers make them what they are. If a man who has money to spend on his house will have pictures for his walls, why not prefer a new picture to an old one? Why not an honest print before a dishonest canvas?

But it is always the reverse. He has a hundred pounds to lay out, and he wants ten pictures for the money-bargains-speculative pictures, with famous names to them, which he can comment on and enlarge upon, and point out the beauties of to his friends, until he actually comes to believe the daub he gave ten guineas for is a Turner; and the dealers can find him hundreds.

Why, the old masters must have painted pictures faster than they could nowadays print them, if a quarter of the things that are sold in their names were their true works. There are probably more pictures ascribed to any one famous old master now for sale in the various capitals of Europe, than he could have produced had he painted a complete work every day, from the day he was born till the day he died-and lived to be seventy, too.

Burls could find his customers anything they asked for. No painter so rare, so sought after, or so obscure, but there were some works of his, a bargain, in the dealer's stock. He told Frank his history:---

"My father wore a uniform: he was a park-keeper in Kensington-gardens. I went to school till I was thirteen, then I went out as an errand boy. My master was a dealer, in St. James's-street. I got to learn the gilding and cleaning; and when I was six-andtwenty, I earned two pounds a-week. Well, my father had an old friend, and he had had some money left him. He gave his son two hundred pound, and we went into business. His son died before we'd been

partners a year. I bought his share, and here I am. I shall die worth a hundred thousand pounds, Shipley"-(this was Frank's name at Mr. Burls's)-" and this business thrown in-mark my words."

This was his story, and it was true. Like all men who have risen from nothing, Mr. Burls was inordinately pleased with himself. He attributed to his great ability what really ought to have been put down to his great luck.

He would be a fine specimen for the "SelfHelp" collection in Samuel Smiles's silly book.

"Mind you," he often said to Frank, "there aint a man in ten thousand that could have done what I've done."

on.

Now, Burls's life, as I read it and as Frank read it, was simply an example of the power of luck. Serving under a kind master, who lets him learn his trade. Luck. Finding a man who wants to put his son into business, and is willing to trust him. Luck. Getting all to himself. Luck. His shop pulled down by the Board of Works, in order to widen a street. Compensation paid just when he wants money, at the end of his second year's trade. Luck. And so Look into every adventure he has made, luck crowned it with success. And how we all worship success that brings wealth! Why, weak Mrs. Melliship would rather have seen Frank succeed in making himself as rich as Dick Mortiboy, than that his name should have been handed down to endless centuries as the writer of a greater epic than Milton, or the painter of a greater picture than the greatest of Raphael's cartoons. Frank, on the other hand, never told all his story to his employer, but he was constrained to explain why he was in a position so different to that he had been brought up in. And he did it in a few words, and without any expression of complaint. of complaint. Burls only knew that his father had lost money by rash speculation, and had died, leaving Frank without resources. He did not inquire further, but remarked

"What aint in my business is in the Three per cent. Consols. Your father's ought to have been there."

Soon there came a very busy time at cleaning pictures, and Burls asked Frank to help him.

He found it a mighty simple matter, though it rubbed the skin off his fingers at first.