which Mistress Kate enclosed for him to read, but which he never, on one single occasion, sent back in his next, as Kate invariably desired him to do? But Frank knew, though the money would not be spent, it would cheer his mother—and, for the matter of that, Kate too. They would have the strongest possible proof that he was getting on in the world. He had more than he wanted for himself, and could contribute to their support; and he wrote very flourishing accounts of how he was selling his works, and Kate would perceive how necessary it was for him to see Hampstead, and Highgate, and Richmond, and other of those charming suburbs of London, to fill his sketch-book with pretty bits; so she was to consider him a gipsy student of art, now camping here, now there, not tied to any spot above a week or so, roaming at his royal pleasure in search of the Picturesque. And so letters to him, to avoid delays, had better be addressed to a certain central postoffice, for Francis Melliship, Esquire, till called for; and as he was in London very often, he would always call when he expected a letter from her or from his mother, and they were the only people he wrote to now. Not one word of the drudgery in Buris's manufactory of the sham antique; not one word of the dingy lodging in the back street; not one word of the groans of the lover's heart at the hopeless distance that still lay between Frank Melliship and Grace Heathcote.

In his letters, all was rose-coloured. "Do you know, I really think Frank will do well, Kate," Mrs. Melliship said. "It is plain he is getting on with his pictures. I wish he had not so much boyish pride."

"Mamma, Frank is independent. He relies on himself, as a man should. I admire him for it."

"Well, my dear, I never heard of an artist that was what I call well off who wasn't an R.A. Who was that R.A. your father used to invite to stay with us?-the man that used to stop the carriage while he sketched things-dear me, I know it quite well! And when Frank could be an R.A., if he could get on as fast as possible, I don't really quite know-though it must be some years, of course. But he is certainly doing well, for he has sent us ten pounds twice within a month. No, I am wrong— five weeks. He is a dear, good boy; and I feel our misfortune more for him, Kate,

than for you and me. Oh, dear! they all know it wasn't your poor father's fault at all; and I'm sure John Heathcote, besides many others I could mention, would do anything in the world for Frank. I suppose, poor boy, he has set his heart on Grace?"

"Yes," said Kate, demurely.

"Well, I always loved Grace and Lucy very much, and I could treat her as a daughter, and I should like to see Frank married and happy. I've heard your poor father say very often that John Heathcote could settle a handsome sum on his daughters when they married; and Kate, my dear, I think we ought to know Frank's address in London, and give it to friends who want to help him, and are always writing to me about it. A letter left at a post-office always reminds me so of Florence, where I was so miserable, because my dear mother died there; and we did not always get the letters that we had no reasonable doubt were posted to uslong before I married your poor father, Kate."

"Yes, mamma," Kate said, mechanically.

Her mother would run on for an hour, from subject to subject; and Kate often was thinking of something else, and only spoke when her mother came to a stop. Mrs. Melliship proceeded

"I certainly like this village, though the name, and, for the matter of that, the people are very outlandish; and I should not care to go back to Market Basing, Kate, unless I could have my carriage. We used to visit. people such a distance in the country, and we could not well do it without a carriage."

"Oh, don't let us go back to Market Basing, mamma. I like Wales so much."

"Well, my dear, I shall live wherever you wish me to, for I may say I live now entirely for you and Frank."

Here the simple lady took out her handkerchief, and shed a few tears—a termination to her speeches more common than not.

Then the two women kissed and comforted each other; and Kate found a book to amuse her mother.

Frank was in the habit of working an hour or two by gaslight of an evening, with pencil or crayons; but he was rather disgusted with art that night, and looked round his little sitting-room in a gloomy mood.

"Ah!" he said, "if people who must have pictures for their houses would only buy an

honest new picture instead of a spurious old one, artists might live. After all, the worst of our works are better than what they do buy: they are what they appear. Why not go to the exhibitions, and buy some of the unsold pictures there? Or come to a fellow's place? We're poor enough to be modest in our charges. But they will have real Old Masters at ten pounds a-piece; and there the dealers beat us. Art! There is no feeling for art in England-no desire to encourage artists of any kind. They're only a lowish sort of fellows. And then the beggars must go to dealers to buy their ancestors!"

He laughed savagely, and stuck the end of his brush through a half-finished sketch on paper.

"I wonder who'll paint Burls's genuine old pictures now; and dodge up the rubbish from the sales, and clean, and tone, and line, and varnish, and crack? What humbug it all is!"

There was a knock at his door, and his landlady's grubby little daughter gave him a note written on a sheet of paper, and enclosed in an envelope she had ten minutes before sent the young lady out to purchase for a halfpenny at the shop round the

corner.

The corner bore the family impress-a dirty finger and thumb they put on everything they touched.

Frank laughed. He never could be surly with a child in his life.

"Tell your mother I'll see her before I go out in the morning."

He owed two pounds four and sixpence for rent and commodities supplied, and he had only sixteen and sixpence to pay it with; which, under all the circumstances of the case, was awkward.

What wonders a good night's rest will effect!

In the morning, Frank paid his landlady ten shillings on account, listened to her impertinence without a reply, and quietly told her to let his lodgings, and keep his port manteau for security till he paid her. He He should not come back again, except to fetch away his things.

He had dressed himself in a new suit of clothes he had ordered on the strength of his successful manufacture of Old Cromes and other masters. Nothing could make Frank look other than a gentleman; but today he looked quite like his old self of six months ago.. He was not at all miserable;

on the contrary, he felt quite happy and cheerful.

To be sure, it was a bright day—not too warm-when merely to breathe is a pleasure, even if you are a convict in Portland. Besides, he was free from a drudgery at which his soul had always revolted.

"But what next?" he asked himself. "Anyhow, I've done with painting. No more oils for me."

Passing a pawnbroker's as he spoke, he went in, for the first time in his life, and asked how much the man would advance on his watch and chain. He thanked the man for his information, and left the shop with his watch in his pocket.

"By Jove!" he said, "here's a new source of wealth. I can pawn everything by degrees."

Then he strolled westwards.

The omnibuses had blue and white posters on them-"To Lord's Cricket Ground."

"Why, it's the Oxford and Cambridge match to-day."

Without stopping to think twice, he jumped on an omnibus.

"Why shouldn't I go? I can stick myself somewhere out of sight. I wonder how many of our Eleven I know."

He counted them on his fingers. He wanted to see and yet not be seen.

Just as he was getting off the seat he had occupied by the driver's side, a carriage passed by. Lord Launton was in it, with the countess and two other ladies.

Frank saw the danger he should run of seeing a number of old and inquisitive acquaintances.

He hesitated a moment in the dusty road. "No-it's nothing to me. I've no interest in it now. I won't go in. Besides, it's half-a-crown, I think." He took the footway, and set his face towards Regent's Park.

He had not walked a dozen steps when an immense hand and arm were linked in his. his. He felt a friendly pull towards some. great figure; and, looking up, was astonished beyond measure to see himself arm-in-arm with his cousin, Dick Mortiboy.

"After all, I've got no quarrel with Dick," he thought; and his face cleared, and he returned his cousin's salute.

Dick Mortiboy was accompanied by a thin, pale-faced man, slight and foreign looking.

"Lafleur-my cousin Frank," said Dick, introducing him.

"Fool of an Englishman," thought Lafleur, staring at Frank's bright, handsome face. "I leave you with your cousin. The cricket is not a game I care to waste time over," said he, softly. "We shall meet to-morrow, Dick. You will let me go now."

"To-morrow, at eleven. My old partner, Frank. Many is the jovial day we have had together."

"I don't like his looks."

"Insular prejudice, my cousin. Why have you never sent me your address, as you promised? Do you not know what has happened? The governor has got a stroke, and I've got all the money. We've all been trying to find you out. And here you are. I

sha'n't let you go again in a hurry, I promise you."

He looked Frank up and down. "You're quite a swell. Come on in." Dick paid for two at the gate, and they were on the ground.

Dick watched the match with great earnestness. He was a splendid hand at games of skill himself. He knew nobody, nobody knew him. But his height, his splendid beard and brown face, and a dress a compromise between English fashion and Californian ease, attracted observation. He only wanted people to bet with on the match to make him happy.

Frank saw lots of old friends.
They asked him his address.

"Only in town for a few days," he said, with an airy laugh.

It was like a burst of sunshine, after the wretched time of the last few months, to find men who were glad to shake hands with him.

Frank tried to laugh; but his mirth was rather a hollow thing.

"I'm well, you see, Evelyn. That is, I'm not starving yet. But there's no money, and I'm still in a parenthetical stage of life.

"You know my address, Frank-give me yours. Let me help you, for old times' sake."

"Thank you, my dear Evelyn. It's like you to make the offer. Good-bye. I'll give you an address-when I've got one."

He left him, and walked quickly away on Dick's arm. He could not bear to let anybody help him with money. And yet Evelyn was longing to give his old friend help.

What is there in this word money, that I may neither give it nor take it? Why should I be degraded if a man slips a sovereign in my hand? Sovereigns are not plentiful. I should like the money. I am not degraded if a man leaves me a legacy of many sovereigns.

"Come," said Dick Mortiboy to Frank, when they had got out of their Hansom in Piccadilly, "you are not engaged to-night. Come and dine with me. After dinner we will talk. I hate talking before. Let us have a game at billiards first."

He led the way to a public room near Jermyn-street. There were two or three men idly knocking the balls about. Dick took up a cue and made a stroke, missing it. "Will you play fifty or a hundred up, Frank?"

"I play very badly. I am quite out of practice."

"Well, let it be fifty then," said Dick. The room was one of bad repute. It was frequented by sharpers. There were three in the room-of course, perfect strangers to

came.

"Frank, by gad!" cried the man, running down the steps. "Shake hands, old fellow. And how are you? And what are you doing? Tell me you've got over your troubles. I heard all about it."

Dick Mortiboy didn't know the character of the room he was in, and didn't care. He could give an account of himself anywhere. For his part, Frank had not played a game at billiards since he left Market Basing.

He was not amusement for Dick, for he played like a man wholly out of practice.

The gentlemen in the room became interested in the first fifty up between Dick and Frank, and one bet another a wager of half-a-crown on the result.

Dick won, and the loser offered to bet

again, if the tall gentleman gave the other points. Dick did give points. The manwhom the marker called "Captain"-then offered to bet Dick Mortiboy half-a-crown his friend beat him. Dick took the bet, won it, and pocketed the half-crown. He was going to play another game with Frank, but was stopped by the marker.

"This is a public table, sir. Two fifty games, or one hundred, between the same players; then another gentleman has the table, if he likes to take it."

Dick was a little annoyed, but gave way. "Should you like to play a game, sir?" said the marker to the man he had called Captain.

The fellow was a seedy swell, in clothes that had been fast twelve months ago, but now were well worn. His hat and boots showed signs of poverty.

"I should; but I don't wish to prevent these gentlemen from playing, I'm sure. I'll give way; but, really, I can't stay many minutes."

The Captain played badly: so did Dick.
Both were playing dark.
"Twenty all" was called.

"Shall we have a crown on, sir, to 'liven the game?" said the stranger.

generally about a dozen. His bets amounted to nearly twenty pounds with the three men. Up to sixty he had played in a slovenly manner. At that point he took up his cue, and scored out in two breaks.

His play was superb. He was within a few points in a hundred of the best professional form. One of the men was going to

leave the room. Dick called him back, and promised to finish the game in three minutes, and did it.

He asked the Captain if he would like another game?

"Not with a professional sharp. Though who you are, I don't know."

"You'll pay up then, gentlemen?" asked

Dick.

One of the other men whispered the Captain.

"My friend suggests that it would be well if you were to give your name, sir. It is not usual to see men play in your fashion. You have sharped us, sir-sharped us. Give us your name and address-we are not going to part."

"Now, Captain," said Dick, "you've been licked, and licked easy. You may take it fighting, or you may take it quiet. Which shall it be?"

"Come on, Tom, don't let him bustle us out of it," said the Captain. "I'll take it fighting."

There were four altogether, with the marker. They made a rush on Dick. Frank,

"I don't often play for a sovereign a game," said the Captain; "but I don't mind doing it for once."

When Spot (the stranger) was forty, Plain (Dick) was only thirty-five.

"Make it a hundred up, sir, and have another sov on," said Spot. "Done," said Plain.

Dick had bets, too, with the other two strangers and the marker.

At the end of the game, he had four pounds five shillings to pay.

Frank spoke his suspicions, in a low tone, before this game was finished.

Dick said he had seen they were common sharpers from the moment he entered the

flank, while Dick received them in front.

They had not the ghost of a chance. It was a mere affair of fists-a sort of light skirmish, which warmed up Dick's blood, and made him rejoice once more, like a Berserker, in the battle. And, after three minutes, the four fell back, and the cousins stood, with their backs against the wall, laughing.

"And now," said Dick, "open the door, Frank."

He stepped forward, seized the marker, who was foremost, by the coat-collar, and bore him swiftly to the door-the others not interfering. There was a great crash of breaking bannisters. The marker had been thrown down the stairs.

"Don't let us fight with servants," said Dick. "Let us have it out like gentlemen. Now then, Captain, we're all ready again."

"Let us go," said the Captain, with a pale face, handing Dick the money. "You have

sharped and bustled us, and you want to bully us."

"You shall go when you have apologized to me, Captain, not before. You other two, get out."

He looked so fierce, and was undoubtedly so heavy about the fist, that the other two, taking their hats, departed swiftly, with such dignity as their wounds allowed.

'Now, Captain, let us two have a little explanation. I like rooking the rooks. I go about doing it. Beg my pardon, sir, or I'll spoil your play, too, for a month of Sundays." He seized the poor billiard player by the collar, and shook him as if he had been a child.

"You may do what you like," said the man. "You have got every farthing I have in the world, and my little child's ill; but I'm if I beg your pardon." "Dick, Dick," said Frank, "give him back his money."

But at the sight of the man's misery, Dick's wrath had suddenly vanished.

"Poor devil!" he said. "I've had some bad times myself, mate, out in the States. Look here-here's your money, and something for the little one. And I say, Captain, if you see me drawing the rooks anywhere else, don't blow on me. Good-bye. Come, Frank, let us go and dine. What a good thing a scrimmage is to give one an appetite. I do like a regular British row," said Dick, with a sigh. "And one so seldom gets one. Now, over the water, somebody always lets fly a Deringer, or pulls out a bowie, and then the fun's spoiled. You've got a clean style, Frank-very clean and finished. I thought we were in for it when I saw the place. So I went on. I was determined you should enjoy yourself thoroughly, old boy."

They had dinner, and talked. Dick's talk was all the same thing. It said—

"Take my money. Let me help you. Let me give. I am rich. I like to give."

And Frank, with a proud air, put him off, and made him talk of anything but him and his affairs.

IN

FEMALE MAN.

they embroidered, they presided at tournaments, and they were the family doctors. They knew the virtues of those simple herbs which they gathered in the garden and the fields; from these they concocted plasters and poultices for bruises and hurts, which must have been common enough in those days. Nicolette-in the old French novel-handles Aucassin's shoulder till she gets the joint into its proper place again, when she applies a poultice of soothing herbs. For medical purposes-perhaps also for a secret means of warming their hearts when they grew oldthey brewed strong waters out of many a flower and fruit. All the winter long-when there was little fighting, and therefore few disorders, save those due to too much or too little feeding-they stayed in the castle and studied the art of healing. With the spring came dances, hawking, garland making, sitting in the sunshine and under the shade, while the minstrels sang them ditties, and the knights made love, and preparations were made for the next tournament.

Here, it seems, was a fair and equitable distribution of labour. Both man and woman had to work. Why not? Man fought, tilled, traded. Woman spun, kept house, and healed. Surgical operations, if any were required, were conducted in the handiest and simplest method possible—with the axe; as when Leopold of Austria had his leg amputated at a single blow, and died from loss of blood.

There came a time when the art of healing passed into men's hands. Then women had one occupation the less. They made up for this at first by becoming scholars. Everybody knows about the scholarship of Lady Jane Grey and Queen Elizabeth. The ladies of the sixteenth century read everything and knew everything. Then, too, under the auspices of Madame de Rambouillet, was born modern society. Learning went out of fashion as social amusements developed. Then women substituted play for work, and made amusement their occupation. The arts of housewifery vanished with that of healing. The occupations of embroidery and spinning disappeared with that of study. In the eighteenth century, woman was either a fine lady or a household servant. If the former, she gambled, dressed, received, and went out. If the latter, she cooked and washed, and tended the children. Of course, the women of the last century accepted, patiently enough, the rôle thrust