executed; and was, in the artist's opinion, the superior of the original in every respect save one. That single defect, oddly enough, was in the portraiture of the young man himself. He could not say exactly where the fault lay; nay, comparing the face on the canvas with his own reflection in the mirror, he could not but acknowledge it a truer copy of his actual self. Nevertheless, something was wrong. At times, he fancied that it appeared almost common-place beside the inspired features of his first creation.

Its technical merits as a work of art were, however, so great, that he feared to injure it by any attempt at alteration; and the excellence of the other two faces of the group was so undeniable that he had no misgiving lest the picture should not meet with his patron's approval. Accordingly he despatched him a neat missive, written on ribbed and stamped notepaper, requesting the honour of a call from him and Fannie to inspect the new work. The invitation was promptly responded to.

The Doctor took his seat in the critic's chair with an aspect of genial affability; but before he had scrutinised the picture three minutes, it became evident that something was not quite right. Had he also discovered that changed, hardened look in the portrait of the youth?

"My dear Edward," he said at last, folding his arms and casting up his eyebrows, "is there notthe picture, let me say, is in all other respects admirable, and indeed almost above criticism-but is there not, think you, a considerable-er-deterioration, shall I say? in the expression of the sage in the background. Methinks there is less of lofty philosophic repose, and more of a certain crafty dis

simulation, observable in the copied than in the original countenance. What say you, Francesca darling? Do you not agree with me, my pet ?"

"

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Why, it seems to me, Guardie dear," replied that young lady, who, after staring a while at the canvas, had turned away with a toss of her little head and an impatient movement of her graceful shoulders, it seems to me that your portrait and Edward's are perfect images! But I think it's very unkind of him to have made such a looking thing of me. I'm sure the old one was a great deal better. He's made me look as though I cared a great deal more for my earrings and my pearl necklace, than for the-the

She stopped and pouted her pretty lip: it was too much to expect that she should complete so complicated a sentence. But enough had been said, both by the Doctor and by her, to prove to Edward's satisfaction that the best people in the world might be very unintelligent critics of a work of art. He forebore, however, to give utterance to his conclusion: men with an eye to business know that the truth is not to be spoken out at all times. His self-control had its reward.

The Doctor, after a while, took out his velvet-backed and goldmounted purse, which looked like a kind of pecuniary prayer-book. Opening it, he produced a cheque, signed and crossed, and handed it over to the artist with a smile. Edward flushed as he took it; it was for a thousand pounds sterling.

"You can pay it into my bankers' whenever you like, and open an account with them. Allow me to congratulate you on having become a man of capital. And now, how about congratulations on another matter? Is your

ambition satisfied? Are you ready

to begin the world as Benedict the married man ?"

There was a pause; the cheque for a thousand pounds rustled in Edward's fingers as he twisted it thoughtfully about. He glanced at Fannie, but there was no initiative in her lovely face; his eyes reverted to the cheque once more. A thousand pounds! It had seemed an immense deal of money a few months ago; indeed, it had seemed so up to the moment when the Doctor had produced it. Yet now, for some reason or other, the sum appeared to have dwindled in value; it was not so large in his hand as it had looked in the Doctor's purse. What could be done with a thousand pounds, after all? He had often gone through the calculation before, yet the result had never appeared so insignificant as now. A small house might be hired and very plainly furnished; he and Fannie might have a severely quiet wedding; they might spend an economical honeymoon at some unfashionable watering-place, perhaps; and then-then the real drudgery of life would have to egin. They would be obliged to live from hand to mouth for who could tell how long? very likely as long as they lived, for Edward could never hope to meet with another patron so liberal as the Doctor was, and (under the conditions imposed) would continue to be. Whereas, if he could only be patient, and wait yet a few months longer, his position and prospects would be better by one or two hundred per cent. than they were now. He put the cheque in his pocket.

"It's very hard to decide, dear Doctor," he said; "but I can't help feeling the truth and wisdom of all you've said; I know that it would be selfish for me to marry

Fannie now, and I'm sure she wouldn't love me so well as she does if she had to think me selfish. She's always had everything that money could buy her, up to this time; and a thousand poundsthough it's a very generous price to give for a picture-wouldn't so much as dress her in the way she's been accustomed to, for more than a year. I'm sure you understand how it is, Fannie," he added, turning to the mistress of his heart; "you appreciate my motives, don't you?'

"Oh, I think it would be very nice to be married," returned she, looking up at him with her bright blue eyes; "though of course,' she continued, turning the diamond ring that sparkled on her finger, "it would be nice to be married, and to be as I am now, both together."

Edward was silent; but the Doctor smiled, and taking Fannie's hand in his own, he patted it fondly.

"That's a sensible, prudent little woman!" said he; "both you and Edward have gratified me very much; you have inspired me with the fullest confidence. For I may confess, now, that I should have been both disappointed and anxious had you persisted in rushing upon matrimony with so insufficient a pecuniary justification. No, Edward, as the greatest of poets has told us, 'Put money in thy purse!' Money, wrongfully applied, may be the root of much evil; but money, properly and intelligently applied, is undoubtedly the source of most human blessings. Poverty is undignified; wealth, in wise hands, is happiness, freedom, and power. Make money to-day, in the vigour of your youth and strength; and hereafter, when your faculties of enjoyment and appreciation are ripe, you will find the cup of

luxury and pleasure brimming at your lips!"

After the delivery of this really eloquent exhortation, the Doctor and Francesca took their leave. The former was in capital spirits; this experiment of his was really most interesting, and it was succeeding to admiration. Francesca, on the other hand, was a trifle pensive; and after she got home I suspect she went to her room and had a little cry about she knew not what. As for Edward, when he found himself alone, he lit his pipe, set the picture and the copy beside each other, and planting himself in front of them, studied them a long while with frowning

eyes.

There was no use blinking the fact; the copy was the better executed of the two, but equal to the original in point of expression and elevation of feeling it was not! What should be done?

After some consideration, the artist took the original picture from the easel, carried it to the dark closet behind the fireplace, and stowed it away there in the furthest corner, with its face to the wall.

"I'll copy my copies for the future," he muttered to himself. "So long as I get paid for it just the same, what's the odds?"

The wording of the sentiment was perhaps ungraceful; yet may not the action upon which it was a comment have indicated progress? Is not the march of our improvement measured by the perception of our early short-comings-a recognition of the crudities and unrealities of our first efforts? And, making all proper allowances for diversity of taste and opinion, -some preferring the delicate colouring and chaste expression of the old Pre-Raphaelites to the warm grace and glowing fancy of the modern French school,-is it

not generally noticeable that upholders of the former style are deficient in those practical, businesslike ways which, nowadays, are indispensable to prosperity and success, in other words the summum bonum of existence ?

"Two years gone, and not married yet! By Jove!" murmured Mr. Edward Tremaine, leaning back in his chair and yawning, with his arms above his head.

name.

Edward Tremaine: yet by nomeans the immature, boyish, romantic young fellow whom we have heretofore associated with that What a change—what an improvement-what improvement-what a develop-ment! Married or single, he is a man transfigured. His figure is stouter; his curly hair is cropped short and parted behind. In his face we note the complete absence of anything like the unsophisticated sentiment and dreamy abstraction. of his earlier youth; they have given place to the keen, self-contained expression of one who understands what is for his highest advantage, and does not mean to be cheated out of it. Observe, too, those faintly indicated lines about the corners of the eyes, and from the outside of the nostrils to the mouth :-they speak volumes! For the rest, Mr. Tremaine is elegantly attired, in a silk velvet lounging coat, Roman scarf, and Turkish slippers. The studiofor he still retains his old quarters -is superbly fitted up; we feast our eyes on rich Indian screens; Eastern rugs and stuffs; vases, and voluptuous statuettes; carved ivory from China, and quaint dark-hued cabinets and furniture of antique design. But perhaps the most peculiar feature in the studio was the entire lack of those piles of old canvases, those half-finished sketches and studies of colour, those dusty casts and grotesque

lay-figures, wherewith an artist's den is generally be-littered. No "properties" of this kind were to be seen; in fact, the only indications of the painter's art being actually practised in this luxurious retreat, were the easel of inlaid ebony, placed so as to take the cool northern light, the uncompleted picture resting upon it, and the other picture standing just beyond, of which the one first mentioned was a duplicate. Add to these the artist's palette and brushes, and the catalogue of practical appliances is about complete. For it will be recollected that Mr. Tremaine, unlike the majority of his less fortunate brethren, followed his profession under somewhat narrow restrictions, and could therefore dispense with the heterogeneous paraphernalia with which they are obliged to surround themselves.

As regards our friend's technical proficiency, by-the-bye, we need but glance at the fresh canvas to assure ourselves that it has kept pace with his moral, mental, and physical advancement. So thoroughly has he now drilled himself to the routine of his work, that by this time he might almost have gone through with it with his eyes shut. The rapidity and accuracy of execution to which he has attained are something marvellous. It is worth while to copy one's self, if for no other reason, for the sake of the extraordinary perfection certain to be arrived at.

Mr. Tremaine, after the observation above recorded, drew out a small leather-bound pocket-book, and became absorbed in consulting it. Judging from the affectionate interest with which he dwelt upon its contents, it might have been supposed to hold extracts from the more tender passages of Fannie's letters; interspersed, perhaps, with original thoughts on

"Hm! let me see now," murmured the lover. "Three and one are four, and three are seven. Thirty-three-forty-six ninety

one hundred. Won't do, my boy; you can't afford it earlier than next year, any way. You see you spend quite all your increase as you go along, and that brings it right down to seven at the most. Fannie would never consent to marry on a paltry seven thousand poundsyou know that. Well, so be it! She won't mind waiting another twelvemonth, that's one comfort. Come, get to work! this ought to be polished off before night-fall."

He adjusted his mahl-stick, and laboured away diligently for half an hour. At the end of that time a smart knocking on his door caused him to stay his hand; but before he had decided whether or not to say "Come in," the door was thrown open, and a young lady entered.

She was very pretty, fashionable and stylish. Her costume and tournure were the perfection of the mode. Her countenance and bearing evinced complete selfpossession, and something more than that; she looked independent and knowing. In short, she might have served as a fair type of the wealthy, aristocratic girl of the period; and were it not for a reminiscence of something not unfamiliar to us in the contour of her face and the setting of her unabashed blue eyes, we might be glad to take leave of her with but a single glance of admiration.

"That you, Fan. ?" inquired Mr. Tremaine, laying down his palette and rising indolently to his "Where have you been this long while? Hullo! another new bonnet, by Jove!

feet.

"Think it's pretty?" returned she, throwing herself into a rock

ing chair and unfolding the fan that hung at her chatelaine. "Paris. Only five pounds toowasn't it cheap? Dear me! I wish we lived in Paris."

"Five pounds every week or two for a thing like that, eh ?— Well!"

"Well? I'm sure you needn't grumble the bills don't come to you. And as for Guardie, nothing would make him grumble, except my not getting everything I wanted. I vow, I believe he'd make a nicer husband than you would, after all. Hullo! why, I declare, if the boy hasn't nearly finished another. Sixteen hundred for that, isn't it?" She lifted a pair of eyeglasses in her gloved hand as she spoke, and setting them jauntily astride her little nose, she brought her gaze to bear upon the canvas. don't succeed with me, yet," she added, after a minute, letting the glasses fall. "I'm still a little beyond you, my dear fellow!"

66

"You

Your bonnets are, at all events, though I'm not sure I wouldn't rather paint them than pay for them. But I'm a hard working man, Fannie."

"Goodness! what a pathetic sigh; anybody would think you didn't get half paid for it. I'm sure you needn't work unless you choose; but I suppose you'll say you do it all for love of me-you old humbug, you-ha! ha! ha!"

To this sally Tremaine made no rejoinder. He reseated himself, and fixing his eyes upon the door of the dark closet beside the fireplace, he lapsed into a brown study. He was thinking, perhaps, how remarkably Fannie had improved during the past two years over the simple, ingenuous, innocent-eyed little girl that he had then loved. What had occasioned the change? Could the cause be in any way allied to those which had developed him?

"Do you ever think about our getting married, Fan?" he asked abruptly.

"Did you ever hear of a girl who didn't think about when she'd

be married, goosey ?" retorted the young lady, shutting her fan and meeting Tremaine's glance without any symptom of prudish embarrassment. "Of course I do! Haven't I decided on my dress, and what it's to cost, and who are to be my bridesmaids, and

"And how soon the wedding is to take place, I suppose?" interposed Tremaine, with something of a growl.

"I

"If you ever thought of anything but money, you old miser, it would have taken place long ago. But don't be cross and quarrel," she added, rising and shaking out the ruffled train of her dress. didn't come to discuss our matrimonial prospects, but just to tell you that Guardie is coming over here this afternoon; and he says he wants to see that old thing you painted years ago-the first one, you know. So don't forget to hunt it up. Good-bye, dear old Ned. There-don't kiss me again

you'll make me look spotty!"

Tremaine opened the door of the dark closet and looked in. The light from the outer room fell dimly upon confused piles of rubbish, heaped on the floor and against the walls; but could hardly penetrate to that furthest, duskiest recess where stood the picture upon which the superstructure of his present prosperity had been built. Tremaine, however, stepped in across the dusty débris, and laying hold of the antiquated production, brought it forth to the clear light of the studio, and set it on a chair by the side of his latest and still unfinished copy. Then, having brushed away the accumulated dust of years, he set himself down to a critical comparison of the two.