Then again, I find it not a little amusing that, with these ladies, every thing that tells in their favour is so much gospel, and their case is 'packed' with a most creditable ingenuity and perseverance-let us give them all the credit for that which they so well deserve-there is any amount of 'the glory of ideal womanhood-real were better; while all that tells against them is scoffing, vulgar, and flippant.' I am quite prepared to find myself called a vulgar, flippant scoffer, but women do not much mind what women say. Why, even such men as Milton and Luther, when they do not happen to suit exactly, are pooh-poohed. We have them both.

And now I am ashamed of what I have to repeat, but it must be done. One of these ladies has lately said that 'the moment that the principle of selfinterest comes into play, the average man is more ready to grind down, to over-reach, to underpay, to cheat outright a woman than a man, just because he thinks he can do it with more impunity.' As this is a curiosity in its way, my dears, let us dissect it somewhat minutely. In the first place, the principle of self-interest is a pretty generally prevailing one; these ladies themselves are not bad examples of it. Then, men, who are more ready to cheat at one time than another, must be supposed to be ready to cheat at all times, more or less. And these average men are more ready-there are about ninetynine average men in every hundred-to cheat outright, to underp -pay, to overreach, to grind down a helpless voman because they can do it with impunity. Then observe how these odious misdoings are piled up in an ever-increasing agony of indignation. Well, my dears, what do you think now of these average men of Newfangle, of these men, out of whom are made your fathers, your brothers, your husbands, your sons? As you have not yet got husbands and sons, perhaps you are not quite so well able to judge of them as those who have. For that you must

wait awhile. But if you are to give birth to such average men as these, I think you had better not try the ex periment at all-and I less wonder now that, for the most part, these ladies have not but let the human race come to a stand-still, and the sooner the better, and then we shall have no women nor any woman's rights to quarrel

about.

And let me ask you, do you think that this sort of thing is safe or wise, is it good policy? With what sort of audacity are challenges like these thrown down? Are not we women ourselves vulnerable at fifty points? It is trusting a great deal to the forbearance and generosity of men. What good end is this rating of one sex by the other expected to answer?

For you, Bella, my love, I am particularly sorry. Your case gets worse and worse. There is no hope left for you and Jack now. When he comes, stammering and blushing like a school girl-I wish they blushed a little more- -to ask for your hand in exchange for his own, you must say to him: What means this presumption, sir; do you suppose that I can take for a husband-for better or for worse, when it would be all worse-a creature who is inferior in the scale of humanity to myself, who is less pure and noble, lower and coarser? Take your dismissal, sir, once for all.' Set this example to all your young lady friends. Preach to them this doctrine. Converts will flock in. You will become the priestess of a new religion, the first abbess of Newfangle. Or, if you prefer it, which I think not unlikely, marry Jack. Then, when you have lived long years together, when you have seen children and grandchildren grown up around you, when he has been faithful and true to you, when he has been addicted to no vices, when he has toiled from morning to night, from year's end to year's end, that you may all rise in the world together, when he has done his duty public and private, when he has visited the widow and the fatherless, and fed

the poor--and all this, I think, may be safely predicted of Jack, as he promises to follow in his forefather's stepsthen say to him, 'We must part Jack, we cannot go down to the grave together, you are less pure and noble than I, lower and coarser.' Go, say it to the doctor, who eases your pain, or takes off a crushed limb that life may be saved. Go, say it to the humble, pious minister who comforts you in your affliction, and says to you, 'The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.' Go say it of her husband or of her father to the exalted lady who now graces Canada by her presence. Go, say it of the 'good' prince, whom the widowed queen has mourned as rarely woman mourned before.

Ah, my dear children, away with all such mischievous comparisons! Men and women are good or bad to most of us as we find them. We must have our individual feelings. But the world is wider. Comparative virtues and vices can never be proved. It can never come to more than an

idle wrangle. As for woman's position in the world, the higher they rise the better for man. The more they add to the world's stores the better for man. The more they share his work the better for man. The more they relieve him of his responsibilities the better for him.

My own opinion is, however, that women will find their greatest obstacle in women, here, in Newfangle, and elsewhere. I know the women of Newfangle well. Who better?

I

know that their natural instinct is to call upon men to help them in their trouble, of whatever kind, and not women. We have turned out some female medical students, but there is not one practising female doctor in the township. This is a poor account to give after twenty-five years. Women, at least our women here, are not disposed to place confidence in women; and it would appear to be the same

elsewhere. The female medical student agitation must have been going on in the States for at least twentyfive years. There is in New York an admirable Women's Hospital. It is managed by women, by some of the principal ladies of the city. There is not belonging to it one single female surgeon, one single female student, nor is there any idea entertained of either. In short, comparatively, it has come to nothing. So I think, myself, it will be found in other professions and employments where women will have the choice between women and men. It has already been proved in a great many instances.

There are no better women in the world, I firmly believe, my dears, than our women here in Newfangle. They are good daughters, good sisters, good wives, good mothers, good housekeepers, good friends, good neighbours. That is enough for me and for them. That is enough for most people. But they have their peculiar feminine failings, as every human being, be it man or woman, has failings, not to call them by a harsher name, and it is exactly those feminine failings which will prove the greatest obstacle in this Woman Question, as it is called, should it ever come to a real trial. There are, to be sure, a few women in Newfangle who are not wives or mothers. They desire, these ladies tell us, to make their way in the worldto achieve an independence for themselves. There is no royal road. Men find none-women will find none. It is sheer hard work that does it. Even genius has been defined (improperly) as no more than a capacity for work, though it is in great part true. When women have genius, their path is smoothed for them, as it is for men of genius; there are very few indeed of either sex. For all the rest sheer hard work is the lot, the condition of success. We are told by these very ladies that there are many, a great many, employments in which women now succeed. A vast many more are

open to them, if they can show that they can do as well in them as men can; the more the better for them and for men too. But it seems they want to be professional women-that is doctors, lawyers, ministers of the Gospel, statesmen. Here we are met by one of those contradictions which puzzle us in the speeches and writings of these ladies. They tell us that 'with women professional efforts must always be reckoned secondary to their peculiar duties as women, from which even professional women cannot claim immunity;' and yet with their next breath they would have us believe that they are just as capable of all or any professional duty as men are. Of course the first is true, and may indeed almost be said to be fatally true. Observe that no exceptions are made. By all means, as a matter of grace, throw open all professional careers to women; mix up men and women, married and unmarried, in an heterogeneous confusion; let it not be said that it is denied to them, but mark my words, my dears, the 'feminine writer in the Contemporary Review' was right. The consequences could not, by possibility, be anything but mischievous and disastrous. The

whole existing scheme of human affairs would be thrown into confusion,' but the frenzy would work itself off, and all would come right again in the end; the human nature which has asserted itself for more thousands of years than we know anything about would assert itself again. From the very earliest times of which there exists any record, the differences between man's nature and woman's nature stand out in high relief. It is neither more nor less to day. Yesterday, today, and to-morrow, one and the same, from the beginning to the end.

Good night, my dears; and do you kiss me again, Bella, my love. Cheer

up. Do Take Jack as you find him. not call him less pure or less noble than yourself, low or coarse; do not tell him that he is a cheat, that he grinds down, that he over-reaches, that he underpays, and that in the worst possible form. Take him as you find him, and hope that he may do the same by you, and rely on the word of your old grandmother, who knows a thing or two, that you will be no loser by the bargain. What! Tears! Ah, my dear child, may you never shed more unhappy ones!

CHAPTER XXII.

A COURT-MARTIAL STORY.

T was not without some anxiety—

IT

such as unhappily, even the innocent often experience in this worldthat Frederic Mayne sat down to the morning meal after that misadventure in the arbour; he knew that, though Ferdinand Walcot could wear a mask to conceal his feelings, Sir Robert was incapable of such deception, and his courteous and hospitable greeting at once informed him that no 'leprous distilment' of prejudice or scandal had, for the present, at least, been dropped into his ear.

Knowing, however, or fancying that he knew, the nature of the man with whom he had to deal, he was by no means set at ease, and, like other any threatened man, felt much in need of 'counsel's opinion.' For Gresham's advice he was debarred from applying, because of the secret he had discovered concerning him, and his knowledge of which a feeling of delicacy (not unmingled with resentment) prevented him from revealing; a natural shrinking from making unpleasantness in the house prevented him from making a clean breast of it to his host; and in this perplexity he resolved to confide in a third, and comparatively disinterested party.

From the first, Mayne had greatly taken to the Rev. John Dyneley; there was a frankness about him that appealed strongly to his own open nature, and a modesty in regard to self

assertion which he admired none the less that he was conscious that he did not share the possession of that virtue. His opinion of Dyneley, had he been asked to express it, would have been 'a right good fellow, and, though a parson, with no nonsense about him."

Moreover, confidential relations had been already established between them on a certain matter soon to be made public, so that he felt less of embarrassment than he would otherwise have done in consulting him on a subject so delicate as his adventure of the morning; lastly, although Dyneley had been becomingly reticent as to the members of the Halcombe family, Mr. Mayne had a suspicion that he entertained no very high opinion of Mr. Ferdinand Walcot.

Mr. Raynes and his wife-from whose house Frank had been returning home when he encountered that incredible giant were coming to spend the day at the Hall, and little preparations were going on in consequence which afforded Mayne an opportunity of slipping unobserved away from the house, and paying a visit to the Manor Farm. He found the Curate with his foot in the stirrup, on the point of setting out for Archester on his grey mare-the only luxury which he allowed himself.

'I was just off,' he said, ' on my expedition of discovery; for to-day is the day to tell our tale-if, unlike the Needy Knifegrinder, we have one to tell.'

'Quite right; I had forgotten for the moment because of an occurrence

which has just happened that concerns myself more nearly. That is only human nature.'

'It is very human,' answered the Curate, smiling, 'which you must allow rather corroborates my theory.'

These two had had some friendly arguments, not, indeed, of the high philosophic kind, of Fate, Freewill, Foreknowledge absolute,' but of a quasi-theological sort, in which they had very wisely agreed to differ.

'I will acknowledge an error in logic, Mr. Dyneley, if you on your part will give me your advice upon a matter, in which I have committed no error, but the consequences of which may be serious to me. In the first place, however, I must ask to believe that, if I am not so orthodox as could be wished, I am incapable of what is unbecoming a gentleman.'

'I do not claim to be a great judge of character,' answered the Curate, but 'you may certainly take that much for granted.'

'Thank you, Dyneley. Then this is my story,' and thereupon he told him, without any reference to Gresham, how he had been led by a sneeze to enter the arbour, and had been found there, under ridiculous, but somewhat embarrassing, circumstances, by Mr. Ferdinand Walcot.

'That the man means to do me a mischief,' he concluded, if the opportunity should occur, I feel certain, though for the present he keeps his mouth shut.'

'I cannot conceive,' observed the Curate, thoughtfully, how this young woman-her name is Annabel Spence -came to be in the arbour at all, and especially at such an hour in the morning. You have no theory, I suppose, to account for her presence there?'

Mr. Mayne had a theory to account for it, as we know, but he did not feel justified in saying anything that might implicate Gresham, so he shook his head.

'I have never seen the girl but once,' continued the Curate, 'but I have

learnt from the young ladies that she is very peculiar; she does not mix with her fellow-servants, and is very reticent about herself.'

'Is she educated above her class, do you know?' inquired Mayne. 'Yes, I believe so.'

'I thought that from her manner,' replied Mayne, carelessly; he did not dare ask, what he most wanted to know, whether she could speak Ger

man.

'You ask me for advice in this matter, Mr. Mayne,' said the Curate, ' and I need not say my best services are at your disposal; but upon my word I have no action to propose. To take the initiative is dangerous, in such a case; you know the proverb, "Qui s'excuse s'accuse;" and since you are not only innocent of offence, but there is no accusation to the contrary, I should recommend-'

'A masterly inaction,' put in Mayne, laughing. Very good. I feel, however, that I have done right in consulting you, so that in case any imputation" frivolous and vexatious," as the court-martials call it - is made against me at any time, perhaps, in my absence, you will be in possession of the actual circumstances. In my opinion, Mr. Ferdinand Walcot is capable of anything.

'Because he shut the garden door in your face?' said the Curate smiling.

'On no; though, mind you, that was not a pleasant trait in him. He would not have dared to do it but that he felt I could not make a row about it. Gresham knows him down to his boots, and calls him all sorts of names; welldeserved ones, I have no doubt. my eyes, in his influence over Sir Robert, and in his general goings on in the family, he resembles Tartuffe.'

To