statement was accompanied by a lithographed letter, detailing how all the race-meetings upon which the speculator had not invested had turned out marvellously profitable, and how the particular race-meeting upon which he had desired his money to be invested had 'for the first time during the past five consecutive seasons turned out a failure.' However, they consoled their unfortunate client with the assurance that at the race - meeting which would take place next week 'winning was reduced to an absolute certainty,' and that as there was not the slightest chance of losing, they trusted that their client 'would take their advice, and invest 25%, 50%, or 100l., and realise a few thousands forthwith.' Remaining, his faithfully, Montague and D'Arcy. Of course, if more money were sent, it shared the fate of the first; and notwithstanding the groans and curses of those who were thus robbed in open daylight, the ball rolled on right merrily. No one knew that Messrs. Montague and D'Arcy were identical with David Sheldrake and Con Staveley. Their faces were never seen in the transactions, everything being conducted under seal, and no personal interviews on any consideration ever being allowed. And in the event of some irate clients making the name of the firm and their address notorious, it was the easiest thing in the world to change their names and take another garret, perhaps in Edinburgh this time instead of Glasgow. It is but fair to some of the sporting papers in which these lying advertisements were inserted for the trapping of apprentices and others, to state that in their Answers to Correspondents' such answers as these appeared week after week: An Anxious Inquirer. They are swindlers.' 'A. Z. You should not have trusted your money to them.' 'R. H. C. We 6 do not recommend Discretionary Investments.' 'Fair Play. You have been swindled.' And many others to the same effect. But they continued to open their columns to the advertising cheats, who, without this means of publicity, would find their schemes fall comparatively fruitless to the ground. Said Alfred to David Sheldrake, in the course of conversation, being artfully led to the subject: 'Those discretionary investments seem to be an easy way of making money. Did you see the advertisements of Montague and D'Arcy in the paper this morning?' 'No,' replied Mr. Sheldrake. 'Montague and D'Arcy! I fancy I have met a Mr. Montague at some of the meetings. If it is the same man, he bets and wins largely.' 6 It must be the same,' cried Alfred. Look here,' pulling the paper out of his pocket, 'a 100/. stake realised 1300l. at Newmarket last week in three days.' 'That seems good enough, Alf,' was Mr. Sheldrake's comment.. 'If I had 20%. or 30/.,' said Alfred, with an anxious look at Mr. Sheldrake 'You'd try your luck with them? Well, I see what you're driving at, Alf. I'll give you a cheque for 20%., made payable to them, and you can have a dive.' ‘Ah, you are a friend! If I win, I shall be able to give you a good sum off what I owe you.' 'All right, my boy,' said Mr. Sheldrake heartily, and then drew the cheque and gave it to Alfred, and two days afterwards received it back from Con Staveley in Glas CHAPTER XXXII. THE POLISH JEW. AREMARKABLE change had taken place in Mr. Musgrave, dating almost from the day on which he took possession of Ivy Cottage. Those who had known him when he lived in his garret and bought gin on the sly, and who knew him now, were amazed at the transformation; for it was nothing less. The vice that appeared to have been so bred in his bone as to be ineradicable had disappeared. He drank no more. Whether he considered it was due to his altered position, whether it was from gratitude or fear, or from whatever other unknown cause, it is certain that the respectable old man known now as Mr. Musgrave, and the disreputable tippler known some months since as old Muzzy, were distinctly different types. The change really commenced within the first fortnight of his residence in Ivy Cottage. Within this time, Lily and Alfred had come by invitation to take tea with Lizzie and to spend the evening with her. The young people were in good spirits, and Mr. Musgrave sat in his corner listening to their light-hearted chatting. In the course of the evening Lily sang two or three old-fashioned simple songs, and altogether the time was a happy one. Then Mr. Sheldrake dropped in, and what little part Mr. Musgrave had played in the proceedings was over from that moment. But when Lily and Alfred were going home, Mr. Musgrave, with hands that trembled from eagerness, held Lily's mantle for her, and pressed her hands, and said that she had made him young again, and that he had spent the happiest evening he had spent for years. He entreated her to come again, and to come often, and she said gaily she intended to, for Lizzie and she were sisters already. When they were gone-Mr. Sheldrake accompanied Lily and Alfred home-Mr. Musgrave and Lizzie sat up for a little while talking, and he told her how pleased he was she had made such a friend. That night when he went to his bedroom, he took from a place of concealment two timehonoured friends-to wit, two flat bottles, in which he used to carry away his gin from the public-houses. With these under his arm he stole down to the garden, and hurled them over the wall as far as his strength would allow him, thus bidding good-bye to them. On that night, before he retired to rest, he knelt by his bedside for the first time for many, many years, and thought, if he did not say, a prayer. Mr. Sheldrake noticed the change in him, and commented on it. 'Why, Muzzy,' he said, 'you have grown quite respectable.' 'I hope it does not displease you, sir,' was Mr. Musgrave's reply. 'No, indeed,' said Mr. Sheldrake; 'it is a compliment to me, for I think I have had something to do with it.' 'Yes, sir, you have.' 'And you will be the better able to attend to the business.' 'You shall have no cause to complain of my want of attention, sir.' Mr. Sheldrake clapped him on the shoulder. 'Never too late to mend, eh, old man?' 'I hope not, sir.' And yet it is to be doubted whether Mr. Sheldrake was quite pleased at this remarkable change in his servant. He liked to hold a power over a man, and if that power sprung from a man's weakness, or even vice, he was all the more gratified, so long as it did not affect him. But, however, there it was. There was no doubt that Mr. Musgrave was endeavouring to be come a respectable member of so ciety, and that he had, in real sober earnest, turned over the new leaf which Mr. Sheldrake had proposed to him. On a cold evening in March, Lily and Old Wheels were sitting in their room in the little house in Soho. There was no change in its appearance. The portraits of Lily were on the mantel-shelf, and a bouquet of flowers was on the table. The old man was making castors for a little cigar cabinet which he had bought second-hand at a shop a day or two before. He had cut holes in the bottom of the cabinet, so that the castors were almost hidden from sight, and he had devised a false bottom so as not to interfere with the usefulness of the box. His work being done, he put his tools aside, and rolled the cabinet towards Lily, asking her what she thought of it, and whether Felix would not be pleased with it. 'O, then,' said Lily, with a faint smile, 'it is for Felix. You did not tell me that. I was wondering whom it was for.' 'Are you glad or sorry, Lily, that I am going to make Felix a present?' 'Glad.' 'I don't know what I should do now without him,' said Old Wheels, with assumed carelessness, but really watching Lily's face with more of keenness than his words warranted; 'I have grown so used to his coming in here often, and have so grown to like him, that if he were to go away I should feel quite lost.' 'You are more often alone now, grandfather, than you used to be,' said Lily sadly and quietly. 'Yes, my darling, when you were at the music-hall I saw more of you than I do now. But it can't be helped, I suppose, Lily, can it?' Lily put the needle in her work, and laid it on the table; then rose from her chair, and sat upon a stool at the old man's feet. He looked down upon her fondly, and raised her to his knee, where she sat with her arm round his neck, and her face close to his. 'That's my own Lily,' murmured Old Wheels. That's my own dear darling! And you have not learnt to love your old grandfather less ?' 'Grandfather!' 'Forgive me, Lily-old men grow foolish and do not know what they say sometimes. I, of all the world, should not say anything to hurt my Lily's feelings; my Lily, that I love more than all the world besides! Forgive me, darling.' 'You must not ask me to do that, grandfather,' said Lily. 'What have I to forgive? What feeling can I have for you but one of gratitude and love for all your care of me? Don't think, dear, that I have no consciousness of it. If you were to look into my heart, you would see yourself there. Kiss me, my more than father, and say that you forgive me for my petulance, for my sadness which I know pains you, but which I cannot help feeling.' 'There, there, my pet! We kiss each other, and forgive each other. But you must not be sad. I want you to be bright, as you used to be not so very long ago, Lily. I want you to smile and to be glad, as youth should be. I want you to confide in me, if you have any trouble. Lily, my child, my daughter! I am an old man, worn out and useless, but if I had within me the life and the strength of twenty men, I would yield them gladly to make you happy.' 'I know it, dear,' and Lily with her lips to his cheek nestled to him as a child might have done; 'I know it, and there is part of my sadness, part of my pain. Don't ask me too many questions, grand father. Let us hope everything will come right, and that we shall be happy by-and-by. By-and-by!' she repeated, almost in a whisper. 'When we are at rest!' Old Wheels held her face from him to see it more clearly. 'Lily!' he exclaimed; 'what makes you say that ?' 'I cannot tell you. Let me lie on your shoulder, dear, and believe that I love you with all the love a daughter can give to a father. If my heart aches it is not your fault. And by-and-by we shall be at rest, thank God!' 'Yes, thank God, as you say, my darling!' replied Old Wheels. To the old the thought comes naturally-and often thankfully. But to the young! no, no! It is not natural to hope for the time to come. You have a bright life before you, my dear, and you must not despond. Why, I, nearly two generations older than the little flower lying on my bosom, do not wish yet for the rest you sigh for! I want to live and see my flower bright and blooming, not drooping as it is now. Come, cheer up, little flower! Old Wheels forced himself to speak cheerfully. Cheer up, and gladden me with smiles. Here's an old man who wants them, and whose heart warms at the sight of them. Here am I, old winter! Come, young spring-flower, give me a glimpse of sunshine.' Lily looked into the old man's eyes, and smiled, and although there was sadness in the smile, he professed himself satisfied with the effort. them, never losing heart. Does this 'Felix is a good man, high-minded, honourable, just. He knows how to suffer in silence, as do all brave natures, my dear. Men are often changed by circumstances, my dear; but I am sure Felix would not be. But natures are so different, my dear. Some are like the seasand, running in and out with the waves, never constant. Others are like the rocks against which the waves beat and dash, as they do at Land's End. It would do you, my darling, good to go for change of air and scene to the west, and breathe the purer air that comes across the sea. Perhaps we will manage it by and by-you and I alone. I was a young man when I was there, but it is the same now as it was then; it is only we who change. Felix laughed at us the other day-laughed at you, and me, and himself, and everybody else in the world. "Go where you will," he said, "you find us crawling over the face of the earth, wrapt up in ourselves, each man thinking only of himself and his desires, and making so little of the majesty of nature as to believe himself of more importance than all the marvels of the heavens and the earth." But he was not quite right, and I told him so. I told him—no, I should rather say, I reminded him-that every man did not live only for himself. That in the lives of many men and women might be found such noble examples of right-doing and self-sacrifice as were worthy 'That's right, and now let us talk to be placed side by side with the about something else. Let me see. goodness and the majesty of things. What was I saying? O, about Fe-Right," he answered at once, “nalix. He is getting along well. Do you know, Lily, that though he has never spoken of it, I believe he endured hardships when he first came to London? But he bore them bravely, and battled through ture does not suffer-we do." Then he asked me to account for the suffering that often lies in right-doing, I could not do this, of course. I tried to maintain the side I took in the argument by saying that the suffering springs out of our selfishness, out of our being unable, as it were, to wrest ourselves from ourselves, and to live more in others. And then, after all, it was but for a short time. Think of the life of a How short it is in compar man. ison with time. "We are in the world," he said, "and should be of the world." "Not against our sense of right," I answered. "The noblest phase of human nature is to do what we believe to be right, though all the world is against us, though we suffer through it, and lose the pleasures of the world." And what do you think this ingenious young fellow did, Lily, when I said that? Laughed at me, and asked in return whether there is not a dreadful arrogance in a man placing his back against a rock and saying to the world, "You are all wrong; I only am right." Do I tire you, my child, with an old man's babble?' 'No, my dear,' answered Lily; 'I love to hear you talk so, although I cannot understand the exact meaning of all you say.' Indeed, this old man's babble' was soothing to Lily; his gentle voice brought peace to her troubled heart. "I have found out, my darling,' continued Old Wheels, with a secret delight at the calmer manner of his darling, that this foolish young man, whom I love like a son-ay, Lily, like my own son !—is fond of arguing against himself, of placing himself in a disadvantageous light, of saying things often that he does not mean. But I know him; I see his heart and the rare nobility of his nature. thus. "Come," I said, "answer me Our argument ended fairly. Can you believe in a man giving judgment against himself?" "If," he said, "by 'yourself' you mean your hopes, your desires, your heart's yearnings and these being in the life of a man, comprise himself—I answer, yes. I can imagine VOL. XI. 449 it, believing that his life's happiness a man loving a thing, thirsting for is comprised in the possession of it, and yet standing by quietly, and letting it slip from him, with his heart aching all the while! There is a higher attribute than love," he said. I asked him what it was, and he answered, "Duty!"' Lily raised her head from the bright, her face was flushed. old man's breast; her eyes were Do you believe this, grandfather ?' The old man returned her earnest gaze, and was silent for many moments. Some deeper meaning than usual was in their gaze, and although neither of them could have explained how it had come about, both by some mysterious instinct were aware of the solemn significance which would attach to the answer of the girl's question. He but not so as to hide his face from placed his arms tenderly about her, her. 'Yes, child,' he said gently, 'I trembled here, and his gaze grew believe it. But' and his voice more wistful-'not mistaken duty. If I had a friend whom I loved, plicitly, whom I believed to be whom I trusted faithfully and imhonest and true and single-hearted, I should-if such a crisis as the unhappily arise in my life-take conflict of love and duty should counsel from him.' Her eyes drooped before his, and 'Tell me,' she whispered, so soft- 'Go on, my child,' he said, in a Do you think, grandfather, that in Felix's life-whom we both of us honour |