baskets full of oranges and lemons are brought
into the town from, the neighbouring hill-country.
The peasants walk barefoot under
these terrible loads, and as each foot is
set down the woman's whole frame quivers with
the shock. The strange thing is that the women
themselves do not seem to mind their own sufferings —
for surely they must suffer — and would
probably strongly resent any attempt which
might be made to ameliorate their condition.

The author has sought in this paper, as far as
the space at his disposal permitted, to represent
Mentone as it is, neither extenuating anything
nor setting down aught in malice. The truth is,
that in treating of a place such as this, the
greatest care ought to be taken, in order that
no risk of giving false impressions may be run.
This is no ordinary watering-place, one among
others. It is, as has been said above, a sort of
harbour of refuge, and it is very important that
the exact nature of such harbour should be
known to those who think of putting into it.
The journey to Mentone is a long one, and the
resolution to make it should not be taken —
especially by the weak and suffering — without
some forethought. The merits and demerits of
the place have been plainly stated here, but in
"summing up," it seems only fair to say that,
in the opinion of one who has passed an exceptionally
hard winter at Mentone, and seen it at
its worst, the good side preponderates greatly
over the evil; for though the place is dull —
melancholy even, if you will, — though you may
have some amount of discomfort and dirt to
encounter, in connexion with household arrangements
generally, and those which belong to the
kitchen particularly — still it is certain that what
those, for the most part, who come here seek
they will most surely find — a place of refuge,
namely, from the full bitterness of a northern
climate, a sheltered nook where they may hide
themselves securely till the winter has passed
away.

HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER LVII. A DINNER TÊTE-A-TÊTE.

FOR the first time since he had come into
his fortune, Telemachus had succeeded in persuading
Mentor to take dinner with him. He
had invited him to gorgeous club dinners, to
Richmond dinners, to Blackwall dinners, to
snug tête-à-tête dinners at the St. James's-street
chambers, and Mentor had systematically and
inflexibly declined them, one and all. So the
present was quite an eventful occasion; and
Telemachus, who had become rather famous for
the way in which he entertained his friends,
had provided a very recherché little dinner, in
honour of his cousin's society.

They met at Saxon's chambers, in St. James's-street.
There were flowers on the table, and
various kinds of wine in and out of ice on the
sideboard, and a succession of the most delicate
courses that the most fastidious gourmand could
desire. These latter, being supplied by a first-rate
house in the neighbourhood, kept continually
arriving in cabs, so that the poet was literally
right for once, and each dish came " not as
a meat, but as a guest."

"Education is a wonderful thing, Saxon," said
Mr. Trefalden, when the business of the meal
was over, and they were amusing themselves
with some peaches and a pine. " The last time
you and I dined together, it was at Reichenau.
You were then very much surprised because I
would not let you drink Lafitte and water,
and you had never tasted truffles. You called
them ' nasty black things, ' if I remember
rightly."

"And now I can discriminate between white
Hermitage and Château Yquem, and appreciate,
as I ought, the genius of the Greeks, who made
sixty-two kinds of bread!"

"I fear your newly acquired wisdom will be
of little use to you in Norway. By the way,
you owe me five hundred and sixty pounds."

"What for?"

"For eight oil paintings, worth about two
pounds apiece."

And then Mr. Trefalden, laughing at his
cousin's astonishment, told him that he had
purchased these pictures from Mrs. Rivière.

"I have called upon them twice or thrice,"
he said, "and each time I have freely paid away
your good coin of the realm. I bought four
pictures the first time, two the second, and so
forth. They seemed very poor, and very glad
to get the money."

"They are not more glad than I am," said
Saxon. " When did you see them last?"

"About four or five days ago. They were
then just starting for Italy, and are by this
time, I suppose, some way upon the road. The
mother looked ill. She is not in the least like
our friend Lady Castletowers."

"To what part of Italy are they gone?"

"To Nice; where I am to write to them, in
case I hear of a purchaser for any more of the
paintings. Shall I hear of a purchaser, or do
you conceive that you have thrown away enough
money for the present?"

"Find the purchaser, by all means," replied
Saxon. "Five hundred and sixty pounds are
soon spent."

"Out of your purse — yes; but such a sum is
a little fortune in theirs."

"I want them to have a hundred a year,"
said Saxon.

"Which means that our imaginary connoisseur
is to spend two thousand pounds. My
good fellow, they would never believe it!"

"Try them. It is so easy to believe in
pleasant impossibilities."

"Well, I will see what I can do — after all,
they are but women, and women are credulous."

"Don't you think her very pretty?" asked
Saxon, somewhat irrelevantly.

To which Mr. Trefalden," holding his wine-glass