at present; but that is not life—or at least it is
only the life of a vegetable. Mere existence and
growth are not enough for a man who has
hopes to fulfil, and passions to exercise, and
desires to expand into accomplishments, not to
speak of the influence that every one likes to
wield over his fellows. But, come along, jump
into the boat, and see these girls! I want
you; for there's one of them I scarcely
understand as yet, and as I am always taken up
with her sick sister, I've had no time to learn
more about her."

"Well," said Loyd, "not to offer opposition
to the notion of the tie that binds us, I consent."
And sending back to the cottage all the details
of his pursuit, he accompanied Calvert to the
lake.

"The invalid girl I shall leave to your attention,
Loyd," said the other, as he pulled across
the water. "I like her the best; but I am in no
fear of rivalry in that quarter, and I want to see
what sort of stuff the other is made of. So, you
understand, you are to devote yourself especially
to Florence, taking care, when opportunity
serves, to say all imaginable fine things about me
—my talents, my energy, my good spirits, and so
forth. I'm serious, old fellow, for I will own to
you I mean to marry one of them, though which,
I have not yet decided on."

Loyd laughed heartily—far more heartily than
in his quiet habit was his wont—and said, "Since
when has this bright idea occurred to you?"

"I'll tell you," said the other, gravely.' "I
have for years had a sort of hankering kind of
half attachment to a cousin of mine. We used
to quarrel, and make up, and quarrel again; but
somehow, just as careless spendthrifts forget to
destroy the old bill when they give a renewal,
and at last find a swingeing sum hanging over
them they never dreamed of, Sophy and I
never entirely cancelled our old scores, but
kept them back to be demanded at some future
time. And the end has been, a regular rupture
between us, and she is going to be married at
the end of this month, and, not to be outdone
on the score of indifference, I should like to
announce my own happiness, since that's the
word for it, first."

"But have you means to marry?"

"Not a shilling."

"Nor prospects?"

"None."

"Then I don't understand—"

"Of course you don't understand. Nor could I
make you understand how fellows like myself play
the game of life. But let me try by an illustration
to enlighten you. When there's no wind on a
boat, and her sails flap lazily against the mast
she can have no guidance, for there is no
steerage-way on her. She may drift with a current
or rot in a calm, or wait to be crushed by some
heavier craft surging against her. Any wind—a
squall, a hurricane—would be better than that.
Such is my case. Marriage without means is a
hurricane; but I'd rather face a hurricane than
be waterlogged between two winds."

"But the girl you marry—"

"The girl I marry or rather the girl who
marries me—will soon learn that she's on board
a privateer, and that on the wide ocean called
life there's plenty of booty to be had, for a
little dash and a little danger to grasp it."

"And is it to a condition like this, you'd bring
the girl you love, Calvert?"

"Not if I had five thousand a year. If I
owned that, or even four, I'd be as decorous as
yourself; and I'd send my sons to Rugby, and
act as poor-law guardian, and give my twenty
pounds to the county hospital, and be a model
Englishman, to your heart's content. But I
haven't five thousand a year, no, nor five hundred
a year; and as for the poor-house and the
hospital, I'm far more likely to claim the benefit
than aid the funds. Don't you see, my
wise-headed friend, that the whole is a question of
money? Morality is just now one of the very
dearest things going, and even the rich cannot
always afford it. As for me, a poor sub in an
Indian regiment, I no more affect it than I
presume to keep a yacht, or stand for a county."

"But what right have you to reduce another
to such straits as these? Why bring a young
girl into such a conflict?"

"If ever you read Louis Blanc, my good fellow,
you'd have seen that the right of all rights
is that of 'associated labour.' But come, let us
not grow too deep in the theme, or we shall
have very serious faces to meet our friends
with, and yonder, where you see the drooping
ash-trees, is the villa. Brush yourself up,
therefore, for the coming interview; think of your
bits of Shelley and Tennyson, and who knows
but you'll acquit yourself with honour to your
introducer."

"Let my introducer not be too confident,"
said Loyd, smiling; "but here come the ladies."

As he spoke, two girls drew nigh the
landing-place, one leaning on the arm of the other,
and in her attitude showing how dependent she
was for support.

"My bashful friend, ladies!" said Calvert,
presenting Loyd. And with this they landed.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,

In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.

On APRIL 30th will be published, PART I., price 1s., of

OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.

With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.