escape. You wouldn't have done that, my dear, if you had been arguing seriously."

Miss Huntley clapped her hands and laughed loudly. "The next time he comes I shall turn you out of the room," she said. "You are far, far too clever, you delightful old Matilda, and I may as well confess at once that I wanted Mr. Segrave to have the best of that exciting controversy. I mean to make a friend of Mr. Segrave, and I must begin by stroking him down."

"But why should you want to make a friend of him?"

"Well-he interests me."

"I dislike him rather particularly," Miss Joy declared in a decided tone of voice; "and what's more, I believe you do too."

If such was the case nothing short of Miss Joy's remarkable cleverness could have discovered it. From that day Miss Huntley made it her business to show marked favour to Gilbert; nor did it take her long to overcome the suspicion with which he regarded her first advances. After all, he said to himself, it was not so very astonishing that a woman of distinctly superior qualities should feel herself drawn towards the only man in the neighbourhood who had any pretensions to superiority. He was flattered by her recognition of his claim to be honoured above his fellows, and, in any event, her friendship must be preferable to her enmity. Therefore he did not hesitate to avail himself of her constant hospitality, and thoroughly appreciated the little dinners which she was fond of arranging, and at which he generally had the pleasure of meeting Kitty Greenwood. Captain Mitchell and one or other of the idle young men who hung about Kingscliff usually completed the party; but the presence of these nonentities did not interfere with Gilbert's comfort, nor divert the attention of his hostess from him. Indeed, he scarcely noticed that they were there.

What he might have noticed, and what other people did notice, was that, somehow or other, in the course of these pleasant evenings he never managed to secure a little private conversation with the girl of his heart. No one could say that Miss Huntley was making a set at him; she displayed no anxiety to keep him to herself, and all the remarks that she addressed to him might have been spoken in the market-place; but, on the other hand, she never left him alone. Thus it happened that, every now and again, Mitchell obtained the opportunities which were wanting to Gilbert, and availing himself thereof, was sharply snubbed for his pains. But this

was no new experience to the gallant and lovelorn sailor. He preferred a slap in the face from Kitty to a kiss from anybody else, and nobly maintained his character for patient endurance while watching with wondering admiration the manoeuvres of his ally.

What Miss Greenwood thought of these manœuvres it was not easy to tell from her demeanour. She was one of those simple, old-fashioned maidens-there are still a few such, whatever may be asserted to the contrary-who cannot avow to themselves that they love any man until his own love for them has been declared. She may have been made a little unhappy by the partial cessation of Gilbert's attentions: but if so, she probably did not inquire into the cause of her unhappiness. For the rest, she was deeply attached to Beatrice Huntley, who had become her intimate friend, and whom she believed to be incapable of treachery in any form.

So the days and weeks passed by, and there were dinners, as aforesaid, and boating excursions and rides and other unexciting diversions, and at the end of all it must be owned that things remained very much as they had been at the beginning. Miss Huntley found out-and the discovery surprised her somewhat-that Gilbert was really and truly in love with Kitty; Mitchell made no progress with his suit; and Gilbert himself drifted agreeably upon the top of the flood, finding life sweet and seeing no need for hurry in the matter of marriage. He was, in fact, so sure of success that he was beginning to think that it might be as well to wait until the election was over before taking a step which would entail a considerable sacrifice of independence and an inconvenient period of absence from home.

It was on an evening in the month of April, when the weather had become warm, and rash persons were proclaiming that winter was at an end, and Miss Huntley's departure for London was regretfully spoken of as imminent, that a little piece of luck befell the patient Mitchell. That evening the small party above enumerated had assembled, as they had so often done before, at Miss Huntley's villa, where Kitty Greenwood was staying on a short visit, her parents having been invited to dine at a house on the other side of the county and-in accordance with a local custom-to remain for a couple of nights under the roof of their entertainers. Miss Huntley was getting Gilbert to explain to her (though she knew quite as much about it as he did) the effect upon the constituencies

of the Redistribution Bill, which just then was engrossing public attention; Miss Joy was relating to Mitchell, who was not listening to her, how she had been as nearly as possible overtaken by the tide, while sketching, that afternoon, and Kitty, all by herself, was abstractedly turning over the pages of a book of prints which she had taken upon her knee. Presently she shifted her position a little in order to get a better light and, raising her arm, brought it into contact with one of the candles which were standing upon the table behind her. In an instant a tongue of flame shot up from the flimsy fabric of which her sleeve was made. She gave a cry of terror; Gilbert started to his feet, but Mitchell, quicker than he, sprang forward, seized the burning sleeve in his hands and pressed the flames out before Miss Joy had time to do more than ejaculate "Good gracious!"

Very little harm was done. Miss Greenwood's elbow was slightly scorched and Mitchell had a blister or two upon his hands, which he did not think it necessary to display; but it was evident that only his promptitude had averted a serious, if not a fatal catastrophe; so that he might be considered a fortunate man, in spite of his blisters.

When the hubbub had subsided, and Kitty, notwithstanding her protestations, had been taken up-stairs to have her elbow swathed in cotton-wool by Miss Joy, Miss Huntley could not refrain from saying aside to Gilbert, "You missed a fine opportunity there."

"Really that was not my fault," he returned, in a somewhat aggrieved tone; "the whole thing was over in a second, and Mitchell bounced up in front of me, so that I couldn't get past him."

"So officious, wasn't it? Let us hope that he burnt his fingers; I see that he is examining them surreptitiously. But, do you know, I am very glad that he has had this chance of playing the hero-or would you call him a poseur ?-because, perhaps, it may induce Kitty to take a fancy to him, and those two are made for each other."

"I can't agree with you," said Gilbert, flushing slightly.

"I am quite aware that you can't, and I sincerely regret it, for everybody's sake. I must stick to my opinion that Kitty Greenwood is designed by nature for the domestic virtues and their rewards. Men who have a career before them seldom find time for domesticity, and, if they marry at all, ought to marry ambitious women. Excuse my frankness."

Having dropped that hint she moved away, leaving it to bear what fruit it might; but she did not retire to rest without turning the episode of the evening to account in another quarter.

"Kitty," said she, after she had accompanied Miss Greenwood to her bedroom, "do you ever read Æsop's fables? If you don't, I will lend you my copy, and you can study the fable of the dog who dropped his bone into the water in the attempt to get hold of another, which he saw reflected there. You are the dog; Captain Mitchell's devotion to you is the substantial bone, and as for the shadow, you may fill that up according to taste. Do you fully realise that Captain Mitchell saved your life this evening ?"

Yes, indeed I do, and I am very grateful to him," answered Kitty; "only I wish

"I wouldn't wish for more than I had got, if I were you. 'One isn't loved every day, as Owen Meredith very truly observes."

"Well, but," objected Kitty, with a blush, "Captain Mitchell has never told me thathe has never said anything of that sort to me.'

"He never will if you go on as you are doing now, and I know who will be sorry for it some fine day. You think you are certain of him, but I assure you that you are not He is a mortal man, and he is capable of consoling himself. In fact, I like him so much that, sooner than see him so badly treated, I myself will undertake to console him-not personally, but by deputy. I know more than one girl who is almost good enough for him. Now good-night. Ponder these sayings." And with that, she kissed her guest and withdrew.

A few days later Miss Huntley was standing on the departure side of the little Kingscliff station, surrounded by quite a host of sorrowing friends and acquaintances. She addressed them, severally and generally, in the most amiable terms, and with a few favoured ones she took a turn or two up and down the platform. Amongst the latter was Monckton, who had hurried down to bid farewell to a lady whose liberality had tided more than one indigent member of his flock over the dark days of the stormy season.

"You will come back to us next winter, I hope," said he.

Áh, I don't know," she answered, with something of a sigh. "It is a long time from now to next winter, and all sorts of things may happen between this and that. But I shan't forget Kingscliff and I shan't forget you. If only you could come up to London

Well, if you can and will find the time, it will be a kindness." Then, with a sudden change of tone, "Shall you look up Esau when you are in London ?"

"Esau ?" repeated Monckton inquiringly. "I have a way of giving people nicknames; it serves to keep them in my memory. Mr. Brian Segrave is called Esau, for obvious reasons. Tell him that I shall be in Park Lane for the season."

"I will tell him," answered Monckton, "but I won't promise that he shall call upon

M°

"What has that to do with it? Besides, he must come back to society. He ought to sell the Manor House. I wish he would sell it to me, then I should have an excuse for returning to Kingscliff."

"I'm afraid he won't do that," said Monckton, shaking his head.

"Why not? At least I shouldn't parcel it out into building-lots. Anyhow, I shall think him very rude if he drops my acquaintance."

At this moment the train drew up to the platform, and Miss Huntley took her place amidst a chorus of good-byes. Her last words were for Gilbert. "Remember that you have promised to report yourself in Park Lane before the month is over."

So the express bore her away, and the gilded youths of Kingscliff were left to meditate upon the melancholy fact that they had had an heiress among them for six months, and that not one of them had had the courage to propose to her.

ONEY, in its widest sense, has been defined by an American writer to be "that which passes freely from hand to hand throughout the community in final discharge of debts and full payment for commodities, being accepted equally without reference to the character or credit of the person who offers it, and without the intention of the person who receives it to consume it or enjoy it or apply it to any other use than, in turn, to tender it to others in discharge of debts or payment for commodities."* Doubtless particular cases may be found which do not readily come within this definition. Indeed, there are probably few terms in economics more difficult to define than that of money, owing mainly to the development of modes of exchange dependent upon the growth and organization of that credit which is one of the distinguishing features of a progressive civilisation.

In ordinary language, by money is usually meant stamped metal, to be used as the medium of exchange, and as the measure by which the values of the exchanges are determined. It is in the sense of stamped metal that the term is employed as the title

* F. A. Walker, "Money, Trade, and Industry." Quoted by Professor Bastable, Art. "Money," Ency. Brit. vol. xvi.

of this paper. It is a singular fact-and this notwithstanding all the wise sayings, familiar in our mouths as household words, in which our common humanity has concentrated its experiences of the power of money, whether for good or for evil-that the intrinsic nature of money should be so little understood by people at large. Of course these sayings, in which, as we are told, the wisdom of the many has been crystallised by the wit of the few, have mainly reference to money in the abstract; but many a poor widow living on an Indian pension is to-day painfully conscious of one, at least, of the contingencies which affect the value of a specific form of money. The intrinsic nature of money, in a concrete sense, has become to her a matter of very real importance.

It is perhaps hardly necessary here to dwell upon the reasons which have induced all civilised communities to adopt the metals as the material of money. In early times the common mode of exchange was by barter, and such modes are still in use among savage peoples to-day. As such people advance in the arts of civilisation the need of a circulating medium becomes more and more felt. The skins of animals are among

the earliest forms of currency, to be followed by the animals themselves. With the early Roman tribes sheep and oxen were considered as units of value, and, according to Mommsen, ten sheep were regarded as equivalent to one ox. The Latin word pecunia (pecus) has its origin in this use of cattle as money, and it is said that the English words fee and feudal spring from the same root. Among certain tribes in South Africa cattle are still the only medium of exchange. Slaves have often been, and still are in Central Africa, regarded as a form of currency. We have a survival of this practice in the word. cumhal, one of the standards of value in the Irish law tracts, and which is said to mean originally a female slave. Corn, oil, cocoa-nuts, tea, and tobacco, have at various times and among different people been accepted as legal tender. Shells, whales' teeth, and feathers are current to-day among the islanders of the Pacific, and greenstone and red ochre are used by way of exchange among certain Australian tribes.

The mere enumeration of these primitive forms of currency will serve to indicate why the metals have come

to be regarded as the most suitable medium for money. It is at the same time easy to perceive why the so-called precious metals tend to displace the others. The material of money should be valuable in itself, and it should be durable, readily portable, homogeneous, easily divisible, and if necessary readily united together again; its value should be easily estimable, and fairly permanent. Certain of these conditions are fulfilled by some of the common metals and hence most of them have been used at some time or other as the material of money. Thus the Spartans used iron, and in later times it has been so employed by the

Chinese and in Japan. Nails, indeed, were used for money in Scotland in the time of Adam Smith. Lead and tin were once employed for coinage in this country. Of all the common metals copper has been used the most extensively, either alone or in union with tin; in fact, in some nations copper and its alloys constituted the principal coinage for long periods of time. But these metals only partially satisfy the ideal requirements of the material of money. Iron rusts, and is

cheap; lead is soft, and tin is brittle; copper is tough and durable, but its value is so low that a coinage formed exclusively of this metal would lack the condition of ready portability. Gold and silver, of all the metals, practically alone possess the essential qualities. As Cantillon says, "Gold and silver alone are of small volume, of equal goodness, easy of transport, divisible without loss, easily guarded, beautiful, and brilliant, and durable almost to eternity." For a long time silver constituted the chief form of money, gradually superseding copper until in mediæval times. it was almost the exclusive form of exchange. Its relative abundance is now affecting its value towards gold, which tends to become the sole monetary standard. The questions which spring out of this disturbed relation in the values of the two metals are among the most serious economic problems of the day.

When metals were first used for money, they were always tendered by weight, and we have a survival of the practice in China at the present time, and an allusion to the principle in our own word "pound." The disadvantages of this method are obvious, and hence arose the art of coining, the metal being, as Aristotle says, "determined in value by men putting a stamp upon it, in order that

used, lend themselves to the practice of "clipping; "hence there has been a general preference exercised in favour of circular coins. A coin should not be too small, otherwise it is not easily picked up, and is readily lost. On the other hand, it should not be too large, as it is relatively more expensive to coin large pieces than small pieces of the same quality of workmanship, and moreover a large piece of high value is liable to be tampered with. Thus numbers of the American double-eagles were sawn in two, the gold in the middle being removed and its place partially supplied by the cheaper and somewhat heavier metal platinum, the outside surfaces of the coin being afterwards soldered together. To avoid counterfeiting, the design should be fairly elaborate, and such as can only be impressed by expensive machinery; and to prevent "clipping" the edge should be milled or have a legend inscribed round it. Lastly, the workmanship and artistic

merit of the coin should be the best possible. With work on our coins like that of Simon, who made the famous "Petition Crown" of Charles II., we might well defy the machinations of the common level of counterfeiters. Biringuccio, in his advice to a mint master, given upwards of three centuries ago, specially urges that good workmen should be secured to engrave the dies, not only that fraud may be prevented, but that the people may have pleasure in things they must perforce use.*

Pure gold and pure silver are never employed as the material of money to-day, mainly for the reasons that these metals used alone are not sufficiently durable, and that the addition of a baser metal to them constitutes a notable source of revenue to the State. This base metal is, in Mint terminology, known as alloy, and it is very much in the Mint sense that the word is commonly Roberts-Austen, "Alloys used for Coinage," p. 13.