eager countenance. "It really is very becoming. I like the way it parts over your forehead," said the younger sister, "but if it were long enough to go behind the ears" "Non, non," entreated the Frenchman. "To make her the old woman at once would be cruelty!" And Lucinda, who was wondering how well she would look in her turn, succumbed promptly to such protestations. Yes, there was no use in being old before their time. Dulham was not quite keeping pace with the rest of the world in these days, but they need not drag behind everybody else, just because they lived there.

The price of the little arrangements was much less than the sisters expected, and the uncomfortable expense of their reverend father's wigs had been, it was proved, a thing of the past. Miss Dobin treated her polite Frenchman with great courtesy; indeed, Miss Lucinda had more than once whispered to her to talk French, and as they were bowed out of the shop the gracious Bong-sure of the elder lady seemed to act like the string of a shower-bath, and bring down

an

awesome torrent of foreign words upon the two guileless heads. It was impossible to reply; the ladies bowed again, however, and Miss Lucinda caught a last smile from the handsome wax countenance in the window. He appeared to regard her with fresh approval, and she departed down the street with mincing steps.

"I feel as if anybody might look at me now, sister," said gentle Miss Lucinda. "I confess, I have really suffered sometimes, since I knew I looked so distressed."

"Yours is lighter than I thought it was in the shop," remarked Miss Dobin, doubtfully, but she quickly added that perhaps it would change a little. She was so perfectly satisfied with her own appearance that she could not bear to dim the pleasure of any one else. The truth remained that she never would

have let Lucinda choose that particular arrangement if she had seen it first in a good light. And Lucinda was thinking exactly the same of her companion.

"I am sure we shall have no more neuralgia," said Miss Dobin. "I am sorry we waited so long, dear," and they tripped down the main street of Westbury, confident that nobody would suspect them of being over thirty. Indeed, they felt quite girlish, and unconsciously looked sideways as they went along, to see their satisfying reflections in the windows. The great panes made excelleut mirrors, with not too clear or lasting pictures of these comforted passersby.

The Frenchman in the shop was making merry with his assistants. The two great frisettes had long been out of fashion; he had been lying in wait with them for two unsuspecting country ladies, who could be cajoled into such a pur

chase.

"Sister," Miss Lucinda was saying, "you know there is still an hour to wait before our train goes. Suppose we take a little longer walk down the other side of the way; and they strolled slowly back again. In fact, they nearly missed the train, naughty girls! Hetty would have been so worried, they assured each other, but they reached the station just in time.

"Lutie," said Miss Dobin, "put up your hand and part it from your forehead; it seems to be getting out of place a little;" and Miss Lucinda, who had just got breath enough to speak, returned the information that Miss Dobin's was almost covering her eyebrows. They might have to trim them a little shorter; of course it could be done. The darkness was falling; they had taken an early dinner before they started, and now they were tired and hungry after the exer tion of the afternoon, but the spirit of youth flamed afresh in their hearts, and they were very happy. If one's heart remains young, it is a sore trial to have

ance.

the outward appearance entirely at variIt was the ladies' nature to be girlish, and they found it impossible not to be grateful to the flimsy, ineffectual disguise which seemed to set them right with the world. The old conductor, who had known them for many years, looked hard at them as he took their tickets, and, being a man of humor and compassion, affected not to notice anything remarkable in their appearance. "You ladies never mean to grow old, like the rest of us," he said, gallantly, and the sisters fairly quaked with joy. "Bless us!" the obnoxious Mrs. Woolden was saying, at the other end of the car. "There's the old maid Dobbinses, and they 've bought 'em some bangs. I expect they wanted to get thatched in a little before real cold weather; but don't they look just like a pair o' poodle dogs."

The little ladies descended wearily from the train. Somehow they did not enjoy a day's shopping as much as they used. They were certainly much obliged to Hetty for sending her niece's boy to meet them, with a lantern; also for having a good warm supper ready when they came in. Hetty took a quick look at her mistresses, and returned to the kitchen. "I knew somebody would be foolin' of 'em," she assured herself angrily, but she had to laugh. Their dear, kind faces were wrinkled and pale, and the great frizzes had lost their pretty curliness, and were hanging down, almost straight and very ugly, into the ladies' eyes. They could not tuck them under their caps, as they were sure might be done.

Then came a succession of rainy days, and nobody visited the rejuvenated house hold. The frisettes looked very bright chestnut by the light of day, and it must be confessed that Miss Dobin took the scissors and shortened Miss Lucinda's half an inch, and Miss Lucinda returned the compliment quite secretly, because

each thought her sister's forehead lower than her own. Their dear gray eyebrows were honestly displayed, as if it were the fashion not to have them match with wigs. Hetty at last spoke out, and begged her mistresses, as they sat at breakfast, to let her take the frizzes back and change them. Her sister's daughter worked in that very shop, and, though in the work-room, would be obliging, Hetty was sure.

But the ladies looked at each other in pleased assurance, and then turned together to look at Hetty, who stood already a little apprehensive near the table, where she had just put down a plateful of smoking drop-cakes. The good creature really began to look old.

"They are worn very much in town," said Miss Dobin. "We think it was quite fortunate that the fashion came in just as our hair was growing a trifle thin. I dare say we may choose those that are a shade duller in color when these are a little past. Oh, we shall not want tea this evening, you remember, Hetty. I am glad there is likely to be such a good night for the sewing cir cle."

And Miss Dobin and Miss Lucinda nodded and smiled.

"Oh, my sakes alive!" the troubled handmaiden groaned. "Going to the circle, be they, to be snickered at! Well, the Dobbin girls they was born, and the Dobbin girls they will remain till they die; but if they ain't innocent Christian babes to those that knows 'em well, mark me down for an idjit myself! They believe them front-pieces has set the clock back forty year or more, but if they 're pleased to think so, let 'em!"

Away paced the Dulham ladies, late in the afternoon, to grace the parish occasion, and face the amused scrutiny of their neighbors. "I think we owe it to society to observe the fashions of the day," said Miss Lucinda. "A lady cannot afford to be unattractive. I feel now as if we were prepared for anything!" Sarah Orne Jewett.

THIS action was heard before the trial court at Venice, and is now brought up for review upon the full notes of the reporter, Mr. William Shakespeare.

The length of time which has elapsed between the rendition of judgment in the court below and the hearing upon this appeal is but another instance of the "law's delay," of which the appellant has good occasion to complain. But, strong in the conviction of the justice of his cause, he desires to waive all questions of procedure, and to be heard upon the merits alone.

The facts of the case, as revealed by the transcript, are as follows: The defendant, Antonio, was a merchant in Venice, who is shown by the testimony to have been a gentleman of most improvident and speculative habits. Not content with loaning his money indiscriminately, without interest or security, he had, just prior to the transactions out of which this action grew, attempted, with insufficient capital, to establish a gigantic "corner" in the shipping trade of Venice. The existence of this reckless deal was not unknown to Shylock, for he says, "He hath an argosy bound to Tripolis; another to the Indies; I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico; a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath squander'd abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be landrats and water-rats; land-thieves and water-thieves: I mean pirates; and then there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks."

That Antonio was conscious of his ocial irresponsibility appears from admissions, and from the statede by his friends in his presAs these facts constitute a part

of the res gestæ, and are of importance in judging of the transactions which follow, counsel will be pardoned for alluding somewhat in extenso to the evidence.

In conversation with his friends Salarino and Salanio, Antonio appears downcast, as may be expected of one whose entire substance stands at such risk. Salarino, commenting upon this, says :

"Your mind is tossing on the ocean:
There, where your argosies, with portly sail,
Like signiors aud rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings." Salanio, appreciating the gravity of Antonio's position, responds: "Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt Would make me sad."

To which Salarino replies, more sympathetically than soothingly :

"My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
And, in a word, but even now worth this
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me
sad?

But tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise."

Antonio offers to these searching re

marks a feeble protestation that his "ventures are not in one bottom trusted, nor to one place." Was there ever a drowning man who would listen to the suggestion that the straw would not bear his weight even if he clutched it? Certain it is that Antonio makes no explanation that will otherwise account for his dejection, and the inference is plain that his friends had discerned the real cause of his disquietude. Indeed, in an interview with Bassanio, he admits his deplorable plight :

"Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; Neither have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum; therefore go forth, Try what my credit can in Venice do ; That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost." Whatever other conclusions may be drawn, two inductions seem to follow irresistibly that Antonio's finances were in such a disordered condition that he was the last man in Venice to offer merely his credit for a loan, and that this was well known among his friends and upon the Rialto.

:

Now comes upon the scene one Bassanio, by his own confession a spendthrift staggering under the debts which his extravagance had created, the largest of which was owing to Antonio, and proposes to the latter, as a means of repaying him, that they should form a syndicate to enable Bassanio to marry an heiress, and, to that end, should borrow money on the credit of their combined insolvency. Let us not be misled by the pretty sentiment which we shall hear these gentlemen uttering betimes as it serves their purposes. Let us bear in mind that when they are by themselves Bassanio frankly confesses that his "plot" for marrying Portia is conceived in the hope of lining his pocket-book, and that he gives Autonio to understand that only by helping him in this scheme can the latter hope to become a preferred creditor. Bassanio opens the subject craftily:

"T is not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate,

By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance : Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is to come fairly off from the great debts Wherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gag'd. To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money and in love; And from your love I have a warranty To unburthen all my plots and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe." A moment later, Bassanio again sug gests the debt he owes to Antonio, and the possibility of repayment, if the latter will only "stand in" on his little arrangement.

"I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, That which I owe is lost."

Mark the subtlety with which he fills Antonio's mind with the hopelessness of the debt, and then continues:

-"but, if you please

To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first."

Antonio jumps eagerly at the bait. Bassanio finds a willing listener while he describes Portia, of whom he does not forget to say that she is "richly left," before he says that she is fair. He tells how he has received some encouragement from the " speechless messages" of the young lady's eyes, and concludes that if he can be fitted out in good form his success is assured: "I have a mind presages me such thrift That I should questionless be fortunate."

Antonio has neither money nor goods available, but his zeal is so aroused that he is willing his credit should be "rack'd;" and he accordingly commissions Bassanio to find some one credulous enough to loan money on the insecurity of their joint signatures. That Bassanio's chances of getting his fingers on the young woman's inheritance does not rest even upon so good a foundation as the messages from her pretty eyes, and we all know that it will not do to base any great outlay upon such collateral, though most of us have done it, I

fear, many times, but upon a piece of blind guess-work as to which of three caskets contain her picture, does not seem to make this speculation in matrimony appear at all hazardous to either of these gentlemen, provided some one else will advance the money necessary to enable Bassanio to resume his "swelling port."

Now, in furtherance of this "plot," as Bassanio confesses it to be, the plaintiff in this action, a worthy Jewish capitalist, is applied to for the loan. It is well to note here that Shylock is, in character, everything which this precious pair are not. Where they are careless and improvident, he is far-seeing and conservative. While Bassanio has been making rapid distribution of his creditors' funds, Shylock, by frugality, has amassed a competence. While Antonio has been sounding random notes upon the pipe of fortune, Shylock has followed the slow and cautious ways of a man of business. Bassanio is a spendthrift, Shylock an accumulator; Antonio is a speculator, Shylock an investor. While they are so diametrically opposite in business methods, they are not less so in personal character. They two are pleasure-loving men of fashion, giving no heed to the morrow; but this man, typical of the strongest characteristics of his race, lives a simple life in his own home, lavishing his fatherly affection upon his only child, and cherishing the venerable traditions and peculiar customs of his people. In intellectual strength and in the rare quality of a masterful personality, he stands upon an eminence to which they never attain. It may be that he has the failings of his tribe; that he smarts under the indignities to which he has been subjected, "the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely;" that continued outrage has produced shyness and suspicion; that open confiscation has resulted in hoarding and secretion. Be that as it may, we may well believe VOL. LVII.-NO. 342.

30

that of all men in the world these two would be the ones to whose personal guaranty alone Shylock would attach the least consideration.

Bassanio, already in his mind befrizzed and pomatumed with Shylock's money, cannot await the usual formality of financial transactions upon the Rialto, but accosts the Hebrew at his first casual meeting. Shylock receives the proposition with evident lack of enthusiasm. Three thousand ducats is a large sum of money to advance on the inconsiderable sufficiency of such security, and he points out to the expectant swain that his bondsman's means are "in supposition;" whereupon Bassanio, having already gained one point by the crafty suggestion of personal gain to Antonio, thinks to flatter the vanity of the Jew by inviting him to dine. Could anything be finer or more self-respecting than the indignant reply?

"I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you a!"

Even while the words are upon his lips, Antonio appears upon the scene, and, with a ready show of virtue, ignores the gain which he hopes to reap by the transaction, and poses as one who neither lends nor borrows, but who, to "supply the ripe wants of a friend," is willing to break a custom. clumsily does he conceal his contempt for the Hebrew that he also stirs the wrath of the latter, who exclaims: :

But so

"Signior Antonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usances :
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe;
You call me, misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spet upon my Jewish gaberdine,

And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help;
Go to then you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies: You say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say,