"Mr. Vanstone will see you," she said, "if you
will kindly wait a few minutes. He will ring
the parlour bell when his present occupation is at
an end, and he is ready to receive you. Be careful,
ma'am, not to depress his spirits, or to
agitate him in any way. His heart has been a
cause of serious anxiety to those about him from
his earliest years. There is no positive disease;
there is only a chronic feebleness—a fatty
degeneration—a want of vital power in the organ
itself. His heart will go on well enough if you
don't give his heart too much to do—that is the
advice of all the medical men who have seen him.
You will not forget it, and you will keep a guard
over your conversation accordingly. Talking of
medical men, have you ever tried the Golden
Ointment for that sad affliction in your eyes? It
has been described to me as an excellent remedy."

"It has not succeeded in my case," replied
Magdalen, sharply. "Before I see Mr. Noel
Vanstone," she continued, "may I inquire——"

"I beg your pardon," interposed Mrs.
Lecount. "Does your question refer in any way to
those two poor girls?"

"It refers to the Miss Vanstones."

"Then I can't enter into it. Excuse me, I
really can't discuss these poor girls (I am so glad
to hear you call them the Miss Vanstones!)
except in my master's presence, and by my master's
express permission. Let us talk of something else
while we are waiting here. Will you notice my
glass Tank? I have every reason to believe that
it is a perfect novelty in England."

"I looked at the Tank while you were out of
the room," said Magdalen.

"Did you? You take no interest in the subject,
I dare say? Quite natural. I took no interest
either until I was married. My dear husband—
dead many years since—formed my tastes, and
elevated me to himself. You have heard of the
late Professor Lecomte, the eminent Swiss
naturalist? I am his widow. The English circle at
Zurich (where I lived in my late master's service)
Anglicised my name to Lecount. Your generous
country people will have nothing foreign
about them—not even a name, if they can help
it. But I was speaking of my husband—my dear
husband, who permitted me to assist him in his
pursuits. I have had only one interest since his
death—an interest in science. Eminent in many
things, the Professor was great at reptiles. He
left me his Subjects and his Tank. I had no other
legacy. There is the Tank. All the Subjects
died but this quiet little fellow—this nice little
toad. Are you surprised at my liking him?
There is nothing to be surprised at. The
Professor lived long enough to elevate me above the
common prejudice against the reptile creation.
Properly understood, the reptile creation is
beautiful. Properly dissected, the reptile creation
is instructive in the last degree." She stretched
out her little finger, and gently stroked the toad's
back with the tip of it. "So refreshing to the
touch," said Mrs. Lecount. "So nice and cool
this summer weather!"

The bell from the parlour rang. Mrs. Lecount
rose, bent fondly over the Aquarium, and
chirruped to the toad at parting as if it had been a
bird. "Mr. Vanstone is ready to receive you.
Follow me, if you please, Miss Garth." With
these words she opened the door, and led the way
out of the room.

MR. LEECH'S GALLERY

It would not be easy to over-estimate the
importance of the exact position occupied in
the world of art by Mr. John Leech. The
greatest weight attaches to the labours of one
who holds such a mirror up to the time as
that gentleman does. It is a faithful mirror. It
shows all our defects just as they are, and the
monitor stands beside it, pointing relentlessly
to every blemish. Yet, from this particular
monitor we bear anything, because he is
possessed of rare good nature and of extraordinary
geniality and sympathy.

These qualities show themselves in Mr.
Leech's work, as all the infinitesimal shades of
a man's mind always will show themselves in
what he does. How they appear it is difficult
to say. The element in one man's character
which disposes us to allow him to say things
which we would not listen to from another,
is subtle and undefinable. It affects everything
he says, pervades all his deeds and
words. We would even let him, if he were
so minded, steal our favourite hobby-horse, while
the man not gifted with these special and
indescribable qualities must not look over our hedge,
no, nor touch a twig of it.

He who has a license to tell us home truths
on all sorts of subjects, exercises an important
function, and is loaded with no small responsibility.
To teach in this way is one of Mr.
Leech's prerogatives, and one which we are
disposed strongly to contend for, in claiming for
him a position far above that of a simple
caricaturist or a skilful draughtsman.

In his graver mood, which has the more weight
from its holding him very rarely, John Leech has
some sad things to say, and says them with
immense power. Let us take an instance or two
from some of his works not in the present Exhibition,
but known to every one. What a miserable
picture that is of the old man dressed like a child,
building up, with a toy spade, a little heap of sand
on the great sea-shore! The heap is labelled
in the old creature's miserable play with the
letters £ s. d. This sketch is a sermon
preached on the text "all is vanity," which the
artist has placed underneath it. There is
another study of an old tottering wretch presenting
a bouquet to a coryphée as she stands at the
wing, which is almost equal to the first in its
grim and terrible force.

The drawing of the swollen Jew clothier, who
has fattened on the labours of a row of skeletons,
busily at work on the tailor's board, is another
fine instance of the same kind of power. The
"settling day of the betting-office frequenter"
again: how strongly the moral is enforced