Just at the moment when he was abandoning
himself to despair, he heard the tread of a
horse and the rolling of wheels near the mouth
of the well. He cried out with all that remained
of his nearly extinguished voice. A man
answered, and promised to release him. It was a
knacker, who was conveying home a dead horse,
who charitably came to Janko's deliverance.
He let down the rope with which the body
had been fastened to the car, into the well, and
dragged up the sufferer into the face of day.

Janko first thanked his deliverer with all
outpourings of gratitude, and then delivered his
cruel betrayer to all the curses of hell, as both
his horse and his gold had fled. The curses,
indeed, were so violent that they frightened the
knacker himself. But when he had told the
sad story of his adventure with the gipsy, the
knacker was filled with sympathy and pity.
He lent his cloak to Janko, and offered to
take him into his service. Time was when
Janko would have treated with indignation any
proposal that he should be the servant of a
peasant, but now he thanked heaven that he
had saved his skin, and that he found even a
horse-knacker to promise him his daily bread.
And so, but somewhat sadly, he accepted the
proffered cloak of his master, and followed
with silent resignation, merely saying, " As it
was won, so it was done."

THE ENGLISH GENTLEMAN'S OWN
PROFESSION.

(SECOND ARTICLE.)

IN a paper lately published in these pages
an attempt was made to show the fallibility
of the argument, which is sometimes put
forward by the partisans of our army purchase
system, that it preserves a certain exclusiveness
in the military profession, and so helps forward
the great object (so extraordinarily dear to
some of our countrymen) of keeping the
officers' commissions in our army in the hands of
gentlemen. The extreme uncertainty of the
purchase system as to its action in this respect
was contended for, in the article in question,
and numerous instances illustrative of that
uncertainty were given. Having thus
endeavoured to show that this particular object of
setting apart the military profession as a service
exclusively reserved for gentlemen is not
invariably attained by our present regulations with
regard to promotion in the army, we come
next to the question whether, even supposing
that it did so act, the object itself, as pursued,
to the exclusion of so many others, is always,
and at all hazards, so precious of attainment as
a large section of English society believes it to
be. That it is desirable that our army should
be officered by gentlemen we frankly admit
(and we think it likely that, in the main, it
always will be so), but what we would ask is,
briefly, whether this thing is so desirable that
everything else is to be sacrificed to it?
Whether, in a word, it is as important—or half
as important—that the officer who commands
our troops should be a finished gentleman, as that
he should be a good and experienced soldier?
There is nothing in the world to prevent his
being both—quite the contrary—but which is
the most important?

How is it in other professions? If one of us
gets run over in crossing Piccadilly, and the
services of an eminent surgeon are required to
doctor our broken limbs, is it the most perfect
gentleman to be found in the medical
profession for whom we inquire, or the most
skilful and practised surgeon? When we have
got into law difficulties, again—and who can
keep out of them?—do we ransack Lincoln's
Inn for a solicitor of polished manners, or
do we simply ask who is the best authority on
matters of this kind, and seek him out forthwith?
What we want in all these different
callings are able professors in their different
ways. We want discreet judges, keen-sighted
advocates, careful and astute solicitors,
industrious and sensible clergymen, thoughtful and
experienced doctors, and the like. We do not
go out of our way to insist on their being
refined gentlemen. Ordinarily they are so,
and immensely it adds to their value; but still
we do not make it of paramount importance.
We are not such bad architects as to treat a
most fascinating ornament as if it were a
structural necessity.

But we may go much further than we have
done, and still not be in the slightest danger
of going too far. It is only asserting the barest
truth to say that this assigning to what is a
mere accessory, a position of such exaggerated
importance is a dangerous as well as a
mistaken proceeding. May it not be that a certain
amateurish quality which is sometimes to be
observed among our officers is attributable
in some degree to this military deification of
the "genteel?" That this amateur element
exists there can be no doubt; and it is just
as certain that the idea of getting rid of
it is regarded with alarm by those whom it
most concerns to send it to the winds. It is
but a few evenings ago that the Duke of Argyll,
in a memorable speech, spoke contemptuously
enough of what he called "professional
politicians," and in doing so used an expression,
which should never be forgotten, and which told
a wondrously long and significant tale. Does
not this dread of what is professional, which
means what is stirring, energetic, done with
a purpose, exist in other natures beside that of
the Duke of Argyll? Is there not among
many of the "curled darlings" by whom our
army is commanded something of the same
dread of " professional" officers? Do not a
great many of them regard the belonging to a
regiment as they do the being members of a
club? Is it not in this light, rather than as a
profession to be studied, worked at, brought to
perfection, that they get to look upon the military
calling? Do they not complain of their
professional avocations as a bore? Are they
not for ever getting somebody else to take their