ONCE upon a time, judging by John Leech's pictures of English women (who could do almost everything in those days but manage their hoop-skirts), they were all short and became instantly stout when they arrived at forty. If Leech was right, English women must have changed very much since then. It may be that they grew tall to more closely resemble Du Maurier's goddesses. In many cases they have succeeded, as may be seen at Lord's or at any fashionable race-course. There may not be a variety of good looks, but one type is beautiful. So strong is the family likeness, they might all be handsome sisters. There was something very sweet and lovable about that plump little woman of Mr. Leech's. I only met her in reality after she had grown into a sweet old lady, and I should have regretted not having seen her

very

before had I not seen her tall granddaughters. The London dowager, although often severe in appearance, is very kind and interesting. Her name has been for years on the most exclusive visiting lists, and she could tell you more about the people in the room than the servants themselves. Sitting often alone, and apparently neglected, she is not an object of pity, nor has she merely the habit of going about. She is a much needed member of society, and she is very happy. She is the social historian. She gives her candid and much valued opinion on a new engagement, and can tell just who the young people's ancestors were.

She is so interesting that it is easy to overlook her often ridiculous clothes and over-display of jewelry, and to see beneath her false bang a true and accomplished woman.

With the consolation of hoping that possibly the young lady thinks more of him than she does of the man who has been selected for her, many a "detriment" has fought fever and natives in a far off land,

to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Among the well born the pleasant spectacle of a young man fighting the battle of life for himself is seldom At a very early age his profession is chosen for him, and with years he acquires

seen.

To be related distantly to people of rank is a calamity; it gives the unhappy family social ambitions, and still not the power to lift themselves above snubs. They become social shuttlecocks, and see encouragement where only a little is given. Their anxiety and desire to please make them helpless and the playthings of the more fortunate, and old age finds them with no definite position, but

with the same ob

place, and it is not surprising that some of them find comfort abroad.

English people are never forgetful of services rendered. A public servant, long after his work has lost its value, may grow old in comfort and be spared the mortification of neglect. Londoners are charitable, and will patiently listen to a singer long after his fame has outlived his voice. A music hall audience will shout itself hoarse over a song which mentions Tom Sayers or any favorite of days gone by. In England a public man performs with a net under him,

in the shape of an easy office, into which he may drop when the work of his life is done. It relieves the strain on the nerves of his audience, and possibly the performance is longer, if not better.

On

The fact that Phil May is a prophet in his own country should alone clear Englishmen of the suspicion that they are slow to see fun. an Englishman's love of fair play and good sport no suspicion has ever rested. It is the most attractive thing about him, and it is only natural that the greatest assortment of good-natured people are to be found at the Derby. I had already met them in May's drawings, and I was prepared to find the good-nature contagious. Last year party on a coach opposite the Royal box and a policeman, who looked after that particular part of the course, drank champagne out of the same bottle.

An Englishman can tell at once in just what particular walk of life every other Englishman is; consequently, at home

lead Persimmon off the track, short men stood on boxes and balanced themselves by holding on to whoever stood next to them. Gypsy fortune-tellers and painted

faced minstrels climbed on the backs of coaches. Everyone shouted together and wished that the Prince had been a little taller, so that they might all have seen him. English-speaking people have been in troduced to each other by a long line of clever draughtsmen. They have laughed together about the same people in the truest and sweetest-natured way in all the world. Above all others, one hand awakened the interest that finally grew into an intimacy resulting in people knowing themselves and others better. It has brought men together by its chivalrous praise of women, and women together by its fair treatment of men, and the same master-hand brought men and women together by the tender sympathy it showed for children and all

nature. The beautiful was safe in that gentle hand. Although the heart that guided it no longer beats, the human interest and kindly feeling that it awakened will live forever, and all the world has placed among the foremost men of his day the affectionately remembered name of George du Maurier.

These drawings were made among the most hospitable people I ever met. When I have failed, it has not been owing to a lack of interest, but more likely on account of a consciousness that my results would fall short of my desires. The disappointments following the completion of a drawing made from a beautiful woman are many. In these portraits I have the most to regret.

C. D. G.