Mamsey, and pottering suits you exactly;
but it is too much to ask me to sacrifice my wider fields of culture
and usefulness.

MRS. M. Grandpapa would enjoy nothing so much as reading with you.
He said so.

C. Oxford half a century old and wearing off ever since. No, I
thank you! Besides, it is not only physical science, but art.

MRS. M. There's the School of Art at Holbrook.

C. My dear mother, I am far past country schools of art!

MRS. M. It is not as if you intended to take up art as a
profession.

C. Mother! will nothing ever make you understand? Nothing ought to
be half-studied, merely to pass away the time as an _ACCOMPLISHMENT_
(UTTERED WITH INFINITE SCORN, ACCENTUATED ON THE SECOND SYLLABLE),
just to do things to sell at bazaars. No! Art with me means work
worthy of exhibition, with a market-price, and founded on a thorough
knowledge of the secrets of the human frame.

MRS. M. Those classes! I don't like all I hear of them, or their
attendants.

C. If you _WILL_ listen to all the gossip of all the old women of
both sexes, I can't help it! Can't you trust to innocence and
earnestness?

MRS. M. I wish it was the Art College at Wimbledon. Then I should
be quite comfortable about you.

C. Have not we gone into all that already? You know I must go to
the fountain-head, and not be put off with mere feminine, lady-like
studies! Pah! Besides, in lodgings I can be useful. I shall give
two evenings in the week to the East End, to the Society for the
Diversion and Civilisation of the Poor.

MRS. M. Surely there is room for usefulness here! Think of the
children! And for diversion and civilisation, how glad we should be
of your fresh life and brightness among poor people!

C. Such poor! Why, even if grandpapa would let me give a lecture
on geology, or a reading from Dickens, old Prudence Blake would go
about saying it hadn't done nothing for her poor soul.

MRS. M. Grandpapa wanted last winter to have penny readings, only
there was nobody to do it. He would give you full scope for that,
or for lectures.

C. Yes; about vaccination and fresh air! or a reading of John
Gilpin or the Pied Piper. Mamsey, you know a model parish stifles
me. I can't stand your prim school-children, drilled in the
Catechism, and your old women who get out the Bible and the clean
apron when they see you a quarter of a mile off. Free air and open
minds for me! No, I won't have you sighing, mothe