“That fable,” I replied, “proves that he was no god, at least. Of the earth, earthy, he found strength only in his sphere. The moment he aspired above it the god crushed him. I doubt if Hercules could have derived any benefit from the same source.” “Ah! I am no Hercules, but you will also find that I am no Antaeus. I fall, but I rise again, and I am not crushed. This is peculiarly the source of HUMAN strength.” “Better not to fall.” “Ah! you are too late from Utopia. But--” We were interrupted; a voice at my elbow--a soft, clear, insinuating voice addressed my companion:-- “Ah, Monsieur Kingsley, I rejoice to see you.” Kingsley gave me a single look, which said everything, as he turned to meet the new-comer. The latter continued:-- “Though worsted in that last encounter, you do not despair, I see.” “No! why should I?” “True, why? Fortune baffles skill, but what of that? She is capricious. Her despotism is feminine; and in her empire, more certainly than any other, it may be said boldly, that, with change of day there is change of doom. It is not always rain.” “Perhaps not, but we may have such a long spell of it that everything is drowned. 'It's a long lane,' says the proverb, 'that has no turn;' but a man be done up long before he gets to the turning place.” The other replied by some of the usual commonplaces by which, in condescending language, the gamester provoked and stimulates his unconscious victim. Kingsley, however, had reached a period of experience which enabled him to estimate these phrases at their proper worth. “You would encourage me,” he said quietly, and in tones which, to the unnoteful ear, would have seemed natural enough, but which, knowing him as I did, were slightly sarcastic, and containing a deeper signification than they gave out: “but you are the better player. I am now convinced of that. Something there is in fortune, doubtless; my self-esteem makes me willing to admit that; and yet I do not deceive myself. You have been too much for me--you are!” “The difference is trifling, very trifling, I suspect. A little more practice will soon reconcile that.” “Ha! ha! you forget the practice is to be paid for.” “True, but it is the base spirit only that scruples at the cost of its accomplishments.” “Surely, surely!” “You are fresh for the encounter to-night?” “Pleasantly put! Is the query meant for the player or his purse?” “Good, very good! Why, truly, there is no necessary affinity between them.” “And yet the one without the other would scarcely be able to commend himself to so excellent an artist as Mr. Latour Cleveland. Clifford, let me introduce you to my ENEMY; Mr. Cleveland, my FRIEND.”