is the answer, "and I have a good memory,
which I have diligently cultivated, so that I have
the power of bringing to bear upon the subject
of the moment, apposite instances connected
with the history ot the past, and this I can
undertake to do without boring anybody."—
"I," urges another, "have sacrificed all the
pleasures of town life when I was quite young and
could have enjoyed them as well as another, and
have passed thirteen years in India, where I
acted in such and such a capacity under such
and such a minister. I then went to China for
a time, and subsequently to Ceylon. All this
time I worked hard to get an insight into the
real character of the people, and I always kept
my eyes open and my attention on the alert. I
have plenty of information on all sorts of
subjects connected with the countries I have
mentioned, and I have also always kept up my
acquaintance with my own country, and know what
was going on in Europe while I was away."
This man is admitted as the other was, at once,
and another steps forward. "I have just come
from the seat of war. I have travelled north
and south, I have run all sorts of risks,
encountered all kinds of hardships, sacrificed my
ease and comfort at every turn, and I have many
very interesting anecdotes to relate of what I
have seen and heard." This person goes through,
it is unnecessary to say, triumphantly; and more
apply. "I am under-secretary for peace," says
one; "mine has been a diplomatic career from
the first. I have been at Berlin, Constantinople,
Vienna, and have at last raised myself to be in
this subordinate but high position in the ministry.
I can tell you a great deal about these different
courts at which I have lived, and a few things
about affairs here, which are not unlikely to prove
interesting." Another says: "I am a bookworm,
and have all sorts of knowledge of queer out-of-
the-way stories of what private influences were
at work affecting the public questions of past
days. I know, too, many good stories about
ancestors of people still living, and who are
themselves public characters; but I have kept
pace with the day, so you need not fear, as I see
you do, that I am a bore, for I know when to
come in with my lore and when to hold my
tongue, or talk of other things." As this man
goes through the gate, a well-known barrister
appears. "I have been engaged in the great
swindling case," he says, "about which everybody
is anxious to know. I have, besides, all
sorts of things to tell you about other lawsuits
of an exciting nature, and many circuit
recollections of the utmost interest." After our
learned brother has skipped through the great
gates, the novelist of the day appears and is
admitted. Then comes the successful artist,
the actor who has taken the town by storm.
The cotton lord, who has been a factory-boy
once, appears next. Then the man of the clubs,
who knows everything about everybody, is an
important authority on all matters of a personal
kind, and who always knows what is in the evening
paper. And last, but certainly not least,
comes the rich man, the man who has money—
and nothing else. For all these, the social doors
swing back on well-oiled hinges, and they are
admitted.

Now, in all these cases, let it be observed,
except the two last, the people who are
admitted through these wonderful gates are
persons to whom some credit attaches. It will be
said by some discontented individuals that they
are all successful men, and so they are; but, to
reach that success, they have all worked hard.
None of those whose claims to social distinction
we have glanced at, have been idlers. They
have all been diligent, have all made the most
of their opportunities, and the best of their
natural advantages and talents. It is one of
the fine social qualities of our day that we make
so much of diligence: a virtue which, if not the
highest of all, is at any rate one that cannot be
admired too much, and one that, to our poor
judgment, seems to be so esteemed in heaven
that men who possess it, prosper, even when
they are in other ways vastly defective.
Diligence and self-denial, as shown in their glorious
results, are worshipped in this age, and we do
well to give honour to such fine qualities.
Even the money-worship, which is one of our
most glaring weaknesses, is, when the money
is merely a result of these two virtues,
something more than excusable. To be rich is often
an extremely creditable thing, and poverty is not
always so free from disgracefulness as people
think.

It may be said that these same virtues of
diligence and self-denial are not themselves
worshipped by modern society, but only their
results in the shape of success. Very likely this
is so; but it comes, after all, to the same thing,
practically, since the prizes which society has
to offer are attainable by the exercise of those
qualities: which is a wholesome state of things,
say what you will.

For, suppose that one had to give advice to a
lad as to what his life should be, in order that he
might attain what is called a "good position"
when he grew up. It is curious what really good
advice it would be. It might be what is called
"worldly," but it would be good for all that.
"You must think seriously," the homily would
begin, "at an early age of what is before you.
You must decide when your time of enjoyment
and ease is to come. That time is a sort of
inheritance; will you have it when you have earned it,
when it comes in its legitimate season, or will
you mortgage your patrimony, spend it first and
work to earn it afterwards? Beware of a course
so hopeless as this last. Look at the history of
a day, which is, in some respects, like that of
a man's life. As it is sometimes said that
youth is the period for enjoyment, so one might
say that morning also is the time for pleasure.
It is undoubtedly the best part of the day. The
air is freshest then, the light is purest, the
spirits and the perceptions of man are bright
and clear. Yet this is the time of day when it is
most needful to work. Are we not obliged to
turn away from that tempting scene outside,
and bend over the desk, or be shut up in a