may be carried too far. These are the mere
perverse and wicked humours of a tyrannical mind.
I know human character pretty well. That
sensitiveness is all absurd; and, dear Miss
Millwood, if you will trust to me, or be advised
by one who has a deep interest in you——"

"Oh, you are so good, so kind," she said, with
that air of devotion which so often came upon
her. "But there are reasons I must not tell you.
I must bear and wait a little longer."

Meanwhile, Pitcher had been bowling in most
splendid fashion. Soldier after soldier went out
with a plunge. The normal attitude of the
wicket sticks was that of being awry. Nor did
Pitcher content himself with these prodigies.
He had other feats; and once so scared a
military gentleman by rushing at the ball the latter
had just struck, and launching it with sudden
violence at the wicket, that he slipped and fell
from sheer surprise and nervousness, and was
quickly "out."  Victory, therefore, declared for
Pitcher and the North Wiltshires.

CHESTERFIELD JUNIOR.
A SON'S ADVICE TO HIS FATHER.

MY DEAR FATHER. In my last letter I
considered why it was that men are compelled to
work so hard, and to put so unwholesome a
strain on their faculties; and came to the
conclusion that it was because of the extraordinary
growth of luxury in these days, and the necessity
under which men find themselves of "keeping
pace" with it. On this subject, respected sir, I
have yet something more to say.

What things are necessary now to a start in
life, the life being that of what may be called
the "upper middle class"?  It is needful (and
these, be it remarked, are no extreme views) to
have such an income as will allow of a good
house in a good neighbourhood, a cook, a
housemaid, a lady's maid, and a man-servant, as also
a brougham to facilitate the making of calls and
the keeping of evening engagements. These
things provided for the start in life—and it is
certain that most young people will have to
wait long, and marry warily in order to make
such a beginning—the need for increased
income goes on yearly increasing in urgency.
Children arrive, and nurses and governesses are
required, as are also country quarters, where the
little ones may breathe fresh air; garments
innumerable, in which to clothe them, likewise become
necessary. Then come the educational expenses.
The boys must be sent to good schools, come of
it what may. They must be well dressed and
have pocket-money, in order that they may keep
pace—for "keeping pace" begins at school—
with the other boys. Then they must be sent
to college, or otherwise started in life, and still
"helped" with money during the long long
period which intervenes between the time when
the lad leaves school and the man begins to make
money; the habits of young men at this time
being generally of an expensive sort, as you, my
dear father, are probably aware, and their power
of spending money as remarkable as their
incapacity for earning the same. Now also the young
ladies are beginning to have milliner's bills, and
the roomy vehicle in which they are conveyed
into society makes it necessary that a pair of
horses should be set up.

And how is he, on whom it devolves to find
the money for all this, and much more, to be
even moderate in his exertions to obtain the
means of living? What is left for him but
hard, hard labour? How can he pause to
consider whether he, already overworked,
shall, or shall not, enter upon still new
undertakings, which may prove profitable? It is
impossible for him even to give the thing
consideration. He must do it. If there be so much
as the remotest prospect of emolument to be
derived, he must engage in this new enterprise
also, though he may be entirely out of his depth
already, over head and ears in affairs, and
struggling for very life. And this man too, be
it observed, is, with all this effort and striving,
only "keeping pace" with others.

What a pace! and how many engaged in the
"running." Let any one examine those
districts of the town which are inhabited by the
richer classes of society, and see what
conclusions he will arrive at. Let him begin with the
older neighbourhoods— Portland-place, Cavendish
and Portman squares, and the Wimpole
regions— and try to form some estimate of the
amount of annual expenditure which each of
the houses represents. That done, let him cross
the Edgeware-road, and, entering the precincts
of Tyburnia, observe the kind of establishments
which prevail in that part of the world. Large
houses, my dear sir, in the squares of Gloucester
and Sussex, in Hyde Park Gardens, and in the
regions beyond that. Large houses, whose
proprietors have their carriages and horses, their
men-servants and their maid-servants, who eat
good dinners, and drink expensive wines daily,
and entertain each other sumptuously and often.
Having exhausted, or partially exhausted, the
locality, let our philosopher wend his way to
Park-lane, and, after eyeing that imposing row
of houses with awe, let him take courage—the
inhabitants are humane, and will not hurt him
—to enter the precincts of Mayfair, and see
how that strikes him. Crœsus! what a place!
What must be the aggregate income of the
inhabitants of that plot of ground which is
bounded on the north by Oxford-street, on the,
south by Piccadilly, on the east by Bond-street,
and on the west by Park-lane! Our pensive
pedestrian does all this region thoroughly. He
tries to make a mental calculation as to how
much a year each house in Grosvenor-square
represents. He trembles, and passes on to
Berkeley-square, where the ladies are eating ices
in their carriages, wearing a greedy and guilty
aspect all the time (beggars looking on and
spoiling the fun); and that done, he sneaks
along Hill-street (for the aspect of things is
chilling his very soul within him), and grovels
in Curzon-street, and quails in Piccadilly, and