and had forgotten all about it. Astonishment
of Boots quite amazing. Of course I
shall go and see him when his new mansion
is built. Plans just decided upon; foundation
scooped out; all to be finished, under
heavy penalties, in twenty-one days. Good
bye. O, my poor head!

Not very dissimilar from this violent
mummer, is my friend who wears the robust
mask—who goes in for rude health and
ruddy vigour. He is always draining a pot
of porter, with a loud smack of the lips,
stamping his feet, striking his chest, and
giving imaginary blows from the shoulder.
He rises at six every morning (summer or
winter); he leaps into a cold-water bath
(summer or winter), sometimes half-full of
ice; he takes a three-mile spin up hill, and
a three-mile trot down; he scorns tea, coffee,
eggs, and toast, and breakfasts on half-raw
beefsteaks, stale bread, and porter. He plays
a good deal at cricket, and he almost lives in
the open air; he has never had a day's
illness in his life, and he does not know what
a doctor's bill means; he weighs fourteen
stone, but every ounce of flesh upon him is
as firm as india-rubber (feel and try), and he
only wonders any sensible person can hesitate
for a moment to follow his example.
Nothing disagrees with him. He can stop
up all night; he can drink bad wine; he can
digest pork-pies, welsh-rarebit, and lobster-
salad, washed down with punch that is made
to suit a salamander. Wonderful! Though
his mask is as broad and palpable as a giant's
in a pantomime, he never loses an
opportunity of thrusting it under my nose.

Another wearer of a broad, coarse mask, is
my ready-money friend, who goes in for
universal power, based upon cash capital. His
funds may not be extensive—I know he is
not very rich—but he makes the most of the
goods with which the gods have provided
him. He likes large, heavy coins, that
make a substantial show; and crowns, half-
crowns, and thick copper pennies must have
been created for his special gratification.

His purse is like a huge sand-bag, not
easily forgotten, and it is no wonder he was
never known to leave it behind him. He
considers no man wealthy, no matter what
his landed or other property may be, unless
he can command a stout bagful of the
circulating medium. He does not like bank-
notes, he despises bank-cheques, and he
takes his stand firmly as an individual on a
pure metallic currency.

It is his boast that he never yet owed a
penny for a single hour; and it is also his
further boast that he never will. He smiles
at debtors' prisons, insolvent courts, and
lawyers' offices; as, he says, that such places
were never meant for him. He throws his
heavy purse on the counter when he is driving
a hard bargain, and he trusts to its
silent power to bring him off in triumph. He
knows, or affects to know, of nothing that
cannot be settled with ready money; and he
considers the legal system of fines a
convincing proof of the correctness of his
opinions. If he ran over a child in the street
or shot a peasant-boy instead of a partridge,
he would pull out his sand-bag purse before
the magistrate, and ask, "How much?"
with the most provoking confidence. His
wealth is of the electro-plated kind, and
its ostentation is in proportion to its
shallowness.

Another wearer of a mask, who contrasts
forcibly with the last, is my extremely
delicate friend, who goes in for refinement and
an elegant state of repose. His nerves are
very fine; his taste is exquisite; he cannot
bear popular pictures, popular music, or
popular literature; he hears the bellowings
of stage-tragedians, and the trumpet-song in
the opera of Puritani, without moving from
his comfortable chamber-couch; he once ate
a pea; he once saw a masterpiece of Turner's
painting, and he had a brain-fever which
lasted several days; he never had a coat
that fitted him properly, or a well-made pair
of boots; he would not be a member of
Parliament for twenty thousand a-year; he
thinks the ballet is not what it used to be;
he says that people do not dress now-a-days,
but jump about in sacks; he has been to
Brighton, but never to Ramsgate,—thank
Heaven, he has not yet fallen so low as that.
He would not be introduced to my energetic
or my robust masker for all the wealth of
Australia.

He can see nothing to amuse him in
town, and he abhors the rude, half-savage
sports of the field. He calls his valet, and
finding that no turbot is to be had in the
market, he requests to be left undisturbed
in bed, until the same hour on the following
day.

This wearer of a thin, transparent mask
may be called a rather prejudiced man, if
anything so vigorous as prejudice can exist
in so affectedly feeble a body. He has a
contrast in the person of another masker,
whose pride it is to go in for universal
liberty of opinion.

My friend who wears the unprejudiced
mask, is never tired of calling himself a
citizen of the world. He belongs to no country;
he has no national feeling. He would
sleep in a double-bedded room with a negro,
a red Indian, or a Malay pirate. He knows
no distinction of caste, colour, or position;
and he cannot understand why the eternal
principles of right and freedom should be
thought good in one latitude and longitude,
and bad in another. So far I could agree
with him, if he was not so dreadfully
conscious of his attitude. George the Fourth
may have been no better than the late King
of Oude, but it is rather antithetical (if not
treasonable) to say so. My friend in the
unprejudiced mask is as lenient to individuals
as he is to nationalities. His opinion