presented gratis, on the "Management of the Human
Hair." Apparently, there had been peculiarities
in my handwriting which had betrayed to the
unerring eye of the Graphiologist, that my hair
was not totally free from defects; and the
pamphlet was a delicate way of hinting at the
circumstance, and at the remedial agents to which
I might look for relief. But this is a minor
matter, and has nothing to do with the great
triumph of Graphiology, which consists in
introducing us to ourselves, on terms that make
us inestimably precious to ourselves, for the
trifling consideration of fourteenpenn'orth of
postage stamps. To a perfectly unprejudiced
—that is to say, to a wisely credulous mind—
such a science as this carries its own
recommendation along with it. Comment is
superfluous—except in the form of stamps
transmitted to the Graphiologist. I may continue the
record of my personal experiences.

Having started, as it were, afresh in life, with a
new and improved opinion of myself— having
discovered that I am clever in whatever I undertake,
kindly, original, vivacious, full of glee and
spirit, and that my few faults are so essentially
modest and becoming as to be more of the
nature of second-rate merits than of positive
defects— I am naturally in that bland and wisely
contented frame of mind which peculiarly fits a
man to undertake the choice of his vocation in
life, with the certainty of doing the fullest
justice to himself. At this new point in my
career, I look around me once again among my
sceptical and unhappy fellow-mortals. What
turbulence, what rivalry, what heart-breaking
delays, disappointments, and discomfitures do I not
behold among the disbelievers in advertisements
—the dupes of incredulity, who are waiting for
prizes in the lottery of professional existence!
Here is a man vegetating despondingly in a
wretched curacy; here is another, pining briefless
at the unproductive Bar; here is a third, slaving
away his youth at a desk, on the chance of
getting a partnership, if he lives to be a middle-
aged man. Inconceivable infatuation! Every
one of these victims of prejudice and routine
sees the advertisements— as I see them. Every
one might answer the following announcement,
issued by a disinterested lover of his species—
as I answer it:

"TEN POUNDS WEEKLY.— May be permanently
realised by either sex, with each pound expended.
Particulars clearly shown that these incomes are so
well secured to those investing that to fail in
realising them is impossible. Parties may commence
with small investments, and by increasing them out
of their profits, can, with unerring certainty,
realise an enormous income. No partnership, risk,
liability, or embarking in business. Incontestable
authorities given in proof of these statements.
Enclose a directed stamped envelope to," &c. &c.

All this information for a penny stamp!
It is offered— really offered in the terms quoted
above— in the advertising columns of half the
newspapers in England; especially in the cheap
newspapers, which have plenty of poor readers,
hungry for any little addition to their scanty
incomes. Would anybody believe that we persist in
recognising the clerical profession, the medical
profession, the legal profession, and that the
Ten-Pounds-Weekly profession is, as yet,
unacknowledged among us!

Well, I despatch my directed envelope. The
reply is returned to me in the form of two
documents, one lithographed and one printed, and
both so long that they generously give me, at
the outset, a good shilling's worth of reading
for my expenditure of a penny stamp. The
commercial pivot on which the structure of my
enormous future income revolves, I find, on
perusal of the documents— the real documents,
mind, not my imaginary substitutes for them
—to be a " FABRIC"— described as
somewhat similar in appearance to " printed velvet."
How simple and surprising! how comprehensive
and satisfactory especially to a poor man,
longing for that little addition to his meagre
income! The Fabric is certain to make
everybody's fortune. And why? Because
it is a patent Fabric, and because it can imitate
everything, at an expense of half nothing. The
Fabric can copy flowers, figures, landscapes, and
historical pictures; paper-hangings, dress-pieces,
shawls, scarfs, vests, trimmings, book-covers,
and " other manufactures too numerous to
detail." The Fabric can turn out " hundreds of
thousands of articles at one operation." By
skilful manoeuvring of the Fabric "ninety per
cent. of material is saved." In the multitudinous
manipulations of the Fabric— and this is a most
cheering circumstance— " sixty veneers have
been cut to the inch." In the public disposal
of the Fabric— and here is the most surprising
discovery of all— the generous patentee (who
answers my application) will distribute its
advantages over the four quarters of the
globe, in shares— five-shilling shares— each
one of which is " probably worth several
hundred pounds." But why talk of hundreds?
Let clergymen, doctors, and barristers talk of
hundreds. The Ten-Pounds-Weekly profession
takes its stand on the Fabric, and counts by
millions. We can prove this (I speak as a
Fabricator) by explicit and incontrovertible
reference to facts and figures.

How much (the following illustrations and
arguments are not my own: they are derived
entirely from the answer I receive to my application)
— how much does it cost at present to dress a
lady, shawl a lady, and bonnet a lady; to parasol
and slipper a lady, and to make a lady quite
happy after that, with a porte-monnaie, an album,
and a book-cover? Eight pounds— and dirt
cheap, too. The Fabric will do the whole
thing— now that " sixty veneers have been cut
to the inch," mind, but not before— for Two
pounds. How much does it cost to carpet, rug,
curtain, chair-cover, decorate, table-cover, and
paper-hang a small house? Assume ruin to the
manufacturer, and say, as a joke, Ten pounds.
The Fabric, neatly cutting its sixty veneers to
the inch, will furnish the house, as it furnishes
the lady, for Two pounds. What follows?