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If you meet a friend in the street, in a coffee-house, or in any public place, never address him by name; at least not so loudly that others may hear it.

In writing to a lady, put her name at the bottom of the letter, towards the left corner; and always use a white envelope.

It is considered a mark of respect to commence (to begin) a letter towards the middle of the page. The lower it is commenced, the greather is the respect. Between friends this custom would, of course, be absurd. Do not offer a person the chair from which you have just risen, unless there be no other in the room. Although these remarks will not be sufficient to make you a gentleman, yet they will enable you to avoid glaring impropriety.

Gentility is neither in birth, manner nor fashion,—but in the mind. A high sense of honour-a determination never to take a mean advantage of another-an adherence to truth, delicacy and politeness towards those with whom you have to do-are the essential and distinguishing characteristics of a gentleman.

II. MY ADVENTURES WITH A THOUSAND-POUND NOTE

or

THE COMFORT OF AN EASY NIGHT-CAP.

What are the riches of the world without peace? What is the happiest day unless followed by sound repose? And what is the softest feather-bed without an easy nightcap? The world would hardly be worth keeping awake for, were it not for our slumbers; and who can sleep in an uneasy night-cap?-If your night-cap be so tight that it binds your brows, or so loose that it falls from your head, you can hardly sleep. Oh, the comfort of an easy night-cap! But though I speak of a night-cap, that is only a figure of speech; I intend to signify by it the blessing of nightly repose, and therefore to our story.

Years ago, it matters not how many, I went to see the great metropolis, to which I was then comparatively a stranger. My objects were limited, having little more to do than to receive the sum of one thousand pounds, and to see some friends. Unwisely I went first for the money and hence arose all my trouble. The amount was paid me in a thousand-pound note, and from that moment I was an unhappy man.

No doubt a capitalist, familiar with millions, a wealthy (rich) merchant, unacquainted with the amount of his fortune, and a banker's clerk, through whose fingers large sums are passing every hour of the day, would laugh at the ridiculous position of a man feeling himself so much oppressed by the possession of a thousand pounds. I do not intend justifying my emotions, but only describing them as they were. Almost as well might I have had a millstone round my neck, as that note in my pocket.

The loss of so large a sum, though it might not have ruined me, would have had nevertheless the most serious consequences, and my fears of the possibility put me in mind, that I had often heard that at London one might lose one's handkerchief at the top of a street and buy it again at the bottom, where by the time you arrive there it would be exposed in some shop for sale.

With my thousand-pound note in my pocket, I went to the Gold Lion, an inn which had been recommended to me, not quite free from the suspicion that some thief might have seen me receive the money and followed me to the hotel. That night I slept at the Gold Lion, or perhaps it would be safer to say that I went to bed there, because sleep was a thing with which I had little to do. No doubt the noise that prevailed all the night in the yard among the porters, hostlers, and coachmen had some influence in keeping me awake; but my thousand-pound note was the principal cause. Though my money was placed under my pillow, I did not think it altogether secure. I had heard tales about travellers at inns being robbed by seemingly fellow-travellers as

well as by the servants of the establishment. Portraits were said to be hung on the walls, with holes in their eyes, through which one could look to see where the travellers put their money. I remembered this and similar tales as I lay awake listening to every sound, loud or low, that reached my ear, and yielding to the most absurd apprehensions.

The morning at length came, and while I was breakfasting, I laid down something like a plan for the day. The British Museum being near, I resolved upon going there; and I think few things can appear more ridiculous than the figure I must have cut on my way to Great Russel-street. With my thousand-pound note in the inmost fold of my pocket-book, which I had put in my breast-pocket, every moment I looked suspiciously round me putting my hand to my bosom to assure myself that all was safe.

The British Museum was not at that time what it is now; its outside and inside since then have been equally changed and improved. Such as it was, however, it called forth the surprise of the strangers, and would have surely awakened mine too, had I been sufficiently at liberty to look about me and enjoy the scene. At another time I could have looked the whole day on the heathen Gods, the canoes, hatchets, bows, and arrows of the Indians. But thus, all these things seemed endless to me and I hurried through them.

Old men with grey heads, fathers and mothers with their children, young men and boys formed a sort of living stream along the stair-case, the passages, and through the several rooms. Curiosity, wonder, and delight were visible among the visitors; all seemed satisfied and happy. What money they had in their pockets I did not know but I was sure that not one of them had a thousandpound note there, otherwise they would have all lost, like me, that careless ease and sincere joy.

The libraries of the museum astonished me by their extent; but I did not long remain in them, because if I

had not a serpent in my bosom, I had there what almost as effectually troubled my peace.

From the museum I ran to Westminster Abbey, a place which could not be let unseen. I hardly looked at the monuments of Chaucer, Shakspeare, Dryden and Milton. As I entered the small chapel where Henry V. lies, I observed the eyes of a man wearing mustachios fixed on me. Mustachios were not so common then as they are now, and the stranger's face did not please me at all. As I went to the opposite side of the monument, the verger who described the abbey said aloud, "This figure has lost its head, which is supposed to have been of solid silver and to have excited the avarice of Oliver Cromwell." At the same moment I again perceived the man with the mustachios peering at me throught the crowd. If the statue has lost its head," thought I, that is no reason why I should lose my note" (ovvero: for me to lose...) and therefore I took the first favourable opportunity of leaving the place.

"

On my returning to my inn, I unfortunately got into a crowd near Temple-Bar. I never knew till then what a London crowd was. A hackney-coach had been upset, and everybody who passed by, wanted to see what had happened. Several times was the cry repeated, „Take care of your pockets!" An admonition altogether unnecessary, as for me, the care of my pocket-book being my chief, and almost my only thought. It would not be easy to describe the half of what I felt in that crowd. With my clothes torn, and trembling with apprehension, I at length succeeded in reaching my inn.

It would be tedious to relate my other visits at London, because they were all so mingled with fear as to resemble those already described. However, I was thoroughly persuaded that, whatever advantages a thousandpound note can confer, it can also call up in the mind. a thousand fears. The comfort of money is not to be compared with the comfort of an easy night-cap. If I wished to plague the heart of an enemy unaccustomed to

the possession of money, I should wish he ought suddenly to take care of a thousand-pound note of his own.

Seldom, perhaps, has a period in many respects so well calculated to afford enjoyment inflicted more pain; for, morning, noon, and night my pleasure was poisoned by my continual apprehension. At last I quitted London, and reached home in safety by the coach in fourteen hours-a journey now usually made by the railroad in less than four hours. My note was directly employed in a secure manner, and then I again enjoyed the comfort of an easy night-cap.

III. THE WIFE.

I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain (bear) the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energy of the softer sex, and to give such an elevation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity.

I once congratulated a friend, who had around him a blooming family, united by the strongest affection. „I can wish you no better lot," said he, with enthusiasm, than to have a wife and children.-If you are prosperous, they share your prosperity; if otherwise, they comfort you."

"

And, indeed, I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune is more apt to improve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is sti mulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic happiness, and his self-respect kept alive by finding that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and

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