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made good headway for some time. As we approached the door of the dining-hall, I could see that it was too narrow to allow berth room for two clippers under full sail. I therefore dropped behind, and allowed my hostess to sail ahead, but, failing to keep a proper look out, I stupidly planted my foot on my escort's dress tails, and rent the garment. For my heinous blunder I received a wild look of dis

approval, and I shall not easily be forgiven. During the evening 1 fell into several other mistakes, and, when I rose to leave, the company seemed as heartily relieved as I was.' Thus he chatted till late on in the night, when he took a final farewell, and left, nor did his host and hostess ever see his genial face again.

A few days later the captain of the Scotia received a brief letter from the General, stating that, as he had taken command of the colonial forces, he would proceed up-country immediately. He did not forget to ask particularly after those on board, who, during the recent voyage, had received so much kindness at his hands: for, in a postscript, he asks, "How is the invalid Martin and the Dover Powder

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Except," said the captain of the Scotia, on one other occasion when General Gordon

sent us his compliments we heard no more of him till his death was lamented in both hemispheres and his name was on every lip. And I often think that could we, by some means, have been afforded a glimpse into the distant future; could we have witnessed the stirring events that crowded the last stages of his career, and looked upon him at the moment when, the eyes of the world turned toward him, he so dearly won the immortal title The Hero of Khartoum,' I question if we could have loved him more than we did, when, as a much more obscure, though a none the less noble man, he was our cabin companion on board the Scotia."

-Contemporary Review.

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WHEN the intellectual and social history of the present day in England comes to be written as period which has risen to so high a level in science and culture-it will be found to have sunk visibly below the water-mark of any preceding age in one respect. We are, unquestionably, a more vulgar people than we were. Our aims, our conduct, in the great scheme of intercourse with each other have deteriorated -I grieve to write it as they have not done in any Continental people.

Nor is this vulgarity one that appertains to the surface of things. In becoming more cosmopolitan, our travelling manners have improved. We can no longer be charged, as we used to be, with an insular contempt of demeanor for all other nations on earth. The dressing alike of women and of food has been subjected to a beneficent change in this country. It is rarely It is rarely that our eyes or our palates are offended in society as they were a few years since. But, while on these points there is a distinct advance in our social science, the retrogression from a high standard in mat

ters of yet more importance is evident; and in this retrogession we stand, I fear, alone among the nations of Europe. It is true that my remarks apply only to what used to be called "the upper ten thousand," and would now be more fitly styled "the upper million." In some respects, the middle class cannot be affected by the lower tone of society; in others, where the tendency is morally degrading, it may distinctly be so.

Let not the fact of our rapidly increased population be charged with this lowered tone: the causes are to be sought elsewhere. No one is excluded, if he be only rich enough to entertain, or notorious enough to form a spot-sometimes a very black one-of attraction in the crowd. To remember the ignoble efforts made by persons of good position to add another name to their overgrown list of acquaintances, whenever a new Maecenas rises on the social horizon, is to measure the depths of degradation to which London has fallen of late. It is not so in Berlin, Vienna, Rome. Even Paris, where so many causes

have conspired to destroy a homogeneous society that it would not be surprising if those on pleasure bent flocked eagerly through whatsoever portals were opened to them-even Republican Paris is more exclusive than we are. The case of the lady living there for ten years under much the same conditions as the man in the parable, whose hospitable intentions could only be carried into effect by compulsion, yet who, on arrival here, was at once accepted by half London society, is an illustration in point so well known that there can be no indiscretion in referring to it. The qualities of the individual may be of the highest, or he may not be unspotted from suspicion in his own country; but be he a saint, an idiot, or a criminal, it has nothing to do with the matter. The only question of importance is whether he means to entertain sumptuously, lavishly; and, ultimately, if there should be daughters, whether their portions are on a corresponding scale. It is sometimes a new application of the ignoto pro magnificohe is a stranger, and he takes us in. But, admitting him to be a worthy fellow, with countless ingots, is that sufficient reason for welcoming him with effusion! Have not Mayfair and Belgravia enough dinners to eat, and crowds to caper at, without displaying this alacrity to swallow strangers wholesale by reason of their riches ? We resemble nothing so much as the carp one sees at Fontainebleau, or Homburg, tumbling over each other, open-mouthed, however much they may be gorged, in their scramble for the loaves that are flung to them. In the case of the very young this omnivorousness may be pardoned. One more dance, where he and she may meet, the solitary chance of hearing Coquelin or Albani at a guinea a minute, in a drawing room, is a great temptation. But what shall we say of the elders-the venerable flock, who, during the past fifty seasons, have seen everything, heard everything, eaten everything; who, one would imagine, must be suffering from social, as well as physical, indigestion, but who yet bare their shoulders gladly as martyrs of old bared their throats, to the capital punishment of another crush? It is a species of madness; and, unfortunately, muzzling in this case is prohibited.

Let a man be admitted into society, for almost any other reason than that of his wealth, and he may add a quota of inter

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est to the hour we pass together. But bis wealth-the increment not even won, probably, by individual effort-what does it profit me? Am I the wiser or the merrier for sitting beside a rich man or his wife? Of course, either or both may be charming it would be absurd to say that a millionaire must be devoid of social graces. All I contend for is that the amount of his income should not be his only passport. It is the destruction of society in England that the man who can contribute nothing of value to the casket is permitted to open it with a golden key.

In great aristocratic societies, like those of Vienna and Rome, the narrow-minded ostracism of Jews in the one case, and of any member of the mezzo ceto, however gifted, in the other, is to be deprecated; but there is at least more dignity in this than in a liberality based on such motives as ours.

Wealth is the worst reason for claiming admittance into a society which has any pretension to agreeability; and, next to wealth, notoriety. The foreign political adventurer, or the lady whose name has become European property, by reason of the newspapers, would neverunless endowed with other recommendations have been welcomed in the refined circles of Holland House, of Sam Rogers's breakfasts, of the Misses Berry's nightly receptions, sixty years since. Here is distinct deterioration.

I am far from affirming that there are not as good conversationalists now as in those days. The writer of some recent articles in this REVIEW has asserted it with conviction; and, although I am disposed to doubt whether the quality of wit be not more rare than it was formerly, we can all of us name brilliant or delightful talkers (they are not identical) with whom it is a privilege to pass an hour. But that hour will not be one of a large conviviality. It cannot be denied that the desire to bring together the most agreeable elements of society-l'art de tenir un salon-is ex. tinct. The mistress of the house has other aims; or, if the desire exist, the means employed to attain her end are delusive. Fragments of wild beasts, either lions or jackals, pitchforked together into the caldron of the commonplace, are not the materials out of which a good social broth is to be made. The culinary skill is lost: the refining process which eliminated what was dull or tasteless, which recog

nized that the social gourmet sought for quality, and not quantity; and that hurry, heat, and heaviness were fatal to social enjoyment. YO TOMIW

Now, every one is in a hurry. I catch a glimpse of my friend in a crowd, and she is going on to four other parties; we are all simmering; and the effort to make one's self heard above a band, and the struggle that is going on at the head of the stairs, produce a sense of despairing idiocy. How is conversation possible under such circumstances ?

Prodigality, not infrequently allied to ostentation, follows as the natural sequence of accepting a moneyed standard in society. We must vie with our neighbors, or die in the attempt. Who dares invite his friends to a simple English dinner, with dry sherry and sound claret?He must have champagne, and a French cook, or abstain from hospitality. And so, of an evening, the board must groan with viands, though two hours have not elapsed since we swallowed our dinners. I remember, twenty years ago, when the most refined circle in London met of evenings in a certain drawingroom, where tea and lemonade were the only refreshments. And this would still be the rule abroad. How many dare to act upon it in London now?

That entertainments are too often estimated by what they cost, rather than by their spirit and social pleasantness, may be illustrated by the remark of a lady, who said to me, speaking of a ball which had apparently united all the elements of brilliancy: "But the presents in the cotillon! I never saw anything so shabby. They weren't worth sixpence each!" Which of us thought of the moneyed value of the bit of ribbon we received from the hands of beauty in the days of our youth? And while on the subject of festive gatherings, let me say a word about flowers. In themselves the most picturesque and fancystirring of all decorations, they may easily become an instrument of positive vulgarity, when their costliness smites us like a rebuff, or their incongruous application is an insult to our taste and understanding. For this the florist is, no doubt, often answerable; as when we once saw a banister covered with priceless orchids. The primary function of a banister is to be leant upon. Fancy leaning on an orchid! But under no circumstances can the hundreds of pounds spent upon flowers in one night

be justified. The most beautiful table decoration I ever saw was one that could only have cost a few shillings. It never would have entered the head of a nouveau riche to place anything so inexpensive before his guests.

The tax levied by conventionality, and most grudgingly paid, in the shape of a wedding present to the merest acquaintance is another flagrant instance in the decay of refinement, for which we have only one word. Formerly, such a gift was the spontaneous earnest of cordial goodwill. It was a privilege to have the opportunity of offering our friend something which we hoped he would value for our sake and keep all the days of his life. Among the masses of costly objects, often numbering many hundreds, now displayed before a marriage, how many are there that will recall even the donor's name a few years hence? It ministers to the bride's vanity that these records should be numerous and splendid; but, outside the narrow circle of her real friends, how many of these recorde are there, neatly labelled, "From Mrs. "From Lady "in which the heart has any part? If the bride be a young lady of quality, it may safely be predicted that the most gorgeous gifts will be from "outsiders"-persons who are struggling by such means into a precarious intimacy, begotten, possibly, of the fact that the bride's mother has floated the outsider into society by sending out cards for her ball.

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All this is bad enough in ordinary life, for it is the prostitution of what should be an act of love into one of barter and calculation. But it is yet worse where the marriage is among the most illustrious in the land. The snobbishness that takes advantage of a gracious courtesy to assume a friendship justifying such a liberty as to present a gift has its reward in blatant publicity; and thus another pebble is added to the cairn which marks where the refinement that once distinguished English society lies buried. Again I must remark that I am speaking of what is called

good" society-the society that gives the tone to those below it. The snobbishness that we have often been reproached with, and which Thackeray ridiculed so admirably, was supposed to be the attribute of the upper-middle class, or those struggling on the confines of gentility. The change that has taken place is that so

many whose position should preclude the possibility of it now justly lie open to the charge. The great lady who, at the beginning of this century, asked, "What is vulgarity I never met with a vulgar person,' "would not now have far to seek, nor need she go out of her own class to discover the offence which had never come between the wind and her nobility.

I have alluded to publicity. There is a word to be said on this subject. It is to be deplored that no one now is safe from. the interviewer. But the taste for personal detail about any one whose name has ever been before the world has not been gratified by the respectable portion of our Press to the excess in which certain American papers indulge. Our cousins, with all their fine qualities, cannot be credited with that reticence which, in writing of ladies, we hold to be inseparable from good taste. The chronicle of small beer, which records how Mrs. A. was dressed in blue, while Miss B. appeared in yellow at a party, can hardly interest any human being beyond the one whose vanity is thus ministered to; but it is harmless rubbish, very different from the offensive catalogue of personal charms, disposition, fortune, and surroundings which is attached to the name of any prominent young lady in journals published at New York. May the day be far distant when such gross outrages on the sanctity of private life would be tolerated with us. Yet I cannot but regard the increased encouragement of publicity as an evil sign in our present social sys

tem.

With all its worship of wealth, its pretension, its pushing, its petty ignoble ways, society exhibits, however, one hopeful sign. The world is not so slavishly fettered by public opinion on certain subjects as it was; or it may be that public opinion has itself undergone a change. Ladies are not afraid to be seen in omnibuses, in second, or even third, class carriages on the railway; nay, they will openly avow that they go to the least expensive seats at the theatre. The pit of the French plays was chiefly occupied, last season, by people of Society," the exorbitant prices asked for stalls tending, no doubt, greatly to this result.

On the night of the Shah's visit in state to Covent Garden, a lady, well known in the world, told me she had been with her boy to the amphitheatre, where she had seen and heard very well. Such

independence of action would hardly have been possible a few years ago. Many a pleasant journey, many an evening's amusement, have been sacrificed to the inexor able law which forbade a gentlewoman from leaving a certain beaten track. Sense has come to the aid of society in this matter. Persons of limited means, and especially the ever increasing number of those who work among the poor, profit wisely by the cheapest modes of conveyance, and must have their amusements at the least cost, or relinquish them altogether. A lady is no less a lady because, instead of eating her heart out in poverty and idleness, she joins the great army of breadwinners and opens a shop there is more dignity in her position than if she sent round the hat to her friends. Except by snobs, men and women are beginning to be measured not by their business or calling, nor by where they may be seen, but by what they are. This reminds me, by

the way, of my meeting a lady of quality once at a dinner. It was out of the season, and the dinner was not at a fashionable house. The lady of quality thought fit to take me aside and apologize for being seen where she was: "Not at all my set, you know." Her set, obviously, should have been at the lower table in the servants' hall.

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I found a friend of mine, a composer, one day at the piano. On my asking him what he was playing, he replied, "It is a little study in simplicity. I laughed : to study simplicity seemed to me a droll idea. But I have often thought of it since. Society has, in one direction, begun to "study simplicity;" in others it has become more artificial, complicated, and mercenary. The desire to appear something that we are not, the effort to emulate those richer than ourselves, lie at the root of much evil. The humble virtue of contentment has fallen out of repute, now that all classes are trying to rise, and are instructed that it is their duty to do so. If by rising" were meant

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that just ambition to distinguish ourselves by conscientious, faithful work during the short span of our life on earth, or even those aspirations for knowledge in the working man which lighten labor and lift him from a round of sordid care into the treasure-houses of science, or the fairypalaces of poetry, none could doubt that the precept and the impulse alike were

calculated to add to human happiness. But the restless dissatisfaction with " that state of life into which it has pleased God to call us" permeates all classes, and does not tend to this result. It produces an iconoclastic socialism in the less wise among the lower orders, which those who are now its apostles would be the last to preach if they became winners in the great race for wealth. It causes the parvenu to endeavor to ignore his origin, and to invent a pedigree. It brings ruin to count

less thousands, well-born and well-bred, who live beyond their means, and who, in the vain effort to keep their poor little barks afloat, are swamped in the waves of debt and dishonor.

Verily, society would do well to "study simplicity" more than it does. Pretension and self-assertion are destructive of true dignity, and the most degrading of all religions is the worship of the Golden Calf.--New Review.

THE AMERICAN BORDERERS.*

BY A. G. BRADLEY.

It is easy for Englishmen to underestimate the importance of the American colonies at the opening of the revolution, and to think of them as struggling communities of pioneers, hunters, and small traders, with a population insignificant compared to that of the mother country. As a matter of fact, however, the thirteen colonies who declared for independence had not much less than a third of the population of Great Britain. Many of thein were quite old communities, whose people for generations had been accustomed to all the surroundings of a reasonable civilization.

Each had its own history and traditions, and boasted an existence quite long enough to give a permanency, in that conservative age, to the institutions of social and civil life. The landowner on the York River in Virginia prided himself not merely on his possessions, but on the gentlemen with flowing curls and pointed beards, in slashed doublets or steel cuirasses, whose portraits hung upon his walls, and whose bones lay under the tapering cypress-trees and mossy headstones of the parish churchyard. The Boston

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chant, after much the same fashion though under different conditions, had struck deep root into the soil. A century and a half had mellowed the Pilgrim Father into a person by no means indifferent to the advantages of social position, of commodious mansions and the solid comforts of life.

If one is apt to underrate the numerical

* The Winning_of the West; by Theodore Roosevelt. New York, 1889.

importance of the people, it is at the same time equally easy to forget over how small an area, speaking relatively, the British. colonies then extended. The stupendous social and political transformation of America during the present century has not, however, removed one foot from the rugged heights of the Alleghanies. The frowning barrier of mountains that for so long barred our progress still trails its conspicuous length along the map of North America, and enables us at a glance to realize what a mere fringe, after nearly two centuries of occupation, was the Anglo-Saxon settlement.

Behind New England and New York lay the great lakes and the Canadian boundary. A considerable back country, unsettled but not unknown, lay, it is true, within these limits. But a large extent of it was broken and rugged; it was full of the most war-like of the Indian tribes. In short, there was nothing special in the northern wilderness, where the fierce Iroquois held sway, to awaken the greed of the pioneer and the hunter, or to fire the ambition of the adventurer. No people have done more for Western development, as it is now understood, than the New Englanders; but the old West, that is to say the fertile and now populous states of Kentucky, Ohio, and Tennessee, was wrung from the Indians by the people in whose path it lay. These people were nominally Virginians, Marylanders, Carolinians, Pennsylvanians; practically they were Ulster Irishmen, whose fathers, or sometimes grandfathers, had settled within the confines, but beyond the civilization of

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