departments. The only obstacles seem to arise
from the really shameful apathy and
indifference shown by official heads to the welfare
of their subordinates who do the work; and,
from the young-gentlemanly notion that none
but quarterly payments are respectable.

TO MY ELDERLY FRIENDS.

NOT long since, my staid and sedate
readers, I confessed to being (as is the case
with yourselves) in the ambiguous position
of a person between two ages,—  neither old
nor young.* It is impossible to remain, like
the bat in respect to the beasts and the birds,
a continual outcast from both those two
grand armies of the animal and the human
kingdom; and therefore I decide, perforce, to
rank myself definitely with you. I enlist
forthwith as one of the elderlies. When an
inevitable act has to be performed, it is better
to perform it cheerfully and gracefully. I
take off my hat, respected friends, to salute
you as fellow-travellers on the downhill of
life; and you see plainly, a certain proportion
of grey in my short-cropped locks, and a
broad pinkish spot on the coronal region of
the cranium, entitle me to admission to your
honourable society. Let us indulge in a
little chat by the way, touching our common
interests, and our future prospects.
* To My Young Friends, No. 371, page ill.

At our time of life, my dear confrères,
there is one thing at least we ought to do;
and that is, to take care of ourselves, and
look forward to an evil and a rainy day.
There are two ways of carrying out this
desirable object. In the first place we must
unite the wisdom of the serpent to the
innocence of the dove.  Much as we love our
youngsters, we must manifest our affection
for them moderately and discreetly.  I do
assure you we shall be greatly to blame, if
we utterly yield to them the key, either of
the castle or the strong-box.  Let us hold
our own, my worthy associates; let us
remain masters of what we have; let us
continue to be the heads of the family, and not
its patronised dependants, till the very last
moment.  Abdication in any form, is a
sorrowful and a disastrous step, as has been
proved from poor King Lear's time,
downwards. People who have given up all, or a
a great deal to their children during their
lifetime, have seldom found the measure turn
out well.  It is quite possible to allow the
youngsters to come forward in life without
letting them push us entirely off the stage, or
sending us completely to Coventry.  And they
may be apt to do so, if we don't take care. It is
not their special fault, poor things, but rather
the general fault of human nature.  Say what
you will, gratitude is a keen sense of favours
to come: and if we are so imprudent as to
give up all, to place ourselves at the mercy
of our juniors, to strip ourselves of the power
of conferring future benefits,—we shall be
wrong in wondering if even dutiful, and
obedient, nay grateful children (not to mention
nephews and nieces), turn out a little less
assiduous in their attentions than they were
before. I am sorry that this is not the ideal
of human virtue; but it is the way of the
world. Consequently, my respected co-mates,
let us keep in. our own hands the prerogative of
slackening the purse-strings, or of tightening
them, as our judgment shall direct. Because
our refusal to yield old-established and
substantial rights does not in the least prevent
us from giving timely help, from supplying-
the means (with prudent security) for well-
considered enterprise and promising
exertions; especially as there is another way in
which we may try to provide for our future
need.

Those who sow not, have no right to expect
to reap; if we do not do unto men as we
would they should do unto us, we cannot
complain at finding that they don't do to us
as we would they should. Now, there are
many little acts of kindness, of charity, and of
friendliness, which we may perform to some
person (call him A.), although we may know
that A. is never likely to return the favour;
but we do so in the hope that some other
person, B., will turn up by-and-by, who will
be as benevolently disposed to us, as we have
been to the aforesaid A. There would thus
be a sort of running debtor-and-creditor
account of friendly offices going on between
successive generations of men, which account
is never exactly closed or balanced, because
each new generation keeps the books open by
its continued unsettled claims and payments,
For instance, I visit and console A., in his
dying illness perhaps; and, long after A. is
dead and gone, and myself likewise, B
repays the debt by acceptable assistance to
my daughter or my grandchild. B.'s good
turn will be rewarded by another from some
unknown, possibly some unborn benefactor,
C.; and thus, my elder brethren, we may lay
up a little sunshine against cloudy weather,
when we shall be glad to see a friendly face
beaming in to disperse our darkness, during
our fits of hypochondria, indigestion, or gout.

For, our comparatively solitary life is one of
the points of which we most complain; I think,
a little unreasonably. Old men cannot throng
in herds, like boys out of school-hours, or
lads at a fair. A certain solitude is necessary
for the exercise of sober judgment and
serious thought, both on things past and
things to come. It strikes me that, to be
alone, is at times a necessary variation of our
social existence. Study requires isolation
for its successful pursuit; and while we
live, let us ever learn. Life is short; nature
and art are so long!

There is, however, an unkind measure by
which a few persons strive to avoid living by
themselves in their old age, which I will
merely mention; they selfishly prevent their