f course it deprives you of the plot-interest of poverty.

'Elsie,' I said, in my best didactic style--I excel in didactics--'you
do not learn from the lessons that life sets before you. Look at the
stage, for example; the stage is universally acknowledged at the present
day to be a great teacher of morals. Does not Irving say so?--and he
ought to know. There is that splendid model for imitation, for instance,
the Clown in the pantomime. How does Clown regulate his life? Does he
take heed for the morrow? Not a bit of it! "I wish I had a goose," he
says, at some critical juncture; and just as he says it--pat--a super
strolls upon the stage with a property goose on a wooden tray; and Clown
cries, "Oh, look here, Joey; _here's_ a goose!" and proceeds to
appropriate it. Then he puts his fingers in his mouth and observes, "I
wish I had a few apples to make the sauce with"; and as the words escape
him--pat again--a small boy with a very squeaky voice runs on, carrying
a basket of apples. Clown trips him up, and bolts with the basket.
_There's_ a model for imitation! The stage sets these great moral
lessons before you regularly every Christmas; yet you fail to profit by
them. Govern your life on the principles exemplified by Clown; expect to
find that whatever you want will turn up with punctuality and dispatch
at the proper moment. Be adventurous and you will be happy. Take that as
a new maxim to put in your copy-book!'

'I wish I could think so, dear,' Elsie answered. 'But your confidence
staggers me.'

That evening at our _table-d'hote_, however, it was amply justified. A
smooth-faced young man of ample girth and most prosperous exterior
happened to sit next us. He had his wife with him, so I judged it safe
to launch on conversation. We soon found out he was the millionaire
editor-proprietor of a great London daily, with many more strings to his
journalistic bow; his honoured name was Elworthy. I mentioned casually
that we thought of going for the winter to Egypt. He pricked his ears
up. But at the time he said nothing. After dinner, we adjourned to the
cosy _salon_. I talked to him and his wife; and somehow, that evening,
the devil entered into me. I am subject to devils. I hasten to add, they
are mild ones. I had one of my reckless moods just then, however, and I
reeled off rattling stories of our various adventures. Mr. Elworthy
believed in youth and audacity; I could see I interested him. The more
he was amused, the m