It is not always that the stately home is the scene of domestic felicity. It is not true that it is unknown in the humble workman’s home. It is to be believed that, as the workman’s home is elevated, it will be redolent not merely of manly virtues—the ability to fight the battle of life and win—but of the graces which at one time the upper ten seemed to consider as their exclusive privilege; and thus, if the cottager waxes strong, we need not deplore that the stately home with all its high-born associations has passed away. At Sloville there passed away not only the stately home, but the family that lorded it long. Thus time changes and we change with it. Thus old things pass away and all things become new. Thus we may look for a new heaven and earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness—a righteousness inconsistent with a civilization that pampered the rich and depressed the poor, that desolated the cottage to add to the splendour of the hall. It is of the many, not of the few, that we have to think in these democratic days. And the young heir, what became of him? He was little disappointed when it was hinted to him that he was heir to a bankrupt estate and a dishonoured name. He was young, active, healthy, stout-hearted, perfectly willing to fight the battle of life to the best of his ability. He was fond of his profession, had been successful in it, and was in no hurry to relinquish it. He had seen a little of aristocratic life at a distance, and he was not enamoured of it; it seemed to him unnatural and mischievous. They had many lads from our public schools and men from our universities on board ship, and it seemed to him that they were extravagant, thoughtless, fond of pleasure, frivolous, and useless, and brought up in an altogether wrong way. If they did nothing else he held that they smoked and drank and ate more than was good for them, that they wasted a good deal of time in gambling and dissipation, in reading French novels, in the music-hall and the theatre. He did not believe that society was in a good state when the few were born rich and the many poor. All healthy life seemed to him to be founded on hard work; the curse had been changed into a blessing, and man was only happy and kept out of mischief as he lived by the sweat of his brow. A lazy life had no charm for him, even though he lived in a fine mansion, had servants to wait on him, was clad in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. A gentleman in the conventional sense of the term he could never, and would never, be; that, at any rate, was clear. ‘Well, my boy,’ said the actress, as they met in Liverpool, where they had both come on purpose, ‘what do you think? Would you like to be a gentleman, and lead such a life as your father?’ ‘Certainly not.’ ‘Why not?’