In one of his pleasant letters, Mortimer Collins wrote—“The modern millionaire’s beneficence is ostentatious. A thousand pounds to a charity is as good a way of saying, ‘See, I am rich,’ as the same sum spent on a horse or a picture.” The same idea has occurred to the writer of a modern play. The hero calls for his secretary, and asks him to bring him the book which contains a list of his donations. “Ah,” he says, after looking at it, “double my subscriptions to all the charities that advertise, and put it down to our advertising account.” It is to be feared a good deal of that charity, which covers a multitude of sins in the City, is due to a similar desire for publicity. A good deal of ostentatious expenditure is simply put down under the head of advertising expenditure, and very often it is the only way by means of which a rich tradesman or ambitious merchant can draw attention to himself and his proceedings. This ostentation is a little annoying occasionally. For instance, it was particularly unpleasant to Sara Coleridge, the gifted daughter of a gifted sire. At Broadstairs she lodged in a house where there were some children belonging to a London shopkeeper and his wife. “These children,” the lady writes, “live on the stairs, or in the kitchen, and never take a book or a needle in their hands, and yet their parents are overburdening Mrs. Smith with attendance, dressing well, and living for many weeks by the sea in commodious lodgings. The extravagance and recklessness that go on in the families of tradesmen in London, is beyond what the rank above them ever dream of.” Sara Coleridge, as the wife of a clergyman, and daughter of the great philosopher, I dare say found it hard to make both ends meet, and perhaps was needlessly severe on the London tradesmen, and the way in which they spend their money. Such sharp censure as she penned was natural under the circumstances. Refined, genteel people, of limited means, are sadly vexed at the riotous abundance of the prosperous and well-to-do. As to ostentation, Morrison, the pill man beat every one when he gave a grand banquet to all that was fashionable in society at Paris, and to each parting guest presented his card, with an advertisement of his far-famed pills.