One of the great benefactors of the City of Bristol in bygone days was Mr. John Whitson, a merchant of that place, who by his life afforded a pleasing example of the success which in general accompanies diligence and honesty. The following anecdote told of him is worth repeating:— As he was one day busy in his office he overheard his nephews talking loudly in another room, and found the subject of their discourse turn upon himself and the great fortune they would inherit at his death. They declared they would spend it like men of fashion, in pleasurable and expensive pursuits. The good old gentleman upon this burst in upon them, and with honest indignation said that since he had heard from their own mouths their resolution with respect to his fortune, they should now hear his. He had long been a witness, he told them, of the abandoned course of life into which they were plunging themselves, and had often remonstrated to no purpose against it. They now stood self-convicted, and to prevent the infamy which they might entail upon him, themselves and the public by such irregular excesses, he was resolved to put it entirely out of their power. He accordingly made his will immediately afterwards, and after the death of his wife left the whole of his money to charitable purposes. COURAGE. If courage is gone, then all is gone! ’Twere better that thou hadst never been born. _Goethe._ AN INDIAN SONG OF WELCOME. When Lord Reay was governor of Bombay a few years ago, in the course of a tour he visited the native state of Morvi. Amongst other institutions shown to his Excellency was the telephone exchange, which connects various public buildings as well as the towns lying round about. Here the Thokore Saheb had a microphone attachment so arranged that from a school fourteen miles off some of the scholars sang a song specially composed for the occasion by the chief judge of the state. The words of the song were as follows:— “Reay, the lord, our Governor good, Eternal be your fame; First-class State of Morvi made, Increased thus far its name; Visit now our capital town, With condescension kind, And view Sir Waghji’s works of art, Which surely please your mind. Tram, telegraph, railway choice, And many another thing, To your Excellency’s ears Telephone by which we sing.” CALCULATING HER AGE. An indiscreet young man once asked a lady her age. “Wait till I count,” she replied. “I married at eighteen, my husband was then thirty. Now he is twice that—then I must be thirty-six.” “Is it possible,” ejaculated the other, amazed at this method of feminine computation. “Well, I should never have expected it.” * * * * * [Illustration: CECILLY.] * * * * * HOW WE MANAGED WITHOUT SERVANTS. BY Mrs. FRANK W. W. TOPHAM, Author of “The Alibi,” “The Fateful Number,” etc. CHAPTER I.