The uninitiated lawyer's clerk from Holloway, lounging in the same attitude, and wearing the same pearl-grey gloves, and the same pattern of whisker as the initiated young patrician from the crack West-end clubs, may wonder whether the occupants of the splendid equipages rolling slowly by him are there by right divine of noble birth and lofty position, or by virtue of that golden 'open sesame,' that wonderful _passe partout_, which success bestows so often on the struggling plebeian. The Uninitiated from Holloway sees that there is not so much interchange of becks and nods, so friendly greetings, as might be expected if those elegant barouches and useful landaus, those dashing mail-phaetons and dainty little broughams, belonged only to the privileged classes whose highest privilege is the honour of being known to one another. Perceiving this, the Uninitiated perceives also, with astonished aspect, certain inhabitants of the Eastern Hemisphere, known to himself in their form of money-grub, but transformed here into butterflies of fashion, and driving mail-phaetons. Advertising agents, money-lending lawyers, professional betting-men, dashing brewers, popular distillers, pass before him side by side with dukes and duchesses, and only to be distinguished therefrom by an impalpable something which has no name. The Uninitiated, growing melancholy, begins to think that it is a hard thing not to have high-stepping horses and a mail-phaeton, and turns sadly from so much splendour to wend his way northwards, while high-born elbows close in upon the half-yard of railing which he leaves vacant. There are few places more calculated to inspire discontent that this Lady's Mile. Pale Envy stalks to and fro under the sheltering trees; Greed of Gain lurks invisible behind the iron chairs; Disappointed Ambition waits at the corner, ready to whisper in the poor man's ear, "Time was when you thought it such an easy thing to win a place amongst those favourites of fortune. Time was when you thought to see your wife sitting behind high-stepping horses, and your boy trotting his pony in the Row. Go home, poor drudge, with your blue-bag on your shoulder, and look at the slatternly drab leaning over the washtub, and the shabby whelp gambling for marbles in the gutter. Compare the picture of the present with the vision you once made for yourself of the future; and then be an agreeable husband and an indulgent father, and enjoy your domestic happiness and your penny newspaper, if you can."