Or take other cases. Yon beardless youth must smoke the, to him, nauseous cigar or meerschaum, because “Tom Grandeur” struts down High-street, looking large behind his curling smoke. Nay, “My Lord Meek,” who cares no more for a hunt or race than the most refined and timid lady, enlarges his stables, buys a fine stud, makes up his book for the St. Leger; or, with a sore heart, joins the “throw off,” caring not a whit for the brush, but very much that he may not be outdone in his equipage or establishment. All through society this abnegation of individuality weaves its web. Nor is the effect circumscribed to the frivolous and weak. Men think in cliques. It is intolerable to some to be out of fashion with the political opinion of their set. Never was contradiction so contemptible as that into which they are betrayed. It would be ludicrous, were it not too serious an indication of the want of principle. One month you hear men denouncing a political opinion and its prominent advocates, with all the vituperative energy of which their nature is capable. The next month, forsooth, they have adopted that precise opinion, and eagerly rush to share some leaf of the laurel which they hope will fall upon them through the tergiversation of their party. You have, alas, the same thing among so-called religious men. Many a young man has powers which would bless the church and the world, but for his maudlin regard for what others may think of him. He is, it may be, a young man whose father’s religiousness gave him universal sway in his town or neighborhood. No workman but honored him; no cottager but felt the sweetness of his sympathy. The son of this great and good man is thrown among Ritualists. This is the religious fashion of the hour, and therefore it fascinates him. He adopts it, not because he is convinced of its truth, but because it suits what he deems his “æsthetic taste.” Deplorably ignorant of the past struggles of English history, he is gratified with the crowded churches in which he can witness this pictorial religion of waving censers, purple-robed priests, and picturesque altar arrangements. He falls into the cant of saying that Protestantism is “unsymbolical.” The white-robed choristers and lighted candles respond to what he terms the “holy symbols” of the faith. He begins now to think the religion that made his home a very paradise, his wise father a man of power, and his mother saintly, is a very vulgar thing, and only inculcated by unlettered men and unauthorized teachers. And thus the poor soul excuses himself from the demands of personal exertion and personal fidelity to conscience; loses himself in the easy externalisms or poetic dreamings which secure him the favor of sentimental pastors, and the smiles of young ladies with pendant crosses on their breasts. It is pitiable, but it is also sad, to think what ineffectiveness of life comes to a young man who, instead of being