ne so in no contemptuous
spirit; they are comparatively low if the body be lower than the
mind. The humanity of the age is doubtless suited to its material
wants, and such wants are those which demand the promptest remedy.
But in the inner feelings of men to men, and of one man's mind to
another man's mind, is it not an age of extremest cruelty?

There is sympathy for the hungry man; but there is no sympathy for
the unsuccessful man who is not hungry. If a fellow mortal be ragged,
humanity will subscribe to mend his clothes; but humanity will
subscribe nothing to mend his ragged hopes so long as his outside
coat shall be whole and decent.

To him that hath shall be given; and from him that hath not shall
be taken even that which he hath. This is the special text that we
delight to follow, and success is the god that we delight to worship.
"Ah! pity me. I have struggled and fallen--struggled so manfully, yet
fallen so utterly--help me up this time that I may yet push forward
once again!" Who listens to such a plea as this? "Fallen! do you want
bread?" "Not bread, but a kind heart and a kind hand." "My friend, I
cannot stay by you; I myself am in a hurry; there is that fiend of
a rival there even now gaining a step on me. I beg your pardon; but
I will put my foot on your shoulder--only for one moment. _Occupet
extremum scabies._"

Yes. Let the devil take the hindmost; the three or four hindmost if
you will; nay, all but those strong-running horses who can force
themselves into noticeable places under the judge's eye. This is the
noble shibboleth with which the English youth are now spurred on
to deeds of--what shall we say?--money-making activity. Let every
place in which a man can hold up his head be the reward of some
antagonistic struggle, of some grand competitive examination. Let us
get rid of the fault of past ages. With us, let the race be ever to
the swift; the victory always to the strong. And let us always be
racing, so that the swift and strong shall ever be known among us.
But what, then, for those who are not swift, not strong? _Vae victis!_
Let them go to the wall. They can hew wood probably; or, at any rate,
draw water.

Were we to ask Lord Derby, or Lord Palmerston, or to consult the
shade of Lord George Bentinck--or to go to those greater authorities
on the subject, Mr. Scott, for instance, and the family of the
Days--we should, I believe, be informed that the race-horse requires
a very peculiar con