gloves, and, above all, of scent. The quantity of scent that a lad of
sixteen will pour on his handkerchief is something perfectly astounding.
In this stage of his development he is addicted to falling into love, or
rather into flirtation. He keeps up a correspondence with a young lady
in Miss Pinkerton's establishment. They see each other in church, when
he looks unutterable things from the gallery. This kind of boy is not
unlikely to interest himself, speculatively, in horse-races. He has
communications with a bookmaker who finds Boulogne a salubrious
residence. He would like to know the officers, if his home is in a
garrison town, and he humbly imitates these warriors at an immense
distance. He passes much time in trying to colour a pipe. This is not a
nice sort of boy to have at home for the holidays, nor is it likely that
he does much good when he is at school. It is pleasanter to think of the
countless jolly little fellows of twelve, who are happily busy all day
with lawn-tennis, cricket, and general diversion in the open air. Their
appearance, their manly frankness, their modesty and good temper, make
their homes happier in the holidays than in the quieter nine months of
the year. Let us hope that they will not put off their holiday tasks to
be learned in the train on their way back to school. This, alas, is the
manner of boyhood.



ON SHAVING.


A philanthropist has published a little book which interests persons who
in civilized society form a respectable minority, and in the savage world
an overpowering majority. But, savage or polite, almost all men must
shave, or must be shaved, and the author of "A Few Useful Hints on