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 . 14, 1861.] concomitant of all such places. Mr. Grant talks of removing to lighter and more roomy premises; but, as year after year there is no attempt made at carrying out the threat, you are forced to conclude that some close analogy exists between the animal and the vegetable world, and that Mr. Grant’s roots have struck too deep for removal. From ten till four he sits in his well-used chair, poring over papers and ledgers, his hand constantly on a spring bell which, struck once, twice, or thrice, summons different clerks to obey his mandates. His branch offices and agencies are to be found in every part of the world, and his argosies upon every sea, while, no doubt, if he were to realise his wide-spread merchandise, his fortune would be immense; but, though some years past the meridian of life, he is content to pass day after day, year after year, in a room which, without any use of metonomy, would he denominated a den. While thus working in the dim shade of smoke and discomfort, his wife lives like a Zenobia with her retinue and her prodigious luxuries of all kinds. Things, however, are not quite as they seem. His apparent sacrifice and her so-called pleasures are much more evenly balanced than people would suppose. On his return home by the evening express he is glad to find that the receptacle for visitors’ cards is in a plethoric condition, and that, curiously enough, those especial cards whereon are little engraved coronets, or those with titles prefixed to the name, or those with honourable initials following the name, find their way to the top of the card-basket, like cream upon milk, in a manner truly surprising.

Then, again, twice a week or so, he is glad to find his rooms thrown open to receive the élite of Brighton, while the atmosphere of elegance and refinement which surrounds him is possibly enhanced by his recollection of the picture at the London end of the terminus. A more worthy source of pleasure, too, is his when he visits his children’s apartments and finds the dear little beings edged about by every care and comfort that riches can bestow; and when his wife tells him that she has secured the services of an admirable governess, and intends to give her 120l. per annum, he smiles good-humouredly and says, “What an extravagant little woman you are.” In his heart, no doubt, the thought arises, “And all this is owing to my industry in that much maligned cell of mine in Lombard Street.” In the same way that the fatigues and harass of business find compensation in home and the social enjoyments which Mrs. Grant’s talents and her family connections (she is a cousin of Lord Alberry, of Alberry Park, Salop,) bring about him, so the lady’s pleasures sink in some measure to the level of her husband’s sum total of happiness, by the anxiety, care, and forethought which keeping up society engenders, to say nothing of those mortifications, small and great, which all who are constantly striving after something better than themselves are sure to meet with. She is a tender-hearted and good creature, too, with all her society attributes, and many a time may be seen early in the day, in a shabby silk dress and a poke-bonnet disguising her features, amongst the poor localities of Brighton, to any living being save the grateful recipient. Then, again, she has to provide against the petty annoyances which arise from the never-ending persecutions of poor relatives, who not only expect to live upon her bounty, but are offended if they are not all received upon the same footing of equality with Mrs. Grant’s fashionable friends and visitors. Then, too, in her heart of hearts she would be glad to be a little less fashionable, and often—perhaps on this very occasion of her ball—when carriages are rolling to the doors, she would rather exchange her wreath of flowers for her school-day simple braids, and her society smiles for a hearty laugh at her children’s gambols in the nursery.

Thus, though Mrs. Sweetlie Grant seems absorbed by pleasure, and her husband devoured by toil, each meet on the same level of life’s enjoyments, and the elevations and depressions to which each are liable strike a mean in the long run, and my belief is, that happiness generally is far more equally distributed amongst us all than the philosophers and moralists have yet discovered.

Be it known to the uninitiated that society in Brighton—as, I suppose, in every other town of dear old England—is cut up and divided into several sets or cliques, and each set or clique is ruled by a ruling centre, around which the lesser lights perform their several orbits—and some of them, Heaven knows! are eccentric enough. The constellations may be thus classified, and will serve quite as well for London as for Brighton.

CLASS I.—SUNS WITH THEIR OWN SYSTEM.

Rank in conjunction with pedigree and wealth.

CLASS II.—STARS OF THE SECOND MAGNITUDE.

Rank without pedigree (such as recently made peers) in conjunction with wealth.

CLASS III.—MOONS.

Wealth per se. It influences the money tides, shines with a borrowed light from rank, and moves in the earth’s orbit.

CLASS IV.—ASTEROIDS.

Rank without wealth or pedigree, and pedigree without rank or riches.

CLASS V.—NEBULÆ.

Parvenus, clever intrigantes, pretty girls with a little money, bonnes parties with good expectations. These come under the general term “nebulæ,” because it is possible they may each become a distinct world entering into the system of the higher spheres.

CLASS VI.—METEORS.

Belles of the season without money; people living on their capital; those who make a show owing to their talents in obtaining credit; and all other bodies that come and go we know not whither.

Occasionally, considerable perturbation of the entire planetary system takes place at Brighton, owing to the arrival of a brilliant comet in the shape of some member of the Royal Family of England. If, however, the reader imagines that its coming is welcomed by any display of real hospitality on the part of the higher ranks of society, or by any of those delightful gatherings at private houses, which people on the continent