decreasing wealth. If it is wet he is furnished with an organ which
is called an umbrella and which seems designed for the purpose of
protecting either his clothes or his lungs from the injurious effects
of rain. His watch is of more importance to him than a good deal of
his hair, at any rate than of his whiskers; besides this he carries a
knife and generally a pencil case. His memory goes in a pocket-book.
He grows more complex as he becomes older and he will then be seen
with a pair of spectacles, perhaps also with false teeth and a wig;
but, if he be a really well-developed specimen of the race, he will
be furnished with a large box upon wheels, two horses, and a
coachman.

Let the reader ponder over these last remarks and he will see that
the principal varieties and sub-varieties of the human race are not
now to be looked for among the negroes, the Circassians, the Malays,
or the American aborigines, but among the rich and the poor. The
difference in physical organisation between these two species of man
is far greater than that between the so-called types of humanity.
The rich man can go from here to England whenever he feels inclined,
the legs of the other are by an invisible fatality prevented from
carrying him beyond certain narrow limits. Neither rich nor poor as
yet see the philosophy of the thing, or admit that he who can tack a
portion of one of the P. and O. boats on to his identity is a much
more highly organised being than one who cannot. Yet the fact is
patent enough, if we once think it over, from the mere consideration
of the respect with which we so often treat those who are richer than
ourselves. We observe men for the most part (admitting, however,
some few abnormal exceptions) to be deeply impressed by the superior
organisation of those who have money. It is wrong to attribute this
respect to any unworthy motive, for the feeling is strictly