"Good gracious, F----," I cried, when we had passed, "who is that man ?" "That is Sir So-and-So's third son," he replied: "they sent him out here without a shilling, five years ago, and that is what he has come to: a working man, living with working men.

He looks heart-broken, poor fellow, doesn't he ?" I, acting upon impulse, as any woman would have done, turning back and rode up to him, finding it very difficult to frame my pity and sympathy in coherent words.

"No thank you, ma'am," was all the answer I could get, in the most refined, gentlemanly tone of voice: "I'm very well as I am.

I should only have the struggle all over again if I made any change now.
It is the truest kindness to leave me alone." He would not even shake hands with me; so I rode back; discomfited, to hear from F---- that he had made many attempts to befriend him, but without success.

"In fact," concluded F----, with some embarrassment, "he drinks dreadfully, poor fellow.