his circle
must be widened and advanced, if his crowning glories were to be
appreciated as they deserved.

The hunger of wealth for that something above wealth which the
bewildered rich man only discovers the existence of when he has
struggled to the highest pinnacle of advancement in his own way, began
to seize this wealthy neophyte. To be sure, in this first essay, the
company which he assembled in his fine rooms in Portland Place, to see
all his fine things and celebrate his glory, was not a fine company, but
they afforded more gratification to Mr. Copperhead than if they had been
ever so fine. They were people of his own class, his old friends,
invited to be dazzled, though standing out to the utmost of their power,
and refusing, so far as in them lay, to admit how much dazzled they
were. It was a more reasonable sort of vanity than the commoner kind,
which aims at displaying its riches to great personages, people who are
not dazzled by any extent of grandeur, and in whose bosoms no jealousy
is excited towards the giver of the feast. Mr. Copperhead's friends had
much more lively feelings; they walked about through the great rooms,
with their wives on their arms, in a state of semi-defiance, expressing
no admiration, saying to each other, "This must have cost Copperhead a
pretty penny," as they met in doorways; while the ladies put their
flowery and jewelled heads together and whispered, "Did you ever see
such extravagance? And what a dowdy _she_ is with it all!" This was the
under-current of sentiment which flowed strong in all the passages, and
down the rapids of the great staircase; a stream of vigorous human
feeling, the existence of which was as deeply gratifying to the
entertainer as the sweetest flattery. The lord and the ladies who might
have been tempted to his great house would not have had a thought to
spare for Mr. Copperhead; but the unwilling applause of his own class
afforded him a true triumph.

Amid this throng of people, however, there could be little doubt that
the one young lady who attracted his son was the least eligible person
there, being no other than Phoebe Beecham, the pastor's daughter. Almost
the only other utterly ineligible girl was a pale little maiden who
accompanied Sir Robert Dorset and his daughters, and who was supposed to
be either their governess or their humble companion. The Dorsets were
the only people who had any pretensions to belong to "society," in all
those crowded roo