unger,--too poor even to have a fire to thaw
the icicles of despair that are gathering around the heart!"

Had it not been better for me if I had lived on in the same humble
condition to which I was born, than have tasted of the fascinations of
riches, to love and pine after them forever? No! this I could not agree
to. There were some moments of my glorious prosperity that well repaid
me for all I had, or all I could suffer for them; and to whatever depth
of evil destiny I might yet be reserved, I should carry with me
the delicious memory of my once happiness. Con Cregan--the
light-hearted--was himself again! Con,--the vagrant, the passionate
lover of whatever life offered of pleasure, of beauty, and of
splendor,--who only needed a good cash account with Coutts to make his
existence a "fairy tale"! I forgot for a moment that I lived in a mean
chamber with a broken window, a fireless grate, a table that never was
graced with a meal! a bed that resembled a "board," and a chair, to sit
upon which without smashing, required the dexterity of a juggler!

A sharp knocking at my door cut short these meditations, and a voice at
the same time cried out my name. "Come in," said I, authoritatively. I
fancied it might be the landlord, and was not sorry to brave him--by the
darkness. The door opened, and a figure, which even in the gloom I could
perceive was that of a stranger, entered. "Monsieur de Corneille lives
here?" said he.

"I have the humble honor to be that individual," responded I.

"Have you got no light? I have smashed my shins across a confounded
chair," said he, querulously.

"You 're all safe now," said I; "keep round by the wall, but take care
of the rat-trap near the corner."

"Let's have a light, mon cher," said the other, half coaxingly.

"I never have a light," said I; "I detest glare, hate snuffing a candle,
and can't endure the thought of patronizing Russia and her tallow."

"Could n't we have a bit of fire, then?" asked he.

"Fire before Christmas!" exclaimed I. "Are we in Tobolsk? What Sybarite
talks of fire in Paris at this season?"

"I really am ambitious of seeing you, Monsieur," said the other: "can we
not compass this object without any violence to your feelings?"

"Have you a cigar-case?" said I.

"Yes."

"Well, strike a light; and here 's a letter which you may set fire to:
you can thus make an inspection of me by 'inch of paper.'"

He laughed pleasantly at the conceit, and lighted the