a more sensible suggestion than any I could have supposed to
come from a man who writes books, especially poetry: and your advice is
not to be despised. For rich I will be; and as the fathers (I don't
mean of the Church, but in Horace) told the rising generation, the first
thing is to resolve to be rich, it is only the second thing to consider
how."

"Meanwhile, Ferrers, you will be my guest."

"I'll dine with you to-day; but to-morrow I am off to Fulham, to be
introduced to my aunt. Can't you fancy her?--grey _gros-de-Naples_ gown:
gold chain with an eyeglass; rather fat; two pugs, and a parrot! 'Start
not, this is fancy's sketch!' I have not yet seen the respectable
relative with my physical optics. What shall we have for dinner? Let
me choose, you were always a bad caterer." As Ferrers thus rattled on,
Maltravers felt himself growing younger: old times and old adventures
crowded fast upon him; and the two friends spent a most agreeable day
together. It was only the next morning that Maltravers, in thinking
over the various conversations that had passed between them, was forced
reluctantly to acknowledge that the inert selfishness of Lumley Ferrers
seemed now to have hardened into a resolute and systematic want of
principle, which might, perhaps, make him a dangerous and designing man,
if urged by circumstances into action.

CHAPTER II.

"_Dauph._ Sir, I must speak to you. I have been long your
despised kinsman.

"_Morose._ Oh, what thou wilt, nephew."--EPICENE.

"Her silence is dowry eno'--exceedingly soft spoken; thrifty
of her speech, that spends but six words a day."--_Ibid._

THE coach dropped Mr. Ferrers at the gate of a villa about three miles
from town. The lodge-keeper charged himself with the carpet-bag, and
Ferrers strolled, with his hands behind him (it was his favourite
mode of disposing of them), through the beautiful and elaborate
pleasure-grounds.

"A very nice, snug little box (jointure-house, I suppose)! I would not
grudge that, I'm sure, if I had but the rest. But here, I suspect, comes
madam's first specimen of the art of having a family." This last thought
was extracted from Mr. Ferrers's contemplative brain by a lovely little
girl, who came running up to him, fearless and spoilt as she was; and,
after indulging a tolerable stare, exclaimed, "Are you come to see papa,
sir?"

"Papa!--the deuce!"--thought Lumley; "and who is papa, my dear?"

"Why, mamma's husband. He is not