to introduce the reader into a society so exclusive.

CHAPTER LXII. The Way of the World

A short time after the piece of good fortune which befell Colonel
Altamont at Epsom, that gentleman put into execution his projected
foreign tour, and the chronicler of the polite world who goes down to
London Bridge for the purpose of taking leave of the people of fashion
who quit this country, announced that among the company on board the
Soho to Antwerp last Saturday, were "Sir Robert, Lady, and the Misses
Hodge; Mr. Serjeant Kewsy, and Mrs. and Miss Kewsy; Colonel Altamont,
Major Coddy, etc." The Colonel travelled in state, and as became
a gentleman: he appeared in a rich travelling costume; he drank
brandy-and-water freely during the passage, and was not sick, as some of
the other passengers were; and he was attended by his body-servant;
the faithful Irish legionary who had been for some time in waiting upon
himself and Captain Strong in their chambers of Shepherd's Inn.

The Chevalier partook of a copious dinner at Blackwall with his
departing friend the Colonel, and one or two others, who drank many
healths to Altamont at that liberal gentleman's expense. "Strong, old
boy," the Chevalier's worthy chum said, "if you want a little money,
now's your time. I'm your man. You're a good feller, and have been a
good feller to me, and a twenty-pound note, more or less, will make
no odds to me," But Strong said, No, he didn't want any money; he was
flush, quite flush--"that is, not flush enough to pay you back your last
loan, Altamont, but quite able to carry on for some time to come," and
so, with a not uncordial greeting between them, the two parted. Had the
possession of money really made Altamont more honest and amiable than he
had hitherto been, or only caused him to seem more amiable in Strong's
eyes? Perhaps he really was better, and money improved him. Perhaps it
was the beauty of wealth Strong saw and respected. But he argued within
himself, "This poor devil, this unlucky outcast of a returned convict,
is ten times as good a fellow as my friend Sir Francis Clavering, Bart.
He has pluck and honesty in his way. He will stick to a friend, and face
an enemy. The other never had courage to do either. And what is it that
has put the poor devil under a cloud? He was only a little wild, and
signed his father-in-law's name. Many a man has done worse, and come to
no wrong, and holds his head up. Clavering does. No, he don't h