had been amassed. Charles Maxwell was just of age. He had received a good education, in the first place, from his father, and afterwards a very handsome allowance, by which he was enabled to keep what is called good society, whilst the old gentleman stuck close to the countinghouse and the Exchange, and kept " all right."

But when he died, his son, taking a wider range, neglected the business, and left the whole of his mercantile affairs to his clerks; and the consequence was, that in less than two years he was on the eve of figuring in the Gazette.

At this critical juncture, too, he had fallen in love; a contingency which, if it had occurred somewhat earlier, might possibly have made him more careful of his own concerns, and saved him from the temptation which awaited him. In sad and sober mood, he sat occupied in a manner to which he had been but little accustomed,

namely, in melancholy contemplation, in his own private counting-house, when the gentleman of whom we have already spoken, suddenly made his appearance, with his black coat, waistcoat, inexpressibles, and stockings, black cloak, black bag, black-edged papers, tied with black tape, black smelling-bottle, snuff-box and blackguard, in the same style as when he visited the poor law student at Paris, not forgetting the needful black pocket-book, and long elastic black silk purse. A similar scene took place to that which befel the young Frenchman, excepting that Charles Maxwell's decision was accelerated by the arrival of a lot of "returned acceptances," in lieu of one long tailor's bill. It were hard to say whether the English or the French gentleman was most elated by his sudden accumulation of wealth, and unexpected escape from disgrace.

One dreamed of horses, dogs, wines, houses,

&c., &c.; the other, of operas, dancers, rouge et noir, titles, &c., &c. One resolved to forsake the counting-house; the other resolved to forsake the law; thereby clearly evincing that the heart of neither was engaged in the pursuit for which he had been destined,—a fact which perhaps it would have been better if their parents could have ascertained, ere they had

"Bound them to that oar,

Which thousands, once lashed fast to, quit no more."|

When the bargain was concluded between young Charles and his new ally, he politely asked him to stay and dine with him. "Excuse the liberty I take,”—and he rang the bell, which was immediately answered by a footman. Dinner was ordered, and a wondering clerk dispatched to his no less wondering bankers, with the sum of one hundred thousand pounds, and a verbal message, that he had received their

D

note, and should not trouble them for the “discounts" mentioned yesterday. A dinner, tête-à tête, passed off delightfully between the new acquaintances. The gentleman in black drank his wine freely, and bottle after bottle of the old supernaculum appeared and disappeared with marvellous celerity. Charles talked of what he would do, and where he would go; and how he would astonish the natives, and purchase an estate in the country, and buy himself into parliament; whereat the dark gentleman gave a singular proof of his satisfaction, which, had it not been that "wine worketh wonders," would probably have broken up their party.

"What is that moving and rustling about behind you, under your cloak?" exclaimed Charles, gazing stupidly, as a drunken man often does when staring at something going on before him which he cannot exactly understand.

"Oh! it's only my tail, which I'm wagging," replied his guest, "it's a way we have whenever we are very much pleased."

"Oho! old gentleman!" observed Charles, "then you enjoy yourself, eh? you take my jokes, eh? you're a bit of a wag, eh?"

my

66

Yes," drily replied his companion, "I wag

tail."

"It's monstrously droll," added Charles, hiccupping; "but the fact is, my comical, old Mr. What-d'ye-call-em, we have many ways, almost as whimsical, among ourselves."

"If you object to my custom- .?" said the gentleman of the black, rustling cloak, bowing politely

"Oh, by no means," replied Charles, "sport your opossum as you please; only, none of your long t-a-l-e-s. Ha! ha! A devilish pleasant conceit! is'nt, old boy; come fill your glass. I always hated long stories; don't you?"