grand mansion for himself, if he chooses, in
the not distant neighborhood. But the old house, and all immediately
round it, shall be as he recollects it when he had to stretch his little
arm up to reach the door-handles. Then, having well provided for his
own household, himself included, let him become the providence of the
village or the town where he finds himself during at least a portion
of every year. Its schools, its library, its poor,--and perhaps the new
clergyman who has succeeded his grandfather's successor may be one of
them,--all its interests, he shall make his own. And from this centre
his beneficence shall radiate so far that all who hear of his wealth
shall also hear of him as a friend to his race.

Is not this a pleasing programme? Wealth is a steep hill, which the
father climbs slowly and the son often tumbles down precipitately; but
there is a table-land on a level with it, which may be found by those
who do not lose their head in looking down from its sharply cloven
summit.---Our dangerously rich men can make themselves hated, held as
enemies of the race, or beloved and recognized as its benefactors.
The clouds of discontent are threatening, but if the gold-pointed
lightning-rods are rightly distributed the destructive element may be
drawn off silently and harmlessly. For it cannot be repeated too often
that the safety of great wealth with us lies in obedience to the new
version of the Old World axiom, RICHESS oblige.

THE NEW PORTFOLIO: FIRST OPENING.

A MORTAL ANTIPATHY.

I. GETTING READY.

It is impossible to begin a story which must of necessity tax the powers
of belief of readers unacquainted with the class of facts to which its
central point of interest belongs without some words in the nature of
preparation. Readers of Charles Lamb remember that Sarah Battle insisted
on a clean-swept hearth before sitting down to her favorite game of
whist.

The narrator wishes to sweep the hearth, as it were, in these opening
pages, before sitting down to tell his story. He does not intend to
frighten the reader away by prolix explanation, but he does mean to warn
him against hasty judgments when facts are related which are not within
the range of every-day experience. Did he ever see the Siamese twins, or
any pair like them? Probably not, yet he feels sure that Chang and
Eng really existed; and if he has taken the trouble to inquire, he has
satisfied himself that similar cases have