ch the good man did not despise. He
never boasted of them, for he was modest; but he never blushed for them,
for he had expanded his conscience simultaneously with his capital. As
for the rest, he was a man of honor, in the commercial sense of the
word, and capable of strangling the whole human race rather than of
letting his signature be protested. The banks of Dantzic, Berlin,
Vienna, and Paris, held him in high esteem; his money passed through all
of them.

He was fat, unctuous, and florid, and lived well. His wife's nose was
much too long, and her bones much too prominent, but she loved him with
all her heart, and made him little sweetmeats. A perfect congeniality of
sentiment united this charming couple. They talked with each other with
open hearts, and never thought of keeping back any of their evil
thoughts. Every year, at Saint Martin's day, when rents became due, they
turned out of doors the families of five or six workmen who could not
pay for their terms; but they dined none the worse after it, and their
good-night kiss was none the less sweet.

The husband was sixty-six years old, the wife sixty-four. Their
physiognomies were such as inspire benevolence and command respect. To
complete their outward resemblance to the patriarchs, nothing was needed
but children and grandchildren. Nature had given them one son--an only
one, because they had not solicited Nature for more. They would have
thought it criminal improvidence to divide their fortune among several.
Unhappily, this only child, the heir-presumptive to so many millions,
died at the University of Heidelberg from eating too many sausages. He
set out, when he was twenty, for that Valhalla of German students, where
they eat infinite sausages, and drink inexhaustible beer; where they
sing songs of eight hundred million verses, and gash the tips of each
other's noses with huge swords. Envious Death snatched him from his
parents when they were no longer of an age to improvise a successor. The
unfortunate old millionnaires tenderly collected his effects, to sell
them. During this operation, so trying to their souls (for there was a
great deal of brand-new linen that could not be found), Nicholas Meiser
said to his wife, "My heart bleeds at the idea that our buildings and
dollars, our goods above ground and under, should go to strangers.
Parents ought always to have an extra son, just as they have a
vice-umpire in the Chamber of Commerce."

But Time, who is a