day was
calm and still,--one of those solemn autumnal days which lend to scenery
a something of sadness in their unvarying quiet. Although so near a
great city, the roads were little travelled, and they sauntered for
hours scarcely meeting any one.

Wherever the smoke rose above the tall beech-trees, wherever the
ornamented porch of some lone cottage peeped through the copse, or the
handsome entrance-gate proclaimed the well-to-do owner of some luxurious
abode, Kellett would stop to tell who it was lived there,--the wealthy
merchant, the affluent banker, the alderman or city dignitary, who had
amassed his fortune by this or that pursuit. Through all his stories
there ran the vein of depreciation, which the once landed proprietor
cherished towards the men who were the "first of their name." He was
sure to remember some trait of their humble beginnings in life,--how
this one had come up barefooted to Dublin fifty years before; how that
had held horses in the street for hire. It was strange, but scarcely
one escaped some commentary of this kind; not that there was a spark
of ill-nature in the man, but that he experienced a species of
self-consolation in thinking that in all his narrow fortune he had
claims of kindred and connection which none of them could compete with.
Beecher's thoughts took, meanwhile, a different course; whenever not
awakened to interest by some trait of their sharpness or cunning, to
which he listened with avidity, he revelled in the idea of their wealth,
as a thing of which they might be despoiled: "Wouldn't that fellow take
shares in some impossible speculation?--Couldn't the other be induced
to buy some thousand pounds' worth of valueless scrip?--Would this one
kindly permit himself to 'be cleared out' at hazard?--Might that one be
persuaded to lose a round sum at _ecarte_?"

And thus did they view life, with widely different sympathies, it is
true, but yet in a spirit that made them companionable to each other.
One "grew his facts," like raw material which the other manufactured
into those curious wares by which he amused his fancy. Poverty is a
stronger bond than many believe it; when men begin to confess it to each
other, they take something very like an oath of fidelity.

"By the way," said Beecher, as he bade his friend good night, "you told
me you knew Dunn--Davenport Dunn?"

"To be sure I do,--know him well."

"Couldn't you introduce me to him? That's a fellow might be able to
assist m