during his existence. But he
had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his
grave. I thought of my sister Ellen, and of O'Brien, and walked away
with the conviction that Peter Simple might have been an object of envy
to the late Right Honourable Lord Viscount Privilege, Baron Corston,
Lord Lieutenant of the county, and one of His Majesty's most Honourable
Privy Councillors.

When the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we
all returned in the carriages to Eagle Park, when my uncle, who had of
course assumed the title, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in
waiting to receive us. We were shown into the library, and in the chair
so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord.
Near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. As we
severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to
us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional
whisper between him and the lawyers. When all the branches of the
family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on
the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the
parchment, commenced reading the will. I paid attention to it at first;
but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and I was soon thinking of
other matters, until, after half-an-hour's reading, I was startled at
the sound of my own name. It was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum
of ten thousand pounds. My father, who sat by me, gave me a slight
push, to attract my attention; and I perceived that his face was not
quite so mournful as before. I was rejoicing at this unexpected
intelligence. I called to mind what my father had said to me when we
were returning from Eagle Park, that "my grandfather's attentions to me
were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will," and was reflecting how
strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. I also thought of
what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved
anything for his children, and congratulated myself that I should now be
able to support my dear sister Ellen, in case of any accident happening
to my father, when I was roused by another mention of my name. It was a
codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at
my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. I knew
where the blow came from, and I looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of
malignant pl