ndureth!
And her pain a slumber cureth!
Heareth not yonder torrent's jars!
Hath her young sons above the stars!

Fontainbleau, 1843.

THE BANKING-HOUSE.

A HISTORY IN THREE PARTS. PART II.

CHAPTER I.

A NEGOTIATION.

It is vastly amusing to contemplate the activity and perseverance which
are exhibited in the regard shown by every man for his individual
interests. Be our faults what they may--and our neighbours are not slow
to discover them--it is very seldom indeed that we are charged with
remissness in this respect. So far from this being the case, a moralist
of the present day, in a work of no mean ability, has undertaken to
prove that selfishness is the great and crying evil of the age. Without
venturing to affirm so wholesale a proposition, which necessarily
includes in its censure professors and professions _par excellence_
unsecular and liberal, we may be permitted in charity to express our
regret, that the rewards apportioned to good men in heaven are not
bestowed upon those in whom the selfish principle is most rampant,
instead of being strictly reserved for others in whom it is least
influential; since it is more pleasing to consider celestial joys in
connexion with humanity at large, than with an infinitesimal minority of
mortals.

Whilst Michael Allcraft coolly and designedly looked around him, in the
hope of fixing on the prey he had resolved to find--whilst, cautious as
the midnight housebreaker, who dreads lest every step may wake his
sleeping victim, he almost feared to do what most he had at heart, and
strove by ceaseless effort to bring into his face the show of
indifference and repose;--whilst he was thus engaged, there were many,
on the other hand, eager and impatient to crave from him, as for a boon,
all that he himself was but too willing to bestow. Little did Michael
guess, on his eventful wedding-day, as his noble equipage rattled along
the public roads, what thoughts were passing in the minds of some who
marked him as he went, and followed him with longing eyes. His absorbing
passion, his exhilaration and delight, did not suffer him to see one
thin and anxious-looking gentleman, who, spyglass in hand, sat at his
cottage window, and brought as near as art allowed--not near enough to
satisfy him--the entranced and happy pair. That old man, with nine times
ten thousand pounds safe and snug in the stocks, was miserable to look
at, and as miserable in effect. He was a widower, a