and. He did so rather abruptly, for the
postillion was fumbling at his pocket, and evidently rounding about a
proposal in his mind.

My gentleman has now the road to himself. Money is the clothing of a
gentleman: he may wear it well or ill. Some, you will mark, carry great
quantities of it gracefully: some, with a stinted supply, present a
decent appearance: very few, I imagine, will bear inspection, who are
absolutely stripped of it. All, save the shameless, are toiling to
escape that trial. My gentleman, treading the white highway across
the solitary heaths, that swell far and wide to the moon, is, by the
postillion, who has seen him, pronounced no sham. Nor do I think the
opinion of any man worthless, who has had the postillion's authority
for speaking. But it is, I am told, a finer test to embellish much
gentleman-apparel, than to walk with dignity totally unadorned. This
simply tries the soundness of our faculties: that tempts them in erratic
directions. It is the difference between active and passive excellence.
As there is hardly any situation, however, so interesting to reflect
upon as that of a man without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full
of pride, we will leave Mr. Evan Harrington to what fresh adventures
may befall him, walking toward the funeral plumes of the firs, under the
soft midsummer flush, westward, where his father lies.

CHAPTER VII. MOTHER AND SON

Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he does. And
happily so; for in life he subjugates us, and he makes us bondsmen to
his ashes. It was in the order of things that the great Mel should be
borne to his final resting-place by a troop of creditors. You have seen
(since the occasion demands a pompous simile) clouds that all day cling
about the sun, and, in seeking to obscure him, are compelled to blaze
in his livery at fall of night they break from him illumined, hang
mournfully above him, and wear his natural glories long after he is
gone. Thus, then, these worthy fellows, faithful to him to the dust,
fulfilled Mel's triumphant passage amongst them, and closed his career.

To regale them when they returned, Mrs. Mel, whose mind was not intent
on greatness, was occupied in spreading meat and wine. Mrs. Fiske
assisted her, as well as she could, seeing that one hand was entirely
engaged by her handkerchief. She had already stumbled, and dropped a
glass, which had brought on her sharp condemnation from her aunt, who
bade her