he think, in the
blindness of self-delusion,--though it was so obvious to Clarence,
that he could have smiled if he had not rather inclined to weep at the
frailties of human nature,--little did he think that the vanity which
had cost him so much remained "a monarch still," undeposed alike by
his philosophy, his religion, or his remorse; and that, debarred
by circumstances from all wider and more dangerous fields, it still
lavished itself upon trifles unworthy of his powers and puerilities
dishonouring his age. Folly is a courtesan whom we ourselves seek,
whose favours we solicit at an enormous price, and who, like Lais,
finds philosophers at her door scarcely less frequently than the rest of
mankind!

CHAPTER XXI.

Mrs. Trinket. What d'ye buy, what d'ye lack, gentlemen? Gloves, ribbons,
and essences,--ribbons, gloves, and essences.
ETHEREGE.

"And so, my love," said Mr. Copperas, one morning at breakfast, to his
wife, his right leg being turned over his left, and his dexter hand
conveying to his mouth a huge morsel of buttered cake,--"and, so my
love, they say that the old fool is going to leave the jackanapes all
his fortune?"

"They do say so, Mr. C.; for my part I am quite out of patience with the
art of the young man; I dare say he is no better than he should be; he
always had a sharp look, and for aught I know there may be more in
that robbery than you or I dreamed of, Mr. Copperas. It was a pity,"
continued Mrs. Copperas, upbraiding her lord with true matrimonial
tenderness and justice, for the consequences of his having acted from
her advice,--"it was a pity, Mr. C., that you should have refused to
lend him the pistols to go to the old fellow's assistance, for then who
knows but--"

"I might have converted them into pocket pistols," interrupted Mr. C.,
"and not have overshot the mark, my dear--ha, ha, ha!"

"Lord, Mr. Copperas, you are always making a joke of everything."

"No, my dear, for once I am making a joke of nothing."

"Well, I declare it's shameful," cried Mrs. Copperas, still following
up her own indignant meditations, "and after taking such notice of
Adolphus, too, and all!"

"Notice, my dear! mere words," returned Mr. Copperas, "mere words, like
ventilators, which make a great deal of air, but never raise the wind;
but don't put yourself in a stew, my love, for the doctors say that
copperas in a stew is poison!"

At this moment Mr. de Warens, throwing