"I have no spare bed to offer you, but you must breakfast and dine with us every day. Our house is small, but it's very comfortable, and Brighton is a very convenient place. You know Mary is married. A good place in the courts was for sale, and my wife and I agreed to purchase it for Rivers. It has reduced us a little, but they are very comfortable. I have retired from business altogether; in fact, as my daughters are both married, and we have enough to live upon, what can we wish for more? Brighton is very gay, and always healthy; and, as for carriage and horses, they are no use here--there are _flies_ at every corner of the streets." I accepted his invitation to dinner. A parlour-maid waited, but everything, although very plain, was clean and comfortable. "I have still a bottle of wine for a friend, Reynolds," said Willemott, after dinner; "but, for my part, I prefer _whisky-toddy_--it agrees with me better. Here's to the health of my two girls, God bless them, and success to them in life!" "My dear Willemott," said I, "I take the liberty of an old friend, but I am so astonished at your philosophy, that I cannot help it. When I call to mind Belem Castle, your large establishment, your luxuries, your French cook, and your stud of cattle, I wonder at your contented state of mind under such a change of circumstances." "I almost wonder myself, my dear fellow," replied he. "I never could have believed, at that time, that I could live happily under such a change of circumstances; but the fact is, that, although I have been a contractor, I have a good conscience; then, my wife is an excellent woman, and provided she sees me and her daughters happy, thinks nothing about herself; and, further, I have made it a rule, as I have been going down hill, to find reasons why I should be thankful, and not discontented. Depend upon it, Reynolds, it is not a loss of fortune which will affect your happiness, as long as you have peace and love at home." I took my leave of Willemott and his wife, with respect as well as regard; convinced that there was no pretended indifference to worldly advantages; that it was not, that the grapes were sour, but that he had learned the whole art of happiness, by being contented with what he had, and by "cutting his coat according to his cloth." CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. HOW TO WRITE A FASHIONABLE NOVEL. [_Scene--Chamber in Lincoln's Inn_. ARTHUR ANSARD _at a briefless table, tete-a-tete with his wig on a block_. A _casts a disconsolate look upon his companion, and soliloquises_.]