Since we first made his acquaintance, he has kept on rigidly. In all his intercourse with his fellow beings--man to man--with high and low--with the sex--with his nearest relations,--he has never, no, _never_ looked to anything except what he considered his personal advantage. He is a member of the Church; he performs certain rites and formulae of our holy religion; he subscribes to charities: but it is to secure to himself personally the benefit of heaven and whatever advantages may be connected with it. So that, where he has acted wisely and well, the action has been robbed of all merit, because there was no wise or right intent, but simply a politic end in view. Look at him, as he pushes along in the crowd! Notwithstanding his millions, he is there a mere atom out of this world's creation. He has not a sympathy beyond himself--not a hope which does not centre in self--no connecting link with anything outside or beyond--no thought, no emotion, no sense, no feeling, which are not produced by a desire to advance the interests of "_H. Meeker_," here and hereafter. * * * * * We will go on in advance of Hiram, and enter his house before him. It is one of the best in the city. Not showy, but large, ample, and well constructed; indicating the abode of a solid man. It is situated in one of the finest streets far 'up town.' Before the door are two equipages. One is Mrs. Meeker's carriage, very handsome and in exquisite taste. The other is a stylish single-seat phaeton, with two horses tandem, and a rather flashy-looking servant in gay livery. Let us go into the house. Mrs. Meeker is just preparing for a short shopping excursion before dinner. At the distance from which we regard her, Time seems to have dealt very kindly with her. The figure is quite the same, the style the same, the face the same, and you see no gray hairs. In short, you behold our old friend Arabella, slightly exaggerated, perhaps--but it is she. She leaves her room, and prepares to descend. As she passes to the top of the staircase, a faint voice exclaims: 'Mamma!' Mrs. Meeker stops with an expression of impatience, turns, and enters the adjoining apartment. On a sort of couch or ottoman reclines a young lady, who, you can perceive at a glance, is a victim of consumption.