and, secondly, he never made the least progress in his profession. He was regular in his habits, parsimonious, and industrious; but he lacked all talent needed at the bar—he had neither address, nor eloquence, nor ingenuity. But, at the age of forty, "a change came o'er the spirit of his dream," though the quotation is somewhat misapplied, for he had neither spirit nor dreams—an old and distant relative died, and left him an immense fortune.
The genius of the man now developed itself—it was that of making money out of money. A man must be rich to be a miser, and Penrhyn was a miser heart and soul. Now, avarice, like all other vices, has changed its bearing since the days of our ancestors. It has lost the picturesque; no one now accumulates ingots of gold, or bars of silver; there are warehouses, not caverns, for bales of rich stuffs, for "ivorie, ambers and all precious woods." The temples of Mammon now are banking-houses and offices—in these Penrhyn luxuriated. Moreover, he duly prepared to indulge in all, as rich, that had appeared to him as indulgences while poor. He married for love—so it was said; but I hold he took his fair cousin from other motives. He married for protection; he was henceforth safe from all designs and schemes, two wives not being legal even in a man of his fortune. He was also more likely to be comfortable—a wife does make a house more comfortable—it is more cheerful, clean, better aired, with feminine supervision, and he liked to have all the
