CHAPTER II.—THE PERSISTENCE OF POVERTY AMID ADVANCING WEALTH.

To whomsoever the soil at any time belongs, to him belong the fruits of it. White parasols, and elephants mad with pride are the flowers of a grant of land.—_Sir Wm. Jones’ translation of an Indian grant of land, found at Tanna._

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The widow is gathering nettles for her children’s dinner; a perfumed seigneur, delicately lounging in the Œil de Bœuf, hath an alchemy whereby he will extract from her the third nettle, and call it rent.—_Carlyle._