'Ye maun be a puir chiel, gin ye'll be worth less than ten thoosand pound in the market o' marriage; and ten thoosand pound is a gawcey grand heritage!' Such had been the fatherly precept which Lord Gaberlunzie had striven to instil into each of his noble sons; and it had not been thrown away upon them.

One after the other they had gone forth into the market-place alluded to, and had sold themselves with great ease and admirable discretion.
There had been but one Moses in the lot: the Hon.

Gordon Hamilton Scott had certainly brought home a bundle of shagreen spectacle cases in the guise of a widow with an exceedingly doubtful jointure; doubtful indeed at first, but very soon found to admit of no doubt whatever.

He was the one who, with true Scotch enterprise, was prosecuting his fortunes at the Bendigo diggings, while his wife consoled herself at home with her title.
Undecimus, with filial piety, had taken his father exactly at his word, and swapped himself for L10,000.

He had, however, found himself imbued with much too high an ambition to rest content with the income arising from his matrimonial speculation.