He was proud of his family as he saw them riding in their carriage.

They looked gay and comfortable, and were, as he thought, objects of envy among the humbler folk of the town, all of which reflected pleasantly upon himself.
On a late April evening, of a late spring in 18--, he was sitting in his library, buried in a huge easy chair, thinking, smoking, scheming.
The shutters were closed, the lamps were lighted, and a hickory fire was blazing upon the hearth.

Around the rich man were spread the luxuries which his wealth had bought--the velvet carpet, the elegant chairs, the heavy library table, covered with costly appointments, pictures in broad gold frames, and one article of furniture that he had not been accustomed to see in a gentleman's library--an article that sprang out of his own personal wants.

This was an elegant pier-glass, into whose depths he was accustomed to gaze in self-admiration.

He was flashily dressed in a heavy coat, buff waistcoat, and drab trousers.