Mr Adolphus Longestaffe, the squire of Caversham in Suffolk, and of Pickering Park in Sussex, was closeted on a certain morning for the best part of an hour with Mr Melmotte in Abchurch Lane, had there discussed all his private affairs, and was about to leave the room with a very dissatisfied air.

There are men,--and old men too, who ought to know the world,--who think that if they can only find the proper Medea to boil the cauldron for them, they can have their ruined fortunes so cooked that they shall come out of the pot fresh and new and unembarrassed.

These great conjurors are generally sought for in the City; and in truth the cauldrons are kept boiling though the result of the process is seldom absolute rejuvenescence.

No greater Medea than Mr Melmotte had ever been potent in money matters, and Mr Longestaffe had been taught to believe that if he could get the necromancer even to look at his affairs everything would be made right for him.

But the necromancer had explained to the squire that property could not be created by the waving of any wand or the boiling of any cauldron.