sometimes in this life; but he did not heed
me. And so, at last, he quarrelled with his
best friend, and threw up everything."

"A great pity," said I.

My uncle did not speak again for some
time. I thought he had forgotten the
subject; but it was still working in his mind;
for he said to me, at last, " I should not like
to know that he was poor, and not to help
him. I never meant that. Come nearer to
me. It pains me to talk loud." I drew my
chair close up beside the bed, and he
continued, almost in a whisper. " All that I
have in the world, John, I have given to you."

I grasped his hand, but I made no answer;
for I was affected by this proof of his regard
for me.

"But Lionel must have something,"
continued my uncle. " I meant to give him
Palmer's money. He must have this. I
cannot abandon him; though he has behaved
very ill to me. You will still be rich, John."

"He shall have it, uncle," said I. " Do
not let this trouble you."

"I will have this put in writing," said my
uncle; " I always meant to do so, but I put
it off from day to day. Let me only get my
strength again, and I will put everything in
order. I will live at enmity with no one.
I am tired of strife. I am seventy-six years
of age, and any day may bring me to the
grave."

"You were always strong before this attack,
uncle," said I, trying to soothe him. " You
have led a regular life, too, which is a great
thing. You may get over it yet."

"So I may, John," said my uncle. " But
I won't live at enmity with any one. I will
make all be friends with me. If there are
any who have offended me, I will own that
I was wrong, for the sake of peace."

"Pray calm yourself, uncle," said I. " You
stand in need of rest." I do not know what
new thought took him at this moment, but
he suddenly began to sob like a child.
However, he soon came back to the subject of
Lionel; for he bade me go down, and get
paper and pens to write. I took up the lamp
again and was about to obey him, when I
observed his head droop upon the pillow; I
could hear his teeth chatter, where I stood, at
a distance from the bed. I spoke to him,
but he did not answer, and I began to feel
alarmed. Our housekeeper was beginning to
move about overhead, and I went up to her
room, and bade her hasten. When she came
down, my uncle was still insensible. We
talked of what was best to be done. A new
physician from London was expected in the
morning; but I determined to go at once for
our surgeon, who lived on the other side of the
town.

I had full two miles to walk, there and
back, and the surgeon delayed some time,
dressing. I urged him as much as I could;
but an hour had passed before I got back.
The first glance at my uncle convinced me it
was too late; and I saw the doctor thought
so too. He felt his pulse for a moment, and
simply said he was gone; at which our
housekeeper began to cry. I asked her if he had
spoken since I went out, and she said he had
been asking for a pen to write.

"Dreaming of business," said the doctor.

"Was that all?" said I.

"Only sobbing and muttering, sobbing and
muttering, sir."

So ended old Uncle Beecham. He had his
faults and his good qualities, like all of us;
but it is a saddening thing, if death brings
wisdom and immortal life, to see a
strong-minded man grow childish as he draws
towards his end, and at last die drivelling.
I went up to my bedroom to try to get a
little rest; but I felt much depressed and
could not sleep all that night.

I was very ill on the day of the funeral. I
do not pretend to say it was through grieving
about my uncle; though, perhaps, I had
had more regard for him than any one living.
Some of my family attended; though they
could not have the decency to bury their
animosities on such an occasion, but must
sit apart and treat me as an utter stranger.
I do not think they felt inclined to treat me
any better when they heard the will read.
My uncle bequeathed a small annuity to his
housekeeper; the rest of his property he gave
entirely to me. When this ceremony was
ended, the company took their departure.
Most of them I have not seen from that day
to this.

Now with regard to the money which my
uncle had desired to leave to Lionel, I meant
from the first to give it him. I knew that he
had no claim against me at law, but I did not
mean to take advantage of that. The money
was there for him whenever he liked to come
for it. I was not, to be sure, bound to run
after him, and I did not intend to do so. He
had not even let me know his address, so that
he could not complain of me in this respect.
If there was any delay, therefore, in his
getting it, he had no one but himself to blame.
I thought he would, at least, have written to
me, now my uncle was dead, to ask me for
some particulars of his end. The old man
forgave him on his death-bed; but Lionel, it
appears, was not satisfied yet.

I missed my uncle very much. A great
change seemed to have come upon the place
since he was gone. I should have been glad
to leave the house if I could have found
another equally suitable for my business;
but I could not find one, and I remained there
all that winter. My health was very bad. I
do not know exactly what was the matter
with me. I had rarely been ill before. I
became very nervous, and had continual
pains in the head. The conduct of my family
towards me, and the ingratitude I had
everywhere met with, weighed upon me. I was
a young man still, but I had seen much of
the evil side of life. I had never met with