called for his horse, and rode off. The
land-shark and the miser are one.

"Twenty years have flown since then. Old
age has only bent his iron frame nearer to the
earth which held his soul. If ever there was
a thing of the earth, earthy, it was Stonecrop.
Like Mammon,

      'The least erected spirit that fell
      From Heaven, for even in Heaven his looks and
            thoughts
      Were always downward bent,'

Stonecrop seemed only to see the earth, and
be anxious of its existence. Whether he
ever saw the sky, with its translucent and
inspiring universe of suns and worlds, is
doubtful, but certainly it never suggested
to him vast colonies of spiritual life, and all
the sublime thoughts that claim for us
kinship with the infinite. From time to time
sad stories of hard dealings and oppressive
acts towards widows and orphans, over whose
property he had extended his mortgage net,
reached the public, and of wondrous sums of
money, of no more real use to him than so
many oyster-shells. From the day that I
restored him to a worthless life, he never
came again under my hands, and never did
me the slightest kindness.

"Yet, the other day came a messenger with
hot haste to call me to him. Stonecrop, he
said, was dying, or feared so. A new settlement
was laid out on the western coast, the
vultures of speculation had already flocked
there, and Stonecrop was put in the field.
He had pounced on various lots just when an
acute surveyor should have reserved them
for the public. He had possessed himself of
the only site for quays and wharves, for the
erection of a church, and for the supply of
spring water. He had managed to monopolise
woodlands, just where their magnificent
timber was at hand for exportation. If they
wanted a market, they must re-buy it of
him.

"From what the man could tell me, I
perceived that the very complaint of which I had
formerly relieved him, had seized him once
more in his old age. I believed his time was
come, but I did not feel justified in refusing
his call under such solemn circumstances,
where no other aid was to be got; I resolved,
however, to make a stand for some fair
remuneration this time. When the messenger
saw I hesitated to undertake the journey, he
pulled from his pocket an open note. It was
in Stonecrop's own scraggy, scrambling hand,
now almost illegible from feebleness; but it
offered large terms, which showed that he
doubted of my coming. I wrote at the foot
of the note that I accepted them, and made
the messenger witness it. We went.

"When we descended into this new township
it was evening, almost dark, and there
was a fog so thick that as my guide said,
'you might almost hang your hat up on it.'
We made our way through roods of mire a
yard deep, ploughed up by bullock-teams;
and piles of sawn timber, and trunks of felled
trees, amongst blazing fires that blinded us,
when near, and which gave us no help at a
distance for the dense haze. In the midst of
all the indescribable confusion, discomfort,
and ugliness of such a nascent settlement, we
found our great man, domiciled in a mere
shed, which had been erected by some
sawyers. There he had cooked for himself;
and, if one might jest on such a subject, had
literally taken in and done for himself. The
dampness of that low, hollow spot, and the
incessant rains had again produced a pleurisy.

"A kind-hearted woman, the wife of a drayman
just by, had gone in at his cries, and
nursed him to the best of her ability. She
described his agonies and moans as having
been terrible; and when I said, 'but he is
still now;' she gave a look full of meaning,
and said:

"'Yes, and to my thinking will soon be
stiller.'

"I went in. A candle burnt on a deal box,
besides the bedstead, the only furniture of the
hut. The wretched man lay wide awake,
watching with a keen look the doorway, and
as I advanced, he lifted up his right hand,
and said—

"'That's you, doctor; but I'm better, we
were in too great a hurry. You'll consider
that, eh?'

"'You are better, you think?'

"'O, much better! my pains are gone. They
were shocking, shocking. If I could but
move my legs—but they seem to be bad. Yet
what can ail them? I am better, much
better.'

"During this time I was feeling his pulse.
He watched me with a look which betrayed
a far deeper anxiety than his words would
indicate. I put down his arm quietly, and
sate in solemn silence on a rude stool, which
the woman brought me to his bedside.

"'You think me better, doctor, don't you?'
said the wasted old man with a ghastly and
eager look. 'You must think so, I am so
easy now.'

"'Mr. Stonecrop,' I said, in a tone to
prepare him as well as I could for the truth. 'You
are now an old man, and no circumstance
should take you by surprise, especially where
it concerns your most important affairs. You
are easy; thank God for it; but don't
calculate upon that as delaying the crisis at
which we must all arrive. I cannot flatter
you with hopes of recovery.'

"The thin, prominent features of the
dying man, which looked wan and bloodless
before, at these words grew livid. His eyes
glared on me with a fearful expression, their
white gleaming with a strange largeness and
glaziness. He clutched me by the sleeve
with his big, bony hand, which yet seemed to
retain an iron grasp.

"'But you don't think I shall die soon?
Not for some days, weeks, months? No, no,
I cannot die. I have so much to do.'