ctor,
for yourself, and the subject of the charity forgotten forever."

When my father had thus distinctly put his proposition, he awaited its
effect with the confidence of a man who had long dealt with cupidity.
For a novelty, his calculation failed. The face of Dr. Etherington
flushed, then paled, and finally settled into a look of melancholy
reprehension. He arose and paced the room for several minutes in
silence; during which time his companion believed he was debating with
himself on the chances of obtaining a higher bid for his consent, when
he suddenly stopped and addressed my ancestor in a mild but steady tone.

"I feel it to be a duty, Mr. Goldencalf," he said, "to admonish you of
the precipice over which you hang. The love of money, which is the root
of all evil, which caused Judas to betray even his Saviour and God,
has taken deep root in your soul. You are no longer young, and although
still proud in your strength and prosperity, are much nearer to your
great account than you may be willing to believe. It is not an hour
since you witnessed the departure of a penitent soul for the presence of
her God; since you heard the dying request from her lips; and since, in
such a presence and in such a scene, you gave a pledge to respect her
wishes, and, now, with the accursed spirit of gain upper-most, you would
trifle with these most sacred obligations, in order to keep a little
worthless gold in a hand that is already full to overflowing. Fancy that
the pure spirit of thy confiding and single-minded wife were present
at this conversation; fancy it mourning over thy weakness and violated
faith--nay, I know not that such is not the fact; for there is no reason
to believe that the happy spirits are not permitted to watch near, and
mourn over us, until we are released from this mass of sin and depravity
in which we dwell--and, then, reflect what must be her sorrow at hearing
how soon her parting request is forgotten, how useless has been
the example of her holy end, how rooted and fearful are thine own
infirmities!"

My father was more rebuked by the manner than by the words of the
divine. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to shut out the view
of his wife's spirit; turned, drew his writing materials nearer, wrote a
check for the ten thousand pounds, and handed it to the Doctor with the
subdued air of a corrected boy.

"Jack shall be at your disposal, good sir," he said, as the paper was
delivered, "whenever