me as notorious as his riches.

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, Tom had a
lurking dread that the devil, after all, would have his due. That he might
not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he always carried a small
Bible in his coat-pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his
counting-house desk, and would frequently be found reading it when people
called on business; on such occasions he would lay his green spectacles on
the book, to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious
bargain.

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old days, and that,
fancying his end approaching, he had his horse new shod, saddled, and
bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost, because he supposed that at
the last day the world would be turned upside down; in which case he
should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he was determined
at the worst to give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is
probably a mere old wives' fable. If he really did take such a precaution
it was totally superfluous; at least, so says the authentic old legend,
which closes his story in the following manner:

On one hot afternoon in the dog days, just as a terrible black
thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his counting-house in his white
linen cap and India silk morning-gown. He was on the point of foreclosing
a mortgage by which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky land
speculator, for whom he had professed the greatest friendship. The poor
land-jobber begged him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown
testy and irritated, and refused another day.

"My family will be ruined and brought upon the parish," said the
land-jobber.

"Charity begins at home," replied Tom. "I must take care of myself in
these hard times."

"You have made so much money out of me," said the speculator.

Tom lost his patience and his piety. "The devil take me," said he, "if I
have made a farthing!"

Just then there were three loud knocks at the street-door. He stepped out
to see who was there.

A black man was holding a black horse which neighed and stamped with
impatience.

"Tom, you're come for!" said the black fellow gruffly.

Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the bottom
of his coat pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried under the
mortgage he was about to foreclose. Never was sinner taken more unawares.
The black man whisked him like a child a