squares. He was also a candidate for public patronage in the medical profession, and called upon Wyliehart to interchange civilities and cultivate a friendship with him. "We are both young," said he, "and may be of assistance to each other in operations and difficult cases, and render our observations more interesting and beneficial by communicating them to each other." Wyliehart gladly acceded to the proposition, for he had frequently heard Hamilton spoken of as a prudent, well-educated, and skilful practitioner, and one who was likely to make his way to an elevated standing in the profession. He was said to have private resources to help him in his career, although not sufficient to render him independent of personal exertions; but his disposition was so cautious and reserved, that but little was known of him, except that his mind was stored far beyond the ordinary standard, and that during the short time he had been in practice, his penetration had apprehended, and his judgment and skill combated, disease obscured by symptomatic difficulties, in cases where more experienced men had failed. But, although naturally reserved, he was not so on any subject connected with his studies; and Wyliehart clearly saw, in the course of their first half-hour's conversation, that he should derive considerable advantage from his acquaintance; for it was evident that his new friend had read much and to purpose, and, with his acuteness and tact, it would be easy for him to acquire by conversation some portion of the professional information which Hamilton had attained by diligent study. Before parting, it was agreed that they should go together the next day to visit a poor woman, a patient of Wyliehart's, who had been for some time under his care, afflicted with fistula lachrymalis, and on whom he now considered it necessary to operate. When the door closed, Wyliehart threw himself into his chair, warmed and rubbed his hands several times, and sunk into the following reverie :-" The very fellow I wanted to know-just the one to help me when I can't do without it! If it were not for this plaguy shaking of the hand, I would give no one the chance of walking off with my patients, for goodness knows it's few enough I get of them, though practice is looking up a bit lately. Let me see: four, yes five, half-guinea cases already bespoke for. Heigho! for the time when I can book them down five guineas, besides after-visits and medicines. Fine concern, that Lydia Languish; Sandon was right when he said she'd make a good patient. I wish I had a few dozen such cases." Meanwhile Hamilton had reached his home, and when quietly seated by his own fireside, he also sunk into a reverie, but of a very different description to Wyliehart's. He thought of a far distant scene, where vale and mountain stretched themselves along the horizon, forming a back-ground to a quiet yet cheerful-looking village. The old and ivy-covered church-tower kept a lazy kind of watch upon the country for miles round, like a hoary-headed sentinel who has passed his life in guarding a citadel that has never been assailed. He sees the winding lane alternately shaded by overhanging trees, and left open to the wide-extended view of the distant hills. At the end of the path stands a small yet elegant cottage, almost buried in roses and woodbine, and he smiles to himself as he traces the care and attention of a delicate hand in the training of the flowers around the lattice porch. By the garden gate a lady, dressed in widow's mourning, stands waiting to receive him; and just within the porch, longing, yet more than half afraid to rush into his arms, he sees the half-hid form of a gentle girl, blushing, and smiling, and looking him a welcome. And then he thinks of her sweet, low, clear voice, and the songs she used to sing to him on a summer's evening, in their lonely and romantic walks, far away even from the musical hum of the village, and seated on a fallen tree-how the crimson would mantle her cheek when he took her gentle hand in his, and told her of things that no other ear might listen to. And then, again, that dear girl stood by the same flowery cottage door, with a pale cheek and tearful eye, and her widowed mother held the garden gate, with an averted face; he remembered how he strove to smile, and say adieu with a cheerful voice, but the word died on his tongue, for he had taken leave of his betrothed bride, perhaps for years-perhaps for ever. Then came the bitter feeling of uncertainty with respect to the future; for Walter Hamilton had no private resources, as was generally supposed, but had expended the whole of his little property in his education and qualifications to practice, and had moreover borrowed money to commence with of a kind but not opulent uncle, who had acted the part of a father to him-for Walter Hamilton was an orphan. "Who knows," thought he, "but that after all my intense anxiety and wasting care, I shall yet fail in my hopes! Without interest, without fortune, what have I to depend upon? And yet it will not do to despair-I must struggle on with a blind determination to succeed, or to perish in the effort. Days of unceasing toil, and nights of broken rest, will be repaid with a miserable remuneration, and in many instances with none at all. And yet it is in this way we must work for years, before we can obtain anything like a competency; but I will struggle on-cheerfully struggle on, for the prize is worth the winning. The time will yet come-yes, it shall comewhen that bright smile will beam for ever in my now lonely home. My own Louise! it is this hope alone which makes my destiny a happy one!" How long these musings would have lasted it is impossible to say, had they not been interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Hamilton's servant, who informed him that a poor woman was waiting in the hall, requesting that he would visit a dying man in one of the alleys at a short distance from his residence. Winter had set in with the utmost rigour, it was a bitter evening, the snow lay several inches thick on the pavement, and the sleet still continued to fall, driven on by a most cutting wind from the north-east. Hamilton knew that this was a case for which he should never receive the slightest remuneration, but he considered it equally his duty to attend to the calls of the afflicted; and casting a hesitating glance but for a moment into the desolate street, he resolved to go. "A dreadful night this, Sir," said the woman, as she endeavoured to gather the tattered remnants of her cloak closer round her," it isn't fit to turn a dog out, but I thought mayhap the poor man might die afore morning." "Never mind, my good woman, I'll go with you," said he; and wrapping himself in a large travelling cloak, they sallied forth together. VOL. I. M "Is it your husband that's dying?" asked Hamilton, as they turned the corner of the alley. "No, Sir, no; it's a poor lone creature that lodges in the back room: I am fearful he's starved to death." A thrill of horror passed through Hamilton's mind at this intelligence. "Has he no means of getting food?" he asked: “you ought to apply to the parish." "He won't let me," she replied, "I came to fetch you unbeknown to him." They had now reached the door, if so it might be called, of the house where the sick man lay. What a wretched place for a human habitation! And yet the poor woman said that seven families lived under that one roof. Hamilton almost shrunk from ascending the stairs, as he saw by the flickering of the street lamp the deplorably delapidated state of the staircase. He, however, followed his conductor up one flight, and another, and another, till they had groped their way to the garret. The room was almost dark, for the thin rushlight, stuck in a piece of a broken bottle, was standing in the fireplace-but there was no grate. The window frames were patched with brown paper, for there was scarcely a pane of glass in the whole casement. "Why did you leave the candle burning?" said a low, hollow voice; "I could do as well in the dark." Hamilton turned to the spot from whence the voice proceeded, and there, in one corner of the apartment, stretched on a bundle of dirty straw, and covered with an old rug, lay the dying man. He started on seeing a stranger, and asked in a hurried tone, and with a look of timid suspicion, what was his business there?" "I have come to visit you," said he, "as I understand you are very ill.” "I am very poor, indeed I am," whined the old man: "What do you want with me?" "I do not expect or wish for anything from you," said Hamilton, "but would rather administer to your comforts. It is dreadfully cold, and you have no fire." "How could I get it?" he replied in a surly tone: "Will nobody believe I'm poor?" and he tried to turn himself on the straw, still keeping his searching eye fixed on the visitor." "Has he had any food to-day?" asked the surgeon of the woman who was standing by." "Yes, Sir," she replied, "I gave him some of my own, but he wouldn't eat it, he's saving it for to-morrow." "Bless me!" he exclaimed, horrified at the misery of the poor wretch; here, take this shilling, and get him some food and fire. He is literally dying of want." She put out her hand to receive the money, but the starved man suddenly sprung up in his bed, and snatched it from her. "To-morrow! to-morrow!" he cried; "it will do as well to morrow." "But it is bitterly cold to-night," said Hamilton, "and you must have fire and food, or you may be dead before to-morrow.' "I am quite used to the cold," he muttered; "One, two, three Put out that candle, old woman, it needn't be burning there in waste! -Four, five, six." "Poor fellow!" said Hamilton," he is evidently growing delirious. You must persuade him to take some nourishment-I will send him a composing draught." "I shan't get him to eat anything, Sir," said the poor woman; "he always saves everything for to-morrow." "I am afraid he will not last till to-morrow," said he, "but I will call in the morning, and see if he is still alive." Early the next day, according to promise, he hastened to the chamber of the wretched man. The curate of the parish was standing by the miserable little window, with a bible in his hand, from which he was preparing to read. There lay the dying man exactly in the same state as on the previous evening, without fire and without food. Hamilton expressed his surprise, as he had given him money for a few necessaries, but the poor fellow said he had no appetite for food, and was warm enough without fire; but as he spoke, he shivered, and drew the rug closer round him, his actions and appearance evidently contradicting his words. "When I get well," he said, in a tremulous voice, "I shall be very glad of the money." "It is more than doubtful if you ever do," said Hamilton, wondering at his unconsciousness of his approaching fate. "Do you not feel in yourself that this is the truth?" "I have felt worse," replied he; but at that moment he uttered a deep groan, and his face became dreadfully convulsed. Hamilton saw that he could not last long; and when the paroxysm was over, he candidly and fully expressed his opinion, and bade him attend to the clergyman, who would direct him how to seek his peace with Heaven, for he had not many minutes to live. Contrary to their expectation and hopes, he seemed utterly devoid of feeling on the subject, and only replied that he never troubled himself about the matter. "Do you not know you will soon stand before God, to be judged," said the minister in an agitated voice," and you are not prepared?" "Are you sure I shall die?" he asked, with a look of astonishment. "Yes, yes! you are dying fast!" replied the clergyman, as another convulsion crossed his pallid face. "Pray! try to pray! you have no time to spare!" The man fixed his eyes on the ceiling with a vacant stare, and his lips moved in an attempt to speak. The pastor bent his ear to his mouth, and listened; "Five-six-seven." He rose with a feeling of bitter disappointment, for he had hoped it was a prayer. After a short time the pain left him, but still weaker than before. "Shall I read to you?" asked the curate; but the poor man made him no reply. He however turned to the Sermon on the Mount, and began reading in an impressive voice, the words of Holy Writ, ever and anon raising his eyes to mark the effect produced on the dying sinner. He lay almost motionless, and appeared to be listening with interest and attention. When the reader came to that passage" Lay not up for yourselves treasure," &c., he muttered after him "Yes treasures-treasures-sixty-five-sixty-six-sixty-seven." At that moment a piece of money fell from the bed upon the floor. It was a piece of gold! He started up with a short scream to sieze the coin before it had attracted any one's attention, but the suddenness of the action revealed the whole truth-a well-filled bag of gold fell from the bed clothes, emptying its contents on the floor. The callous, hardhearted, dying man, was a miser! Hamilton turned away with a feeling of digust, not urmingled with hopeless pity for the poor wretch who could carry on such a deep-laid scheme of deceit and dissimulation to the very moment of death. He had pressed his hand on his eyes, for the scene had become intolerably painful, but a groan more loud and deep than any preceding one arrested his attention to the miserable sufferer. He was sitting upright in his bed, with a horrible and ghastly smile on his pale and shrivelled countenance, and his glazing eyes were fixed on the scattered gold that strewed the floor. "Go-go-go," he shrieked, with an hysterical laugh, as he flung several bags of money from under his bed of straw with amazing violence; "Go-go-go-I am dying now! yes, I am! Hell, oh the pains of hell! That chest is full of go-" He lifted his arm to point to a large chest in a dark corner of the room, but it dropt, and he fell dack dead! with the name of his treasure on his lips! PETER MAC GOWAN. A SCOTTISH SONG.-BY MUIRLAND WILLIE. AIR-" The Brisk Young Lad." He patted my brow, an' stroked my chin; O Sirse! but he was a braw auld carle, He spak o' his gear an' acres wide- That I a leddy to kirk should gang, But I snapt my thumb and said "gae hang, O Sirse, but he was an angry man; An' sae the auld carle speiled up the craft "It's better by far to sleep single," I said, Wi' ane that I canna lo'e. "Na! na! he maun be a canty lad- Wha thinks to win my lo'e." Hyde Vale, 1842. |