ot like
his. Oh, Scatcherd! Scatcherd!" and the doctor prepared to pour out
the flood of his eloquence in beseeching this singular man to abstain
from his well-known poison.

"Is that all you know of human nature, doctor? Abstain. Can you
abstain from breathing, and live like a fish does under water?"

"But Nature has not ordered you to drink, Scatcherd."

"Habit is second nature, man; and a stronger nature than the first.
And why should I not drink? What else has the world given me for
all that I have done for it? What other resource have I? What other
gratification?"

"Oh, my God! Have you not unbounded wealth? Can you not do anything
you wish? be anything you choose?"

"No," and the sick man shrieked with an energy that made him audible
all through the house. "I can do nothing that I would choose to do;
be nothing that I would wish to be! What can I do? What can I be?
What gratification can I have except the brandy bottle? If I go among
gentlemen, can I talk to them? If they have anything to say about
a railway, they will ask me a question: if they speak to me beyond
that, I must be dumb. If I go among my workmen, can they talk to me?
No; I am their master, and a stern master. They bob their heads and
shake in their shoes when they see me. Where are my friends? Here!"
said he, and he dragged a bottle from under his very pillow. "Where
are my amusements? Here!" and he brandished the bottle almost in the
doctor's face. "Where is my one resource, my one gratification, my
only comfort after all my toils. Here, doctor; here, here, here!"
and, so saying, he replaced his treasure beneath his pillow.

There was something so horrifying in this, that Dr Thorne shrank back
amazed, and was for a moment unable to speak.

"But, Scatcherd," he said at last; "surely you would not die for such
a passion as that?"

"Die for it? Aye, would I. Live for it while I can live; and die for
it when I can live no longer. Die for it! What is that for a man to
do? Do not men die for a shilling a day? What is a man the worse for
dying? What can I be the worse for dying? A man can die but once, you
said just now. I'd die ten times for this."

"You are speaking now either in madness, or else in folly, to startle
me."

"Folly enough, perhaps, and madness enough, also. Such a life as mine
makes a man a fool, and makes him mad too. What have I about me that
I should be afraid to die? I'm worth three hundred thousand pounds;
and I'd give