'till he rings his bell.' The banker tarried for hours, when the
long-expected bell rang. His name was announced. 'What does he want?'
the master was heard to ask. 'A personal interview.' 'Send him up.' The
banker appeared.

"'I am come, sir, to ascertain your views concerning a sum of two
hundred thousand pounds placed to your account.'

"'Does it inconvenience you?' asked the philosopher. 'If so, transfer it
elsewhere.'

"'Inconvenience, sir? By no means,' replied the banker. 'But pardon me
for suggesting that it is too large a sum to remain unproductive. Would
you not like to invest it?'

"'Invest it? Eh? Yes, if you will. Do as you like, but don't interrupt
me about such things again. I have other matters to think about.'"

With all his wealth it never occurred to him that others were in need,
and that he might do good by benefactions. Solicited on one occasion to
contribute to a charitable object, he exclaimed, "Give, eh! What do you
want? How much?" "Give whatever you please, sir," said the solicitor.
"Well, then, will ten thousand pounds do?"

On another occasion he was forced, from circumstances, to attend a
christening in a church; and, when it was intimated to him that it was
customary to bestow some little present upon the attending nurse, he ran
up to her, and poured into her lap a double handful of gold coins, and
hastily departed. This was the only occasion on which he was known to
cross the threshold of a church. Cavendish died possessed of five
million dollars of property, and yet at no time had he the slightest
knowledge of how much he had, and how it was invested. He despised
money, and made as little use of it as possible.

As regards matters of religion, he never troubled himself about them. He
would never talk upon the subject, and probably never gave it a thought.
All days of the week were alike to him: he was as busy on Sunday as on
any other day. When asked by a friend what his views were of God, he
replied, "Don't ask me such questions: I never think of them."

The circumstances of Cavendish's death are as remarkable as his career
in life.

"Without premitory disease or sickness, or withdrawal from daily duties,
or decadence of mental powers, or physical disability, he made up his
mind that he was about to die. Closing his telescopes, putting his
achromatic glasses in their several grooves, locking the doors of his
laboratories, destroying the papers he deemed useless, and arranging