he gospel, and to enable you to help a
friend in need; and to alleviate the condition of the poor, the sick,
and the destitute. To work for more than this is to be greedy; to work
for less is to be reprehensibly lazy. This amount of work being done,
men ought to mingle with their fellow-creatures, and wander abroad as
much as may be among the beautiful works of their Creator."

"A very pretty theory, doubtless," replied Tom; "but, pray, in what
manner will your proposed ramble advance the interests of religion, or
enable you to do the extra ordinary amount of good you speak of?"

"There you go again, Tom; you ask me the abstract question, `What do you
mean by enjoying life?' and when I reply, you object to the answer as
not being applicable to the present case. Of course, it is not. I did
not intend it to be. The good I mean to do in my present ramble is
chiefly, if not solely, to my own body and mind--"

"Stop, my dear fellow," interrupted Tom, "don't become energetic! I
accept your answer to the general question; but how many people, think
you, can afford to put your theory in practice?"

"Very, very few," replied Ned, earnestly; "but that does not affect the
truth of my theory. Men _will_ toil night and day to accumulate gold,
until their bodies and souls are incapable of enjoying the good things
which gold can purchase, and they are infatuated enough to plume
themselves on this account, as being diligent men of business; while
others, alas! are compelled thus to toil in order to procure the bare
necessaries of life; but these melancholy facts do not prove the
principle of `grind-and-toil' to be a right one; much less do they
constitute a reason for my refusing to enjoy life in the right way when
I have the power."

Tom made no reply, but the vigorous puffs from his cigar seemed to
indicate that he pondered these things deeply. A few minutes
afterwards, Ned's expected sitter entered. He was a tall burly
Irishman, with a red-flannel shirt, open at the neck, a pair of huge
long boots, and a wide-awake.

"The top o' the mornin' to yees," said the man, pulling off his hat as
he entered.

"Good-morning, friend," said Ned, as Tom Collins rose, shouldered his
pick and shovel, and left the hut. "You are punctual, and deserve
credit for so good a quality. Pray, sit down."

"Faix, then, I don't know what a `quality' is, but av it's a good thing
I've no objection," replied the man, taking a seat on the edge