The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1866-01-19
The Dying Man and the Dollar
Br TIE LATE GEORGE LrrrARp.
They brouob. hin, n ,,o,Ior

They brought him a dollar.
lie took it, clutched it in his long,
skinny fingers, tried its sound against
the bed post, and then gazcd at it
long and intently with his dull leaden
eyes.
That day, in the hurry OF business,
Death had struck him, even in the
street. lie was hurrying to collect
the last months rent, and was on the
verge of the miserable court where
his tenants herdcd like beasts in their
kenncls-he was there with the hand
book in his hand when Death laid
his hand upon him.
He was carried home to his splen-
did mansion. lie was laid upon a
bed with q satin coverlet. The law
yer, the relations and the preacher
were sent for. All day long he lay
without speech, moving only his
right hand, as though in the act of
counting money.
AT midnight he spoke.
He asked for n dollar, and they
brought him one, and, lean and gaunt,
he sat up in his death. bed, and clutch.
ed it with the grip of death.
A shaded lamp stood on the table
near the sil<en bed. Its light fell
family around the splendid room.
where chairs and carpets and mirrors,
silllen bed and lofty ceiling, all said,
GOLD! as plainly as human lips can
say it.
His hair and eyebrows were white.
His checks snnken, and his lips thin
and surrounded by wrinkles that in.
dicate the pattern of Avarice. AS lie
sat up in his bed with his neck barred
and the silken coyerlet wrapped about
his lean frame, his white hair and
eyebrows contrasting with his wasted
and wrinkled face, lie looked like o
ghost. And there was life in his
leaden eyc--all that life was centcred
on the Dollar which lie griped in his
clenchcd hand.
His wife, pheasant faced. matronly
woman, was seated az the foot of the
bed. His son, young man of TWEEN
ty one, dressed III the last touch of
fashion, sat by the lawyer. The law.
yer sat before the table, pen in hand,
and gold spectacles on his nose.-
There was a huge parchment spread
before him.
DO you think he will make will?'
asked the son.
Hardly eompos mentis yet" was
the whispered reply. "Wait. He'll
he }Ueid after q while"
my DEAR said the wife, "hAd not
| better send for the preachorT'
She rose and took her dying hus-
band 10y the hand, but he did not
mind. His eyes were upon the Dol
lar.
lie was rich man. He owned
palaces on Walnut and Chestnut
streets, and novels and courts on the
outskirts. lie had iron mines in this
State; copper mines on the lakes
somewhere; he had golden interests
in California. His name was bright
upon the records of twenty banks;
he owned stock Of all kinds; he had
bali dozen papers in his pay.
He knew but one crme-tO be in
debt without the power to pay.
He knew but one yirtuc-to get
money.
That crime he had never forgiven
this virtue he had never forgotten
in the long way of thirty-fve years.
To hunt down debtor, to distress
r tenant, to turn few additional
thousands hy sharp speculation
these were the main achievements of
his life.
He was good man--his name was
on silver plate upon the poS.door
Of q velvet cushioned church.
lie WAS benevolent man--for
every thousand dollars that he wrung
from the tenants OF his court, or from
the debtors who writhed beneath his
heel, he gave ten dollars to some be-
neyolent institution.
He was just man--the gallows
and the Jail always found in him
faithful and answering advocate.
And now he is dying man--see! !
As he sits upon the bed of death,
With the Dollar in his clencied hand,
D, holy DollaE object of his life long
pursuit, Whist comfort hast thou for
him in his PAIN Of death?
At length the dead man revived
and dictated his will. Ii was strange
10 see the mother and son aud law
yer mutteriDg, sometimes wrangling,
beside the bed OF death. All the
while the Tostator clutched the Dol
lar in his right hand.
While the will was being made, the
preacher camc-even he who held
the pastoral charge of the church
whose pew doors bore sanity names
on silver plates, and whose seats on
day grOaned beneath the
weight of responsibility, broadcloth
and satin.
He came and said his prayer--de.
corously aud in measured words
but never once did The dying man re.
lax his bold on the Dollar.
Cant you read me something,
say-.qnick, don't sou see I'm going?'
At length said tie rich man, turning
a frightened look toward the preach
er
The preacher, whose cravat was
Of the whitest, took up book with
golden clasps from marble table
And be read:
"And i cay unto you it is easier
for camel to 60 through the eye OF