MR. STATHAM. 171 



none of them. A light overcoat and a handful of straw 

 in the bottom of his cart was enough for him. And thus 

 clad he drove as many miles as ever walked the Wandering 

 Jew, to relieve suffering in the brute creation, and all for 

 what ? For pure love and a sense of duty, for he never 

 sent in a bill, and, when he lay on his deathbed, he gave 

 directions that none of his accounts, which must have 

 amounted to thousands, were to be collected. The poorest 

 cottager's cow or pig was welcome to his services, which 

 were given ungrudgingly, but his heart was in horse and 

 hound. He had his favourites, human and equine, and 

 for these there was nothing he would not do. In his last 

 illness he sent for Taverner, the famous blacksmith of 

 Marchington, second to none in his profession, and very 

 much such a man as himself, and said to him, " I want 

 you to tell me about the horses. They all come and talk 

 to me about myself. It is very kind, but I don't want 

 that. I want to know how the horses are, and whether 

 any of them want me. You see, I might send something, 

 or prescribe, though I can't go." Verily the ruling spirit 

 strong in death. To the very end he struggled on. He 

 could not bear to give up. At last the doctors told him 

 that, in the state of his heart, it was not safe for him to 

 go, and that he might fall down dead at any time, hobbling, 

 as he used to do, on his stick, even the length of the stable. 



Even then he must needs have one try more, but such 

 a dizziness and giddiness overtook him that he recognized 

 the truth of the verdict, came home, took to his bed, and, 

 like Hezekiah, doubtless turned his face to the wall in the 

 bitterness of his soul. But he bore his illness and intense 

 suffering like a hero ; there was always a cheerful word 

 and a kindly smile for any of his old friends, and an 

 inquiry after some one of his equine patients that happened 

 to be in their neighbourhood. Probably one of the last of 

 his friends that he ever saw was Mrs. Fort, " but then," as 

 he said to the writer, " Mrs. Fort is one in a thousand." 



For years and years before this, however, his life had 

 been one long round of usefulness. He was a sort of 



