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imagined a scene so horrible as his last hours presented。 He
cursed and blasphemed about three halfpence； missing； as he said；
some weeks before； in an account of change with his groom； about
hay to a starved horse that he kept。 Then he grasped John's hand；
and asked him to give him the sacrament。 〃If I send to the
clergyman； he will charge me something for it； which I cannot pay；
I cannot。 They say I am rich；look at this blanket；but I would
not mind that； if I could save my soul。〃 And； raving； he added；
〃Indeed； Doctor； I am a very poor man。 I never troubled a
clergyman before； and all I want is； that you will grant me two
trifling requests； very little matters in your way；save my soul；
and （whispering） make interest to get me a parish coffin；I have
not enough left to bury me。 I always told everyone I was poor； but
the more I told them so； the less they believed me。〃
John； greatly shocked； retired from the bedside； and sat down in a
distant corner of the room。 The women were again in the room；
which was very dark。 Melmoth was silent from exhaustion； and there
was a deathlike pause for some time。 At this moment John saw the
door open； and a figure appear at it； who looked round the room；
and then quietly and deliberately retired； but not before John had
discovered in his face the living original of the portrait。 His
first impulse was to utter an exclamation of terror； but his breath
felt stopped。 He was then rising to pursue the figure； but a
moment's reflection checked him。 What could be more absurd； than
to be alarmed or amazed at a resemblance between a living man and
the portrait of a dead one！ The likeness was doubtless strong
enough to strike him even in that darkened room； but it was
doubtless only a likeness； and though it might be imposing enough
to terrify an old man of gloomy and retired habits； and with a
broken constitution； John resolved it should not produce the same
effect on him。
But while he was applauding himself for this resolution； the door
opened； and the figure appeared at it； beckoning and nodding to
him； with a familiarity somewhat terrifying。 John now started up；
determined to pursue it； but the pursuit was stopped by the weak
but shrill cries of his uncle； who was struggling at once with the
agonies of death and his housekeeper。 The poor woman； anxious for
her master's reputation and her own； was trying to put on him a
clean shirt and nightcap； and Melmoth； who had just sensation
enough to perceive they were taking something from him； continued
exclaiming feebly； 〃They are robbing me；robbing me in my last
moments；robbing a dying man。 John； won't you assist me；I shall
die a beggar； they are taking my last shirt；I shall die a
beggar。〃And the miser died。
。 。 。 。 。
A few days after the funeral； the will was opened before proper
witnesses； and John was found to be left sole heir to his uncle's
property； which； though originally moderate； had； by his grasping
habits； and parsimonious life； become very considerable。
As the attorney who read the will concluded； he added； 〃There are
some words here； at the corner of the parchment； which do not
appear to be part of the will； as they are neither in the form of a
codicil； nor is the signature of the testator affixed to them； but；
to the best of my belief； they are in the handwriting of the
deceased。〃 As he spoke he showed the lines to Melmoth； who
immediately recognized his uncle's hand （that perpendicular and
penurious hand； that seems determined to make the most of the very
paper； thriftily abridging every word； and leaving scarce an atom
of margin）； and read； not without some emotion； the following
words： 〃I enjoin my nephew and heir； John Melmoth； to remove；
destroy； or cause to be destroyed； the portrait inscribed J。
Melmoth； 1646； hanging in my closet。 I also enjoin him to search
for a manuscript； which I think he will find in the third and
lowest left…hand drawer of the mahogany chest standing under that
portrait；it is among some papers of no value； such as manuscript
sermons； and pamphlets on the improvement of Ireland； and such
stuff； he will distinguish it by its being tied round with a black
tape； and the paper being very moldy and discolored。 He may read
it if he will；I think he had better not。 At all events； I adjure
him； if there be any power in the adjuration of a dying man； to
burn it。〃
After reading this singular memorandum； the business of the meeting
was again resumed； and as old Melmoth's will was very clear and
legally worded； all was soon settled； the party dispersed； and John
Melmoth was left alone。
。 。 。 。 。
He resolutely entered the closet； shut the door； and proceeded to
search for the manuscript。 It was soon found； for the directions
of old Melmoth were forcibly written； and strongly remembered。 The
manuscript； old； tattered； and discolored； was taken from the very
drawer in which it was mentioned to be laid。 Melmoth's hands felt
as cold as those of his dead uncle； when he drew the blotted pages
from their nook。 He sat down to read；there was a dead silence
through the house。 Melmoth looked wistfully at the candles；
snuffed them； and still thought they looked dim； （perchance he
thought they burned blue； but such thought he kept to himself）。
Certain it is； he often changed his posture； and would have changed
his chair； had there been more than one in the apartment。
He sank for a few moments into a fit of gloomy abstraction； till
the sound of the clock striking twelve made him start；it was the
only sound he had heard for some hours； and the sounds produced by
inanimate things； while all living beings around are as dead； have
at such an hour an effect indescribably awful。 John looked at his
manuscript with some reluctance； opened it； paused over the first
lines； and as the wind sighed round the desolate apartment； and the
rain pattered with a mournful sound against the dismantled window；
wishedwhat did he wish for？he wished the sound of the wind less
dismal； and the dash of the rain less monotonous。He may be
forgiven； it was past midnight； and there was not a human being
awake but himself within ten miles when he began to read。
。 。 。 。 。
The manuscript was discolored； obliterated； and mutilated beyond
any that had ever before exercised the patience of a reader。
Michaelis himself； scrutinizing into the pretended autograph of St。
Mark at Venice； never had a harder time of it。Melmoth could make
out only a sentence here and there。 The writer； it appeared； was
an Englishman of the name of Stanton； who had traveled abroad
shortly after the Restoration。 Traveling was not then attended
with the facilities which modern improvement has introduced； and
scholars and literati； the intelligent； the idle； and the curious；
wandered over the Continent for years； like Tom Corvat； though they
had the modesty； on their return； to entitle the result of their
multiplied observations and labors only 〃crudities。〃
Stanton； about the year 1676； was in Spain； he was； like most of
the travelers of that age； a man of literature； intelligence； and
curiosity； but ignorant of the language of the country； and
fighting his way at times from convent to convent； in quest of what
was called 〃Hospitality；〃 that is； obtaining board and lodging on
the condition of holding a debate in Latin； on some point
theological or metaphysical； with any monk who would become the
champion of the strife。 Now； as the theology was Catholic； and the
metaphysics Aristotelian； Stanton sometimes wished himself at the
miserable Posada from whose filth and famine he had been fighting
his escape； but though his reverend antagonists always denounced
his creed； and comforted themselves； even in defeat； with the
assurance that he must be damned； on the double score of his being
a heretic and an Englishman； they were obliged to confess that his
Latin was good； and his logic unanswerable； and he was allowed； in
most cases； to sup and sleep in peace。 This was not doomed to be
his fate on the night of the 17th August 1677； when he found
himself in the plains of Valencia； deserted by a cowardly guide；
who had been terrified by the sight of a cross erected as a
memorial of a murder； had slipped off his mule unperceived；
crossing himself every step he took on his retreat from the
heretic； and left Stanton amid the terrors of an approaching storm；
and the dangers of an unknown country。 The sublime and yet
softened beauty of the scenery around； had filled the soul of
Stanton with delight； and he enjoyed that delight as Englishmen
generally do； silently。
The magnificent remains of two dynasties that had passed away； the
ruins of Roman palaces； and of Moorish fortresses； were around and
above him；the dark and heavy thunde