With a sigh, he took his seat in the omnibus. It was his last ride. In a cold, desolate, dreary, brick building, constituting almost the only visible sign of
the existence of the town of McDonoghville, situate on the right bank of the Mississippi,

to the centr e of New-Orleans, and in a large room, the furniture of which was old-fashioned,
worn, and time-stained, there lay on a small hard mattress
the gaunt figure of the millionaire, tortured with pain and fast sinking under the ravages
of that terrible disease, the Asiatic cholera. The only beings near were negroes; no white persons were ever allowed to spend the night under that roof. Those negroes were the rich man's slaves in law, but companions and friends in fact. His immense business, his vast estates were administered through
them. Even his documents were copied by
them. They were
true to him in his moment of distress and sickness. All that their limited knowledge
of medicine could suggest

was done for his relief. At last, in disregard of his command, a physician was brought from the city, who pronounced his condition a very critical one. The doctor's first demand was for

brandy. 'Massa,