"Oh! he is hanged by this time," answered Norries. "The day after he quitted my house he stole a horse at Pringle sheep-run, and then rode straight on night and day, I believe, to take revenge upon a man as bad or worse than himself, who kept what they call a store. The fellow's name was McSweeny; and it seems he had given this man Brady up to justice. He was sitting quietly in his cabin, drinking with an old man and a lad, about nine o'clock at night, when Brady presented himself at the door. Few words passed between them, for Brady's salutation was only 'McSweeny, I want you.' He had a pistol cocked in his hand, but McSweeny walked out doggedly and asked, 'What do you want, Brady?' 'I give you five minutes to say your prayers,' replied the ruffian. 'I don't want five, nor one,' answered McSweeny. 'I'm not given to prayers; and as I've lived I'll die.' There were no more words passed, but a shot was fired; and when they ran out from the house they found McSweeny, with his brains blown out, and lying before his own door. The whole country was in arms after the murderer, and the last news I heard was that he had been caught and sent to Hobart Town, where he has been hanged ere this time, as he both desired and deserved. But let us dismiss such a person from our thoughts, Mr. Dudley. In intellectual being, as in mere animal existence, there are various classes and dignities, according as he is ranged in which, we value the individual. Who minds seeing a serpent swallow a lizard, or a chameleon suck in a gnat? The existences which perish are so small as not to be worth the counting; and this man's being was even less, for all that was not contemptible was noxious. I gave him food when he wanted it, and shelter. The utmost extent to which his gratitude carried him was not to rob me when he went away. Let us talk of other things. You will, doubtless, soon return to your own country. I never shall."