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Between the absent party and James, a constant and lively correspondence was maintained during the whole period of the journey. It formed no small part of the enjoyment of Alice's visit to write it in detailed paragraphs to her friend, nor did she pass silently over the matter in which Sir Charles sought to complicate her. To James, this was a source of slight annoyance and anxiety. He had no real fear of her integrity. But he could comprehend sufficiently to awaken his solicitude, that the force of the temptation might be very great, and if it did not prove sufficient to break off her engagement, it might be an after reflection of disappointment, or of chagrin. Her letters, however, dispelled his uneasiness, and he looked forward with a lover's impatience to her return.

It must not be thought by the reader that in the meantime our young friend JIMS had forgotten his early history, nor that with attention to present personal duties, he is unmindful of the sufferers among whom were passed the years of his boyhood.

Not a day passes that he forgets them in his prayers -- for James has learned to pray!

Not a dollar goes into his purse, without a portion being laid by for the poor who have no money. All his useless clothing he gives to them, and to the relief of other poor in town in danger of the poor-house. Often through his solicitation he procures for them the charitable donations of other persons; and especially urges those who are weak and almost despairing, yet out of the poor-house, to make every possible exertion for their own support, promising them all the help in his power, to keep aloof from "the tender mercies of the town, for they are cruel."

It is a morning of summer. Blind Henrietta, who has been the stay and staff of her father's helpless years, is sick and languishing, and with difficulty her father can procure for her what is wanted from the pantry and the closet to make her comfortable. But he makes the endeavor -- Henrietta is to him more than silver and gold. She is his hands and feet, his bank, his provider and daily nurse. By her industry he has a home of his own, and is saved from the poor-house. This, to Captain Bunce, is more than all other mercies. The poor-house is, in his eyes, a terrible reality; not a greater necessity than a scourge of retaliation for one's own past sins and cruelties.

Henrietta is a simple, confiding girl, a child of nature, and she loves her father dearly, being quite unaware of any great dereliction on his part from the great perfect road of righteousness. To her, he has been ever a kind, an affectionate parent, and in her heart's deepest cells, she loves him, and loves nobody beside as much. She never loved mother, brother or sister as she loved him. And she pities him for his misfortunes, while she esteems it a special permission of good Providence that she has been spared to comfort him in them. She wonders what God will do for him when she is taken away, if taken away she is, before him. But as some way seems to be provided for every body, she thinks "God will not forget her papa." So she finds something to comfort her even on a sick bed.

"And how do you feel now, Hetty, since I made you that cup of tea?" said her father.

"It seems to me I am a good deal revived. Don't you think I look brighter for it?"

"Why, yes, I rather think it has chirked you up, Hetty. A cup of good hot tea often raises one considerable."

"I believe it does, father; I've often seen it do you good."

"Oh! Lord, yes, my dear. I have had a great many good cups of tea of your dressing."

"Well, father, you will find a small loaf of bread in the jar down in the cellar, and a little piece of dried beef, and a bit of butter, and a wee pot of jelly in the cupboard. Now go right off and get them for your supper; now do, while the tea is hot, father, will you?"

"Now, Hetty, I am thinking I'd better not, for you'll want them yourself. You've only eaten a small piece of a cracker. I think the jelly and the beef would do you a great deal of good."

"No, no, father, please go and eat them. I don't need any thing else to-night, and shall sleep a very good sleep."

"I am right glad to hear you say so, Hetty, but I really think you haven't a very smart appetite; and you know a body must eat, or he can't get strength."

"I know that; but my appetite and strength will come both together by-and-bye, when the fever goes away. I never can bear simply to make myself eat if I don't want food."

"No, neither can I, Hetty; and so to-night I will just make the tea a little hotter, and make a supper on crackers too."

"And a little beef, papa, do!"

"Well, yes -- a little beef; that will be good."

"Very, indeed!" said she.

And so they lived together, helping each other in their infirmity. The Captain sat down by the little table and drank his tea, while Hetty talked to him, and fanned herself upon the bed.

"We are much better off, father, than the poor folks."

"Oh! dear, yes. They are suffering, miserable people."