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"Nothing in poverty so ill is borne,
As its exposing men to grinning scorn." -- Oldham.

Boyce felt in his soul a desire that he might rather die than go back to the poor-house. The Captain seeing him rather the worse for his visit, told him to "chirk up and be a man." "I will come over," said he, "with the red cutter and bear's skin and bells. Won't we have a fine, nice ride of it, hey? So chirk up, man -- good-bye. And the Captain bowed off.

Mr. Haddock happened to be absent when the Captain made this call, and was pained on his return to witness the discouraged and anguished look of his poor patient. But he assured him he should be taken care of and kept from the poor-house, as long as he had a home to shelter him. The terrible shadow of the poor-house had, however, again passed over the soul of the enfeebled sufferer, and it quickened his decline to the grave.

And now something seemed to weigh heavily on his mind and to cause him frequently to sigh and groan to the infinite distress of his good and kind friends. What it was, they could not understand. It led them to be more attentive to every one of his wants, and by many acts of kindness to merit his confidence.

At length Boyce informed them, that he left in England, five years before, a beautiful and affectionate wife and a child one year old, who had never been permitted to join him since, although till within the last two years he had received regular communications and letters from her. He now felt it almost certain that he was destined never again to see on the earth that beloved one, nor his sweet little Alice; and the thought was harrowing to his soul. A merciful God had given him friends, and restored to him his intellect from its late wretched and weakened state, but, alas! with what quickened sensibilities he now contemplated the whole truth of that condition which forbade him the hope of ever again clasping in his arms the tender one from whom this long, long separation was but the prelude to one as boundless as time. Should he never see again his adored, his chaste, his lovely Laura? "Were the waves of the sea to divide them on earth, and the wheels of time to roll their separating cycles on their pathway -- forever, till in the future world -- dissolving the golden chain that had bound together their youthful hearts? Was true love born in time, but only thus to perish, and the friends who are to each most dear and affectionate, to suffer the rudest separations; and while their hearts are beating, their hands opened, their eyes o'erflowing, shall they be made to feel that the joy of meeting is to them forbidden?"

It was thus that Boyce, his understanding now fully restored to him, continued to dwell on the history of his life we have now sketched. It was touching to hear him, painful to see him sinking, a mild, sweet, gentle sufferer -- one of the bright young geniuses of earth, his lamp burning pure and faithful at the last lightings of it, but in its flashings giving presage of its near extinction.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Haddock deemed it advisable that he should see and converse with their pastor. They proposed the interview, and Boyce gladly consented. It took place the next day, and contributed much to the relief of the sufferer's mind, especially on the subject of meeting one's friends in the future world, and mutually recognizing each other, a point on which Boyce was much excited. It was Mr. Rodman's firm conviction they would do so, and he advanced many suggestions in favor of his opinion, that tended to the conviction and comfort of the invalid. "We shall know the Saviour in his glory," said he, "and we shall, each one of us, be known and loved by him and by the Father. How reasonable to suppose, then, we shall also know each other, and communicate to one another our joy." He was able also to help him more clearly comprehend the fulness of that redemption by the Son of God which is the Spirit of Prophecy, and the hope of all true Christian believers. Boyce became more and more calm and hopeful, and child-like in his confidence, as he approached nearer the outline of his life's boundary, and saw the shadows fall beyond it.

On an evening somewhat dark and stormy, after a rather mild winter's day, Jims, in his slouching hat, and coarse and tattered garments, went sauntering off towards the town. He carefully avoided stopping any where, and kept along in the middle of the road, where, without any intention on his part, he was soon to meet a person who like himself was carefully avoiding all intersecting roads and places of rest, although needing shelter and fondly hoping to find it. A poor, feeble, delicate woman is taken up at mid-day by a traveler in a large sleigh, on the public road, and carried by him fifteen miles, to the borders of Crampton, where she alights with a young child and a small bundle, thanking earnestly and with lady-like words the kind old gentleman for his humanity.

"And what will you do now, my young friend?" he inquired, as the lady stepped upon the snow path with her child.