Of these two men which was the rich man; he who had nothing, yet thought he possessed enough for himself and his neighbours: or he who rolled in wealth, but writhed under imaginary poverty?

One reflection more. Do not look to see Providence dash the cup of prosperity from every dishonest hand; or you will often be disappointed. Yet this, if you look closer, you shall often see: such a man holds the glittering cup tight, and nectar to the brim; but into that cup a shadowy hand squeezes some subtle ingredient, which turns that nectar to wormwood.

Richard Hardie died, his end being hastened by fear of poverty coming like an armed man, and his guinea a week going. Matthews met with an accident, and, being impervious to pain, but subject to death, was laid beside his poor mistress in St. Anne's churchyard. Julia buried him, and had a headstone put to his grave; and, when this was done, she took her husband to see it. On that stone was fresh carved the true name of the deceased, James Maxley.

"I have done what you told me," said Julia, her sweet voice trembling a little. Even she did not quite know how her husband would take it, or bear it.

"I _know it,_" said Alfred softly. "I saw who your Matthews was; but I could not speak of him, even to you." He looked at the grave in silence.

Julia's arms were round his neck in a moment, and her wet cheek consoling his.

"You have done right, my good Christian wife. I wish I was like you. My poor little Jenny!"

Richard Hardie's papers were found in perfect order; and among them an old will leaving L. 14,000 to Edward Dodd.

(Editor：health)