Nothing worthy of remark occurred during the remainder of the passage.  The ship arrived at Plymouth, and Newton took leave of his friendly shipmates, Captain Carrington requesting that Newton would command any interest that he had, if ever it should be required.  It was with a throbbing heart that Newton descended from the outside of the coach which conveyed him to Liverpool, and hastened towards the obscure street in which he left his father residing.  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when Newton arrived at his father’s door.  To his delight, he perceived through the shop-window that his father was sitting at his bench; but his joy was checked when he perceived his haggard countenance.  The old man appeared to be absorbed in deep thought, his cheek resting upon his hand, and his eyes cast down upon the little bench, to which the vice used to be fixed, but from which it was now removed.

The door was ajar, and Newton entered with his portmanteau in his hand; but whatever noise he might have made was not sufficient to rouse Nicholas, who continued in the same position.

With one glance round the shop, Newton perceived that it was bare of everything; even the glazed cases on the counter, which contained the spectacles, &c., had disappeared.  All bespoke the same tale, as did the appearance of his father—­misery and starvation.

“My dearest father!” cried Newton, unable to contain himself any longer.

“How!—­what?” cried Nicholas, starting at the voice, but not looking round.  “Pho! nonsense!—­he’s dead,” continued the old man, communing with himself, as he again settled into his former position.

“My dearest father, I’m not dead!—­look round—­’tis Newton! alive and well.”

“Newton!” replied the old man, rising from his stool, and tottering to the counter, which was between them, on which he laid both his hands to support himself, as he looked into his son’s face. “’Tis Newton, sure enough!  My dear, dear boy!—­then you an’t dead?”

“No, indeed, father; I am alive and well, thank God!”

“Thank God, too!” said Nicholas, dropping his face on the counter, and bursting into tears.

Newton sprang over to the side where his father was, and embraced him.  For some time they were locked in each other’s arms; when Nicholas, who had recovered his composure, looked at Newton, and said, “Are you hungry, my dear boy?”

“Yes, indeed I am,” replied Newton, smiling, as the tears coursed down his cheeks; “for I have had nothing since breakfast.”

“And I have had nothing for these two days,” replied Nicholas, leaning back to the wall in evident exhaustion.

“Good God! you don’t say so?” cried Newton; “where can I buy something ready cooked?”

“At the shop round the corner:  there’s a nice piece of boiled beef there; I saw it yesterday.  I offered my improvement on the duplex for a slice; but he would not trust me, even for that.”