That vigorous off-shoot from his own existence, so full of life and feeling, and, alas, of passion, which misguides us all--he must die! No earthly power can save him. May the ALL MERCIFUL sustain that poor father, as he watches the heavy slumber of his only son in that dark prison; and while he clasps the cold hand, remembers so well the dimpled fingers he used to hold in his, when little Joe sat upon his knee and prattled childish love. And the ALL MERCIFUL _was_ with him, and sent influences to sustain him through that terrible agony. It did not break his heart; it melted and subdued him. The congealed sympathies of his nature flowed under this ordeal of fire; and, for the first time, he had a realizing sense that _every_ human being is, or has been, _somebody’s_ little Joe. “How kind you are to me!” said the prisoner, in answer to his soothing words and affectionate attentions. He replied meekly, “Would I had _always_ been so!” Then turning his face away, and earnestly pressing Joseph’s hand, he said, in an agitated voice, “Tell me truly, my son, does it ever occur to you, that I may have been to blame for this great misfortune that has befallen you?” “_You_, dear father!” he exclaimed. “I do not understand what you mean.” Still keeping his face turned away, and speaking with effort, Mr. Barker said, “Do you remember once, when I was beating my horse cruelly, (you were a boy of twelve then) neighbour Goodwin remarked to me, that I was giving a bad lesson to my son? I was angry with him at the time; and perhaps that resentment helped to make me hard toward a poor young fellow who is dead and gone; but his words keep ringing in my ears _now_. May God, in his mercy, forgive me, if I have ever done or said any thing to lead you into this great sin! Tell me, Joseph, do you ever think it might have happened otherwise, if you had had a less violent father?”