at boy had a sight of the future been opened up to him.
When, in the halls of learning, I have gone through the ceremonies
which made me a citizen of yet another commonwealth in the world of
letters, my thoughts have gone back to that day; and I have wished
that the inexorable law of Nature could then have been suspended,
if only for one moment, to show the scene that Providence held
in reserve.

Next morning I was on my way betimes, having still more than thirty
miles before me. And the miles seemed much longer than they did the
day before, for my feet were sore and my limbs stiff. Quite welcome,
therefore, was a lift offered by a young farmer, who, driving a
cart, overtook me early in the forenoon. He was very sociable,
and we soon got into an interesting conversation.

I knew that Dr. Foshay hailed from somewhere in this region, where
his father still lived, so I asked my companion whether he knew a
family of that name. He knew them quite well.

"Do you know anything of one of the sons who is a doctor?"

"Yes indeed; I know all about him, but he ain't no doctor. He tried
to set up for one in Salisbury, but the people there must a' found
him out before this, and I don't know where he is now."

"But I thought he studied medicine in Fredericton or Maine or
somewhere on the border."

"Oh, he went off to the States and pretended to study, but he never
did it. I tell you he ain't no more a doctor nor I am. He ain't
smart enough to be a doctor."

I fell into a fit of musing long enough to hear, in my mind's
ear, with startling distinctness, the words of two years before:
"This world is all a humbug, and the biggest humbug is the best man.
. . . You have a window in your breast and you must close that window
before you can succeed in life." Now I grasped their full meaning.

Ten years later I went through the province by rail on my wedding
journey. At Dorchester, the next village beyond Moncton, I was
shown a place where insolvent debtors were kept "on the limits."

"By stopping there," said my informant, "you can see Dr. Foshay."

I suggested the question whether it was worth while to break our
journey for the sake of seeing him. The reply of my informant
deterred me.

"It can hardly be worth while to do so. He will be a painful object
to see,--a bloated sot, drinking himself to death as fast as he can."

The next I heard of him was that he had succeeded.

I reached St. John on the evening that a