wanderings with Elizabeth on the shores of Zante, now replaced his other memories. He then bore a burden on his heart, which veiled with dark crape the glories of a sunny climate, the heart-cheering tenderness of his adopted child--this was less bitter, this meeting of fate, this atonement. Sleep crept over him at last; and such is the force of innocence, that though a cloud of agony hung over his awakening, yet he slept peacefully on the eve of his trial. Towards morning his sleep became less tranquil. He moved--he groaned--then, opening his eyes, he started up, struggling to attain full consciousness of where he was, and wherefore. He had been dreaming--and he asked himself what had been the subject of his dreams. Was it Greece--or the dreary waste shores of Cumberland? And why did that fair lingering shape beckon him? Was it Alithea or Elizabeth? Before these confused doubts could be solved, he recognised the walls of the cell, and saw the shadow of the bars of his windows on the curtain spread before it. It was morning--_the morning_--where would another sun find him? He rose and drew aside the curtain--and there were the dark, high walls--weather-stained and huge; clear, but sunless daylight was spread over each object--it penetrated every nook, and yet was devoid of cheer. There is indeed something inexpressibly desolate in the sight of the early, gray, chill dawn dissipating the shadows of night, when the day which it harbingers is to bring misery. Night is a cloak--a shelter--a defence--all men sleep at night--the law sleeps, and its dread ministrants are harmless in their beds, hushed like cradled children. "Even now they sleep," thought Falkner, "pillowed and curtained in luxury--but day is come, and they will soon resume their offices--and drag me before them--and wherefore?--because it is day--because it is Wednesday--because names have been given to portions of time, which otherwise might be passed over and forgotten." To the surgeon's eye a human body sometimes presents itself merely as a mass of bones, muscles, and arteries--though that human body may contain a soul to emulate Shakspeare--and thus there are moments when the wretched dissect the forms of life--and contemplating only the outward semblance of events, wonder how so much power of misery, or the reverse, resides in what is after all but sleeping or waking--walking here or walking there--seeing one fellow-creature instead of another. Such were the morbid sensations that absorbed Falkner as day grew clearer and clearer--the narrow court more gloomy as compared with the sky, and the objects in his cell assumed their natural colour and appearances. "All asleep," he again thought, "except I, the sufferer; and does my own Elizabeth sleep? Heaven grant it, and guard her slumbers! May those dear eyes long remain closed in peace upon this miserable day!"