“I do not know which had the greater influence, Miss Lincoln—your sympathy—your earnest pleadings to remain with a poor abandoned wretch in that loathsome room, to soothe his dying agonies, who conscious, yet powerless, listened in wonder—your prayerful watchfulness during that awful night, amid ravings of despair and cries for mercy, intermingled with the yells of the chained maniacs; or the unwearied kindness and holy teachings of the Rev. Mr. P. If one led me to this fount, the other had created in my soul a thirst for its purifying waters. From the moment you first knelt beside my couch, a new light seemed to dawn upon my darkened soul, though at first faint and indistinct, and this morning, as I gaze upon this beautiful landscape, all, all comes up so vividly before my mental vision, accompanied with the sad picture of my wasted time and degraded powers, that, although it may give you pain, I cannot deny myself the pleasure of some slight expression of gratitude, even though shaded by my own sombre reflections. Oh! could I but regain my lost health and strength, how would I labor to show forth the love, mercy, and wisdom of the glorious Being whom I have so blasphemed. Then, Miss Lincoln, would you see that your sympathies and kindness have not been thrown away.” “Resignation to the will of Heaven,” said Ellen, endeavoring to regain her wonted composure, “has power, if not to obliterate the dark characters upon the pages of memory, to take from them their bitterness.” “That you have yet to teach me, Miss Lincoln,” said he with a melancholy smile. “_I_ shall teach, Mr. Edridge,” said Lucy laughingly, (perceiving the embarrassment of her cousin, and wishing to relieve her from the conversation,) “that when I present to you a bouquet, you are not to pull it to pieces.” Arthur smiled, and commenced re-arranging the scattered flowers. While the little flower-spirit saw his bright guardian, now radiant with heavenly smiles, hovering near. In its hand it bore a chalice, from which it poured sweet odors upon the pure heart of the noble Ellen. * * * * * ’Twas midnight—every sound was hushed. The earth lay slumbering in her fleecy robe of white. The diamond-gemmed trees, the tall spires, and the distant hills, all reflected back the smiles of the queen of night, as she rode majestically above, presenting a scene of enchanting loveliness. In an elegant apartment, reposed a little flower-spirit upon the soft bosom of the lily of the Nile. The same strange, delicious music filled the atmosphere, that erst had burst from cherub choir that hovered round the sleeping babe—save that its strains were louder, more triumphant.