Rest? his heart was never to be at rest again! The fearful visitation which he believed himself to have been subject to, in the last farewell of his deceased wife, was impressed too vividly on his mind, and had given too violent a shock to his long-sealed conscience, to suffer him to rest a moment. What a terrible retribution had one brief instant brought upon him! In the midst of his pride, in the height of health, with every pleasure and enjoyment that riches could purchase within his reach, and with all the pomp and allurements of the seductive world open to him, the man who believed himself to be only a creature of the time, and entirely free from all responsibility, was a prey to the liveliest pangs and terrors of remorse. The tremendous mystery of nature was unveiled in his bosom, at last. In vain did he strive to turn from it; in vain did he strive to stifle, with the specious sophistries of atheism, that ever-living and irradicable conviction of responsibility, which it stamped in the very life-blood of his heart. He might persuade himself that he believed it to be false; he might say, as he had often said before, that it was the mere effect of early impressions; but the awful inspiration rose up still, and, in spite of all he could think, say, or do, would win and fasten on his attention. Whoever has looked close into his own heart, in the silence of midnight, when its admirable machinery may be best observed, will have noted how hard it is to fix it on any one thought, and what a variety of ideas assail us at once. Can he see in this distraction no trace of supernatural influences? When, in spite of his very utmost exertion, the thought that he would pursue is suddenly invaded by another--when the good intention he would dwell upon becomes associated with corruption--when his virtuous resolution is overtaken by an allurement to vice, his best and most generous sympathies, as they are on the very eve of ripening into effect, stifled by an egregious vanity--does he not, in this situation, feel that he is of himself like a mariner without a compass, and that his heart needs a higher and greater Power at its helm? If he be a reasonable being, such must, beyond all dispute, be his natural conclusion; and he will feel no less assured, that that Power is at his hand, and only awaits his invocation to lend him effectual succour. Even Shedlock was not abandoned. Nature, bursting the trammels he had imposed upon her, unfolded herself to his eye in her native perfectness; conscience sought to arouse him to the truth; but now, when a last hope was extended to him, he wished to believe it false; and what should have prostrated him in adoration, overwhelmed him with horror.