_Stephen._—Neither wife, nor child, nor parents, nor hardly a relative on earth. And I am glad they have gone down to their happy graves. And I almost wish that I was reposing by their side. The earth is no place for me, nor for those who expose the licentious officials and plundering monsters of this age, who allure spotless females into the horrors of prostitution, and drive the friendless masses into cellars and attics and crowded and pestilential habitations, and into the inclement atmosphere. _Wife._—But why rejoice over the eternal departure of nearly all your kindred? _Stephen._—Because it would have blighted their health and fondest hopes to have beheld me in a felon’s dungeon. _Wife._—But you have committed no crime? _Stephen._—I could not do that. And I am in prison, because I have exposed the crimes, and resisted the gilded bribes of official plunderers for a dozen years, and utterly refused to join them in their various deeds of infamy. I could have been affluent, and had my liberty, if I had joined the public thieves, and shared their plunder. And if my parents were alive, although they would rejoice at my exposure of vicious public men, yet they would weep over the cruelty of those who consigned me to this dungeon, without an honorable trial, and rudely thrust me into the chain-gang of the quarries, and even yearn for my life. _Wife._—Yours seems a hard fate? _Stephen._—Yes; mine is indeed a mournful destiny. _Her Eldest Daughter_ (_whose lovely eyes gleam with tears_).—I weep over your misfortunes. I have often heard my dear uncle, whose life you saved at the peril of your own, speak of you in tones of deep affection, and here is a diamond breastpin he gave me in Switzerland, on the Lake of Geneva, on a tranquil moonlight evening, only ten days before his soul’s departure for the spirit realms. Take it, dear Mr. Branch, and keep it in remembrance of his affectionate niece. To no other being would I present a sacred gift of my departed uncle. _Stephen_ (_with overwhelming emotion_).—Please accept my profoundest gratitude for your precious donation, which I will wear near a heart that dearly loved your departed uncle, with whom I passed some of the happiest hours of my life. _The Youngest Daughter_ (_who is about ten years old_).—Dear Mr. Branch: Will you take this sweet rose from me, and let me kiss you through the grate? _Stephen._—O God! This is too much for my poor nerves. (_I shed copious tears, and all weep._) Yes, my pretty little girl, you can kiss me through the grate. (_And her father holds her up, and I place my pale, and cold, and haggard cheek to a perforation of my cell door, and this affectionate little girl imprints a fervent kiss, which I cordially reciprocate._) _Father._—God has blessed me with great prosperity, and I will devote my fortune to your restoration to liberty.