“Tidmarsh was the first who showed any signs of contrition,” resumed the latter. “He could not endure that one, long, endless _night_ into which I had plunged him,--a night interrupted only by the short and regular visits of myself or my people. He was ever alone with his own thoughts, which no intervals of a long day broke in upon: the impression created by his thoughts was ever in his mind--the _continuous night_ kept that impression _there_! By degrees he began to see the error of his ways--and, when his thoughts were on one occasion intolerable, and his imagination was filled with frightful images, he had recourse to prayer. The next time I visited him he assured me that his prayers had relieved him, but that he could not sufficiently settle his mind to pray so often as he desired. That was the moment to give this man a light; and I did so. At the same time I offered him his choice between the Bible and a Tale-book; and he chose the former with unaffected readiness. Had he selected the latter, I should have seen that he craved for amusement only--and he would have had neither lamp nor books until he had gone through a farther ordeal of his lonely thoughts in utter darkness. Well--this Tidmarsh, by the aid of the light, was enabled to study the Bible and settle his soul to prayer. But a continual and unvaried perusal of the Bible is calculated to render the mind morbid, and convert a sinner into a grossly superstitious fanatic. Accordingly, when I saw that Tidmarsh began to grow gloomy--which was in a very few days--I gave him books of Travels and Voyages; and his soul was refreshed by the change. The improvement in that man was far more rapid than I could have possibly anticipated. During my visits to him, I tested his sincerity in a variety of ways,--by means of questions so artfully contrived as to admit of two kinds of answers: namely, one kind hypocritical, and the other sincere--and at the same time implying a sort of promise of release if the hypocritical reply were given. But I found him straight-forward and truly conscientious in his answers. In due time I allowed him such novels as ‘_The Vicar of Wakefield_,’ ‘_Paul and Virginia_,’ ‘_Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia_,’ to read: but I found that he preferred the Travels, Voyages, and Biographies of good or great men. Indeed, scarcely six weeks had elapsed from the date of that man’s incarceration in the dungeon, when I felt convinced that he was so far a reformed character as to be anxious to earn an honest livelihood if he were only afforded the chance. Then I removed him from his dungeon, and lodged him in a room up stairs. He was still in reality a prisoner, because any attempt to escape on his part would have been immediately detected--so narrowly yet secretly was he watched. To him, however, it must have seemed that he was free: but he never evinced the least inclination to avail himself of the apparent liberty which he enjoyed.