Thorsby, once the very black sheep of Castleborough, and hanging by his torn and mud-drenched fleece over an unfathomable abyss, gently seized and stoutly withdrawn by a loving hand, is now the most popular man of a great and busy community. He stands a monument of what may be done by seeking in order to save, rather than by the exercise of a bitter though not causeless resentment; and still, as he goes on his way, planning and diffusing benefits to others, he says in his own soul, “What can I do in retribution of my faults, in recompense of a deathless and redeeming love?” By his side he still sees that gentle embodiment of unpretending wisdom and domestic sunshine, whose kind glance, if he is low, re-inspires him; if he is ready, in some momentary flush of his once excitable spirits, to say or do anything too prominent, steadies and sobers him. With such a pilot and such a sheet-anchor, we will venture to predict a safe voyage of life to his mortal bark, and that never again will the sunshine of peace now lying on Woodburn, on Cotmanhaye Manor, on Bilts’ Farm, and on Fair Manor be disturbed on his account. And may the heavens, blue and fair, shine out with their softest sunshine: may the larks carol above, the flowers wave in the breeze, and the brooks sing on below, around that little peaceful Arcadia where we have so many friends, through many and many long years as now,—long, indeed, after the whole town of Castleborough shall follow in deepest mourning the remains of their greatest reformer and benefactor to their honoured resting place—follow the ashes of a great and good man, who, but for the gentle wisdom of a heart inspired by the sublime power of devoted conjugal love, would, years ago, have sunk into a dishonoured grave, burying all this host of blessings with him. Oh, woman! woman! what strength is concealed in thy weakness—what victories are engemmed in thy gentleness! what miracles conferred on thy truth! As the giant oak lies coiled in the little, brown, burnished acorn that we pick up and pitch lightly into the thicket; as the Titan of the winds lies dreaming and poetising in the zephyr; as the little limpid, sun-bright brooklets inherit the fulness of the ocean, with its illimitable breadth and stupendous force; as the clouds and the rivers enshrine themselves in the diamond drops of morning dew, so in the light and sportive life of girlhood lie powers that can direct the course of human destiny more effectually than the little rudder can direct the colossal ship; which can shape the condition and the fortunes of society, and evoke revolutions more beneficent or portentous than all the conspirations or parliaments that ever existed.