law was imposed upon our race? But I
will not dwell on this. I have interrogated the universe and God, and
entreated them to disclose the awful secret, but in vain. My heart
and brain are burnt to ashes in the attempt to decipher the mystery. I
will strive no more. It is a provocation to faith. I dare not trust
to reason. There is something above reason. I submit. Dreadful,
unfathomable mystery, I submit, and accept thee with all the
consequences at which the quivering flesh recoils."

Upon the return of Armstrong, all traces of violent emotion had
disappeared, and given place to exhaustion and lassitude. Faith had,
by this time, become so accustomed to the variable humors of her
father, that, however much they pained her, she was no longer alarmed
by them as formerly. It was her habit, whenever he was attacked by his
malady, to endeavor to divert his attention from melancholy thoughts
to others of a more cheerful character. And now, on this day, so
fraught with horrors of which she was ignorant, although the silence
of the unhappy man interrupted by fits of starting, and inquiries of
the time o'clock, revealed to her that he was suffering to an unusual
degree, she attempted the same treatment which, in more than one
instance, had seemed to be attended with a beneficial effect.
Armstrong was peculiarly sensitive to music, and it was to his love of
it that she now trusted to chase away his gloom. When, therefore, in
the evening, she had vainly endeavored to engage him in conversation,
receiving only monosyllables in return, she advanced to the piano, and
inquired if he would not like to hear her sing?

"Sing! my child?" said Armstrong, as if at first not understanding the
question; "Oh, yes--let me hear you sing."

Faith opened the piano, and turning over the leaves of a music book,
and selecting a sacred melody as best befitting the mood of her
father, sung, with much sweetness and expression, the following lines:

How shall I think of Thee, eternal Fountain
Of earthly joys and boundless hopes divine,
Of Thee, whose mercies are beyond recounting,
To whom unnumbered worlds in praises shine?

I see thy beauty in the dewy morning,
And in the purple sunset's changing dyes;
Thee I behold the rainbow's arch adorning;
Thee in the starry glories of the skies.

The modest flower, low in the green grass blushing,
The wondrous wisdom of the honey bee,
The birds' clear joy in streams of musi