d down upon the hard floor, and raised his clasped
hands and streaming eyes toward heaven; but he could find no
utterance for his emotions, save in sobs and tears. Prayer would
not come in words. Again and again he tried to pray, but in
vain; he felt that he could not pray; and, almost in despair, he
paced the narrow cell, and was ready to believe that God's favor
was forever withdrawn from his soul,--that there was no ear to
listen, and no arm to save, and that nothing was left for him in
the future but a life of misery, a death of shame, and an
eternity of woe!

On the third morning, he awoke from a troubled sleep, and, as
he rose with aching bones from the bare planks, his limbs
trembled and tottered beneath him. Finding that he could not
stand, he sat down in the corner of the dungeon, and leaned
against the wall. His head was hot, and his throat parched, and
the blood beat in throbs through his veins. A sort of delirious
excitement began to creep over him, and his mind was filled with
strange reveries.

He saw, or fancied he saw, great spiders crawling over the wall,
and serpents, lizards, and indescribable reptiles, creeping
about on the floor; and he shouted at them, and kicked at them,
as they seemed to come near him. Soon they were viewed without
dread or terror. He laughed at their motions, and thought he
should have companions and pets in his loneliness; still he did
not wish them to come too near.

Then there seemed to be other shapes in his cell. His old
grandmother sat in one corner, reading, through her familiar
spectacles, the well-worn family Bible. His sister sat there,
playing with her baby, and his mother was singing as she sewed.
And he laughed and talked to them, but could get no answer.
Occasionally he felt a half-consciousness that it was all a
delusion,--a mere vision of the brain; and yet their fancied
presence made him happy, and he laughed and talked incessantly,
as if they heard him, and were wondering at his own strange
emotions.

And then the gruff voice of the jailer scared away his visions,
and roused him for a moment from his reveries.

"You are merry, my boy, and you make too much noise," said the
keeper.

The interruption made his head swim, and he attempted to rise;
but he was very weak and faint, and fell back again. He turned
to say, "I believe I am sick;" but before the words found
utterance, the man had set down his pitcher and bread, and was
gone.

There was an int